"No, sir."
"Then let's have it. No more delay! Bull by the horns! Expect it in an hour, Colihan. Understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
The boss clicked off. Colihan groaned audibly.
"What can I do?" he said to himself. He went to the Brain and shook his fist helplessly at it. "Damn you!" he cursed.
He had to think. He had to THINK!
It was an effort. He jerked about in his swivel chair like a hooked fish. He beat his hands on the desk top. He paced the floor and tore at the roots of his hair. Finally, exhausted, he gave up and flopped ungracefully on the office sofa, abandoning himself to the inevitable.
At that precise moment, the mind being the perverse organ it is, he was struck by an inspiration.
The Maintainovac bore an uneasy resemblance to Colihan's own think-machine. Wilson, the oldest employee of General Products, had been the operator of the maintenance Brain. He had been a nice old duffer, Wilson, always ready to do Colihan a favor. Now that he had been swept out in Colihan's own purge, the Personnel Manager had to deal with a new man named Lockwood.
Lockwood wasn't so easy to deal with.