nd, walked back to
the desk, and tore the pink card into the smallest possible shreds.

The inter-com beeped.

"Mr. Moss wants you," said his secretary.

"Colihan!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't act so innocent, Colihan. Your report isn't complete. It should
have been ready by now."

"Yes, sir!"

"You're not ACTING, Colihan. You're stalling!"

"_No_, sir."

"Then where's _your_ Personnelovac report, Colihan? Eh? Where is it?"

Colihan wrung his hands. "Almost ready, sir," he lied. "Just running it
through now, sir."

"Speed it up. Speed it up! Time's a'wastin', boy. You're not _afraid_,
are you, Colihan?"

"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.

"Stay out of my files, mister," he said.

Colihan tried to look superior. "I'm the senior around here, Lockwood.
Let's not forget that."

"Them files is my responsibility." Lockwood, a burly young man,
stationed himself between Colihan and the file case.

"I want to check something. I need the service records of my Brain."

"Where's your Requisition Paper?"

"I haven't got _time_ for that," said Colihan truthfully. "I need it
_now_, you fool."

Lockwood set his face like a Rushmore memorial.

"Be a good fellow, can't you?" Colihan quickly saw that wheedling wasn't
the answer.

"All right," he said, starting for the door. "I just wanted to help
you."

He opened the door just a crack. Sure en