Norden bobbed his head in agreement. "I fear that I shall call for cancellation of contract and the forfeit sum if your answers are not forthcoming."
Thomas nodded silently. The forfeit—if this whole gang bopped their contracts back he'd lose his shirt.
He watched them file out. And his eyes dropped from their stare out of the window to the pile of questions on the desk. A pile of production problems!
Sheer, unadulterated hell.
Well, he might as well call the engineer and let him handle this. It was one of the things that the engineer got a kick out of. As a physicist, this was not his job—and as an intelligent physicist, he did know how to get things done. Everything for its own use; if he didn't know, he knew where to find out.
Thomas went out to the laboratory and faced his tungsten box. A twinge of wonder flashed through his mind. It bothered him.
Was this an admission of partial defeat?
Not at all. This was good sense. Call in the engineer to clear up this mess, since his income and well-being depended upon it. Once these contracts were clear and closed—well, time enough!
He pressed the button.