A Great Day for the Irish

								

covitron does not work. She won't be with anyone for the duration. I
was just hoping our whole table was not similarly afflicted."
"It's a pity," mused the young officer. "So many people make the flight
across space only once. If they did it more often, they might get
accustomed."
"Don't you take covitron?" Bridget asked, beginning to wonder how soon
she should repeat the dose. Some people said it made you sleepy, and
she certainly didn't want that with things just getting started ... and
Patch Maguire ... Patch Maguire....
Suddenly a window opened in her mind. She saw a letter with short
punching sentences. "You think you can get away with this high-handed,
overbearing, totally uncalled-for destruction of property? I'll take
it to the top! I'll see you idiots in hell ... or at least out of the
Service!" Patch Maguire protesting the destruction of his shipment of
seeds imported from Regulus V. No amount of explanation that the seeds
had been found to harbor a blight which, once let loose on Earth....
Patch Maguire had a reputation as an authority on crossbreeding and
mutation of plants ... and also for throwing his weight around. It was
several years ago, but Bridget remembered the consternation in the
department.
She realized that Maguire and the officer were talking. They were
agreeing that space sickness was only a matter of psychology, and that
if you just didn't think about it, no covitron was necessary. She
hastily swallowed another pill with her coffee and hoped the coffee
would keep her awake.
They toured the ship together, she and Patch. They marveled at the
scene from the viewport and chatted with the captain in the control
room. The steward inquired about his taste in music and stereo, and he
even gave advice to the gardeners in hydroponics. All doors were open
to Patch, and there were murmurs about the "handsome couple" as they
moved through the lounge. By the end of the trip they were making plans
for New Eden. Patch insisted that Bridget was in the wrong profession
and she agreed that the science of agriculture might be more rewarding
than entomology under certain conditions.
At the farewell dinner, Patch gave her a bouquet he'd had made up
especially by the gardeners. But she was more interested in the small
green leaf he wore in his lapel. He took it out and insisted on
fastening it in her hair.
"Sure and it's a shamrock!" he cried, as he arranged it. "And have you
forgotten what day it is tomorrow?"
"It's the day we land," Bridget replied. "But what day that is in our
time or ship's time ... it's too confusing!"
"It's St. Patrick's Day, that's what it is!" he said. "A great day
for the Irish and a great day for us. And I wouldn't be without the
shamrock on St. Patrick's Day! They should call the planet New Ireland,
that they should. Wasn't Ireland the garden island, all green and
fruitful and with no snakes? And I hear this planet's the garden planet