Alarm Clock Page 4
It was no use, he thought. This would have to be decisive. He broughthis two hands up to his shoulder, then swung them like an axe,stepping into the swing as Vernay got his feet under him.
The impact of the blow brought Vernay to a standing position. As theman stood swaying, Stan swung his hands again.
Vernay's back arched and for an instant he was rigid. Then he stumbledforward, to pitch against the wall.
Briefly, he was braced upright against the wall, his left hand high onthe stones, the scalpel glittering. Then the hand relaxed and thesliver of steel clattered to the paving. Slowly, the man slid down, tomelt into a shapeless heap in the gutter.
Stan sighed, then shook his head and wiped an arm across his eyes.
There was a concerted sigh behind him.
"Go ahead, kid," someone muttered. "Give him the boots. Big phonyhadda go trying a knife."
Stan turned. "No use," he said wearily. "I just hope he's stillalive."
"I don't get it," said someone. "He wants this guy alive?"
Someone else laughed shortly. "Maybe he just likes to make it tough onhimself. Hey, look out! The joes."
As the crowd faded into the nowhere from whence most of it had come, aguard approached Stan warily.
"Now, look, Graham," he said cautiously, "I gotta throw you in thehole. You know that, huh?"
Stan nodded listlessly.
"Yeah," he said. "I suppose so."
"Look, fellow, it won't be too long. He jumped you, so they'll haveyou out of there real soon." The guard was apologetic.
"Besides, they'll probably offer you his job at Janzel. Get you clearout of here. Only don't give me a hard time. All you'll get is both ofus flashed."
"Yeah, I know." Stan held out an arm. "Come on, let's go."
* * * * *
Stan watched as the chief test engineer waved a hand.
"Two hundred twenty gravs," the man said. "Full swing completed onboth axes. That's it. Ease off your tractors."
He looked closely at his panel of meters, then got off his stool andstretched.
"No evidence of strain. Looks as though all components are good." Heturned, looking at the test operators.
"Let's get this place cleaned up."
The sense of disorientation set up by the tractors was subsiding. Stangot to his feet and looked at his companion.
Dachmann nodded at him.
"Well," he said slowly, "Golzer can get off the hook now. His run'llbe approved. Suppose we get back on the job."
He led the way out of the blockhouse tunnel.
A car was pulling up at the entrance. A heavy, square face looked froma rear window and a large hand beckoned.
"Dachmann, Graham. Over here."
"Oh, oh." Dachmann sighed. "Here's trouble. Wizow doesn't come outhere unless he's got something."
The blocky production chief looked coldly at them as they approachedthe car.
"It'll be a lot better," he growled, "if you two clear through myoffice before you start wandering all over the grounds." He looked atStan.
"Got a problem for you. Maybe we'll get some action out of you on thisone." He held out a few sheets of paper.
"Hold up over in the components line." He jabbed at a sheet with aforefinger.
"Take a trip over there and kick it up." He glanced at Dachmann. "Gotanother one for you."
Stan took the papers, studying them. Then he looked up. There was verylittle question as to the bottleneck here. Each material shortagetraced back to one machine. He frowned.
"Maintenance people checked over that machine yet?" he asked.
Wizow shrugged impassively. "You're a staffman," he said coldly."Been on parole to us long enough, you should know what to do, so I'mnot going to tell you how. Just get to the trouble and fix it. All Iwant is production. Leave the smart talk to the technical people." Heturned.
"Get in, Dachmann. I've got a headache for you."
Stan examined the tabulated sheets again. The offending machine was inbuilding nine thirty-two. Number forty-one.
He walked over to the parking lot and climbed on the skip-about he hadbought on his first pay day. The machine purred into life as hetouched a button and he raised the platform a few inches off theground, then spun about, to glide across the field toward block nine.
* * * * *
Fabricator number forty-one was a multiple. A single programming headactuated eight spinaret assemblies, which could deliver completedmodule assemblies into carriers in an almost continuous stream. It wasidling.
Stan visualized the flow chart of the machine as he approached. Thenhe paused. The operator was sitting at the programming punch,carefully going over a long streamer of tape. Stan frowned and lookedat his watch. By this time, the tapes should be ready and the machinein full operation. But this man was obviously still setting up.
He continued to watch as the operator laboriously compared the tapewith a blueprint before him. There was something familiar in thesharp, hungry-looking features. The fellow turned to look closely atthe print and Stan nodded.
"Now I remember," he told himself. "Sornal. Wondered what happened tohim. Never saw him after the first day up in Opertal."
Sornal came to the end of the tape, then scrabbled about and found thebeginning. He commenced rechecking against the print. Stan shook hishead in annoyance.
"How many times is he going to have to check that thing?" he askedhimself. He walked toward the man.
"Got trouble?"
Sornal looked up, then cringed away from him.
"I'll get it going right away," he whined. "Honest! Just want to makesure everything's right."
"You've already checked your tape. I've been watching you."
Sornal flinched and looked away.
"Yeah, but these things is tricky. You get some of this stuff out oftolerance, it can wreck a whole ship. They got to be right."
"So, why not a sample run-through? Then you can run test on a realpiece."
"This is a very complicated device. Can't check those internaltolerance without you put in on proof load. These got to be right thefirst time."
Stan shook his head wearily.
"Look. Get up. I'll give your tape a run-through, then we'll pull asample and check it out. Got a helper?"
"Some place around here." Sornal got out of his chair and stood,looking at the floor.
Stan picked up the tape and sat down.
"All right, go find him then. And bring him over here while I run outthe sample. We can make with the talk after that."
* * * * *
The tape was perfect, with neither patch nor correction. Stan finallyraised his head, growling to himself.
"Guy's competent enough at programming, anyway. Now, what's wrong withhim?"
He snapped the power switch from stand-by to on, then waited as theindicators came up. Delicately, he turned a couple of microdrive dialstill the needles settled on their red lines. Then he opened thecontrol head, poked the tape in, and punched the starter lever.
The tape clicked steadily through the head. Stan kept his eyes movingabout as he checked the meters.
The tape ran out of the head and dropped into the catcher basket andhydraulics squished as a delivery arm set a small block on the sampletable. Stan picked it up, turning it over to examine it.
It was a simple, rectangular block of black material, about the sizeof a cigarette lighter. On five sides were intricate patterns ofsilvery connector dots. An identifying number covered the sixth.Inside, Stan knew, lay complex circuitry, traced into the insulation.Tiny dots of alloy formed critical junctions, connected by minute,sprayed-in threads of conductor material. He glanced around.
Sornal watched anxiously. He looked at the little module block asthough it were alive and dangerous.
"Here," Stan told
him, "stick this in the test jig and run it."
Sornal carefully set the block into an aperture, then reached for aswitch. His hand seemed to freeze on the switch for a moment, then helooked back at Stan and snapped it on. Needles rose from their pins,flickered, then steadied.
Sornal appeared to gain a little confidence. He turned a dial, notedthe readings on a few meters, then twisted another dial. Finally, hefaced around.
"Looks all right," he said reluctantly, "only--"
"Looks all right, period." Stan turned to the helper.
"Get that machine rolling," he ordered. "And keep your eyes on thosemeters. Let's get this run finished right."