If at First You Don't

In Short

Set in a future of cislunar navigation, John Brudy’s satirical story follows Amos Jordan, a practical bureaucrat who views the decaying orbit of '58 Beta—history's first long-lived satellite—as mere orbital debris that should be allowed to burn up. Instead, a deeply sentimental public, bickering military branches, and an ambitious senator turn the scrap metal into a massive political football. After a covert naval retrieval and intense political pressure, the government decides to rebuild and relaunch the ancient rocket. The story has endured as a sharp, witty satire on institutional red tape, human sentimentality, and the cyclical nature of bureaucratic absurdity.

The Story

Amos Jordan, Secretary for Cislunar Navigation, handles procedural problems with strict rules. When his assistant Clements informs him that the ancient satellite '58 Beta is about to re-enter the atmosphere, Jordan considers it routine debris and a hazard to navigation. However, the public and the Senate disagree sharply. Senator Darius opens hearings, championing the satellite as a sacred historical monument that must be preserved, while opposing factions brawl over its fate. Frustrated, Jordan decides to classify '58 Beta as dangerous orbital debris to legally authorize its destruction. Before he can act, interservice rivalry erupts when General Criswell and Admiral Flack storm his office, each claiming ownership of the historic relic and arguing over what space junk should be saved.

To bypass the political deadlock, Jordan plans a quiet salvage operation, but before he can sign the permit, the satellite vanishes from orbit. Jordan launches a secret investigation using Criswell's security forces, discovering that Admiral Flack's Navy secretly deployed a lunar courier to snatch '58 Beta back. Summoned before Senator Darius, Flack defends the high-handed mission by drawing a historical parallel to the Senator's own grandfather, a clever maneuver that wins the Senator's sympathy and leads to a private lunch invitation. Meanwhile, the President calls an emergency arbitration meeting involving all factions. The resulting recommendation stuns Jordan: a replica of '58 Beta will be placed in the Smithsonian, while the original satellite will be loaded into an authentic Vanguard rocket and re-injected into a permanent Earth orbit.

Appalled by the prospect of resurrecting a notoriously unreliable, obsolete hybrid-propulsion rocket, Jordan tries to resign. The Air Force takes charge of the feverish rebuilding program, unearthing ancient blueprints and old documentary films of disastrous early launch attempts. Despite mounting public pressures—including demands from the Ancient Order of Hibernians that the launch coincide with St. Patrick's Day—the retrofitted Vanguard finally sits on the pad at Canaveral Space Port. As the countdown proceeds, a terrified Jordan watches from the observation deck alongside Senator Darius and visiting dignitaries.

The launch succeeds with roaring, fiery violence, escorting '58 Beta back into space. However, tracking reports soon reveal a bitter twist: due to a degenerative orbit, the newly relaunched satellite will slowly lose altitude and burn up in just under three hundred and fifty years. Accepting the perpetual absurdity of government administration, Jordan and Clements share a drink and file their unused resignation forms away for an incumbent to find in the year 2492—a future generation that promptly becomes bogged down in identical congressional furors over debris collection.

How It Unfolds

• The debate begins: Amos Jordan learns from his undersecretary Clements that the aging satellite '58 Beta has become a major political and sentimental flashpoint.
• The Senate inquiry: Senator Darius grills a defensive Jordan during a contentious committee hearing, insisting that the historic satellite must be preserved rather than allowed to disintegrate.
• Interservice conflict: General Criswell and Admiral Flack storm Jordan's office, loudly quarreling over military pride, historic fetishes, and who actually owns the rights to the space junk.
• The secret retrieval: While Jordan hesitates, the Navy covertly dispatches a lunar courier to snatch '58 Beta out of orbit, leaving Jordan and Clements to hunt down the culprits.
• The presidential compromise: An unprecedented White House arbitration meeting results in a bizarre directive to build a replica for a museum and relaunch the original satellite.
• The retrofitted launch: The Air Force resurrects ancient 1958 rocket technology and successfully launches '58 Beta back into the sky, despite nervous breakdowns from Jordan.
• The generational echo: After discovering the new orbit is degenerative, Jordan and Clements pack away their resignation forms for future bureaucrats to puzzle over centuries later.

The People

• Amos Jordan is the pragmatic Secretary for Cislunar Navigation who relies on strict rules and logistics. He wants to efficiently clear orbital debris, but he is constantly thwarted by sentimental politicians and military officers, ultimately resigning himself to institutional absurdity.
• Clements serves as Jordan’s sharp, unflappable undersecretary. He anticipates bureaucratic headaches, uncovers hidden plots, and dryly guides his boss through mounting political crises.
• Senator Darius leads the Senate Advisory Committee for Astronautics. He weaponizes public sentiment and historical legacy to protect '58 Beta, turning the satellite's preservation into a grand personal crusade.
• Admiral Flack represents the proud, boisterous Navy. He views '58 Beta as a naval artifact and brazenly executes a high-stakes, unauthorized mission to rescue it from orbit.
• General Criswell is the pragmatic, sharp-tongued Air Force leader who oversees the dangerous rebuilding of the obsolete Vanguard rocket while dryly noting the structural flaws of early space history.

In Its Own Voice

"What's the matter, anyway?" Amos Jordan snapped at his assistant. "Is everyone in the Senate losing their mind?"

Jordan reacts with characteristic exasperation when he first discovers that politicians are obsessing over a piece of space junk.

"Eight hundred thousand endless, lonely revolutions about an unthinking, uncaring, ungrateful world is quite enough."

Senator Darius employs florid, theatrical rhetoric during a committee hearing to emphasize the tragic romance of the satellite's long history.

"Resignation forms, you idiot!"

Jordan barks this reply when Clements asks what kind of paperwork he needs after learning the government plans to relaunch an obsolete rocket.

What It's Really About

The story explores the tension between pragmatic efficiency and human sentimentality, skewering the mechanics of government bureaucracy. Brudy questions why modern societies cling so desperately to obsolete technology and historical symbols while ignoring present realities. The narrative argues that institutions never truly evolve past their own red tape, petty interservice rivalries, and love for procedural theater. By looping the ending back into a future bureaucratic memo, the book suggests that human organizational folly is an immutable, unending cycle.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love smart, dry workplace satire and classic mid-century science fiction will thoroughly enjoy this clever yarn. Reading it feels like watching a high-stakes government disaster unfold in slow motion, driven by snappy dialogue and wonderfully eccentric characters. While modern readers might note the mid-century Cold War subtexts and period attitudes toward technology, the core humor remains remarkably fresh. The bureaucratic exasperation captured in the story feels universally relatable, leaving you with a lingering, amused grin at the realization that government red tape is the one constant across the centuries.