Multhaus plugged in an emergency board and began to compensate by hand while the others searched frantically for the trouble.
Hand compensation of feeder-valve oscillation is pure intuition; if you wait until the meters show that damping is necessary, it may be too late—you have to second-guess the machine and figure out what’s coming before it happens and compensate then. You not only have to judge time, but magnitude; overcompensation is ruinous, too.
Multhaus, the Chief Powerman’s Mate, sat behind the emergency board, a vernier dial in each hand and both eyes on an oscilloscope screen. His red, beefy face was corded and knotted with tension, and his skin glistened with oily perspiration. He didn’t say a word, and his fingers barely moved as he held a green line reasonably steady on that screen.
Mike the Angel, using unangelic language in a steady, muttering stream, worked to find the circuit that held the secret of the ruinous feedback tendency, while other powermen plugged and unplugged meter jacks, flipped switches, and juggled tools.
In the midst of all this, in rolled Snookums.
Whether Snookums knew that his own existence was in danger is problematical. Like the human brain, his own had no pain or sensory circuits within it; in addition, his knowledge of robotics was small—he didn’t even know that his brain was in Cargo Hold One. He thought it was in his head, if he thought about it at all.
Nonetheless, he knew something was wrong, and as soon as his “curiosity” circuits were activated, he set out in search of the trouble, his little treads rolling at high speed.
Leda Crannon saw him heading down a companionway and called after him. “Where are you going, Snookums?”
“Looking for data,” answered Snookums, slowing a little.
“Wait! I’ll come with you!”