"Oh, oh." Dachmann sighed. "Here's trouble. Wizow doesn't come out here unless he's got something."
The blocky production chief looked coldly at them as they approached the car.
"It'll be a lot better," he growled, "if you two clear through my office before you start wandering all over the grounds." He looked at Stan.
"Got a problem for you. Maybe we'll get some action out of you on this one." He held out a few sheets of paper.
"Hold up over in the components line." He jabbed at a sheet with a forefinger.
"Take a trip over there and kick it up." He glanced at Dachmann. "Got another one for you."
Stan took the papers, studying them. Then he looked up. There was very little question as to the bottleneck here. Each material shortage traced 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'm not going to tell you how. Just get to the trouble and fix it. All I want is production. Leave the smart talk to the technical people." He turned.
"Get in, Dachmann. I've got a headache for you."