"I know that, stupid," Torkleson roared. "I ordered them there. Did they get the machines fixed?"
"Uh—well, no, as a matter of fact—"
"Well, what's holding them up?"
Bailey's face was a study in misery. "The machines just go in circles. The circuits are locked. They just reverberate."
"Then call American Electronics. Have them send down an expert crew."
Bailey shook his head. "They won't come."
"They what?"
"They said thanks, but no thanks. They don't want their fingers in this pie at all."
"Wait until I get O'Gilvy on the phone."
"It won't do any good, sir. They've got their own management troubles. They're scared silly of a sympathy strike."