d the inevitable
crisis.

Until Shop Steward Bailey suddenly found himself in charge of a dozen
sputtering machines and an empty office.

* * * * *

Torkleson was waiting to see the shop steward when he came in next
morning. The union boss's office was crowded with TV cameras, newsmen,
and puzzled workmen. The floor was littered with piles of
ominous-looking paper. Torkleson was shouting into a telephone, and
three lawyers were shouting into Torkleson's ear. He spotted Bailey and
waved him through the crowd into an inner office room. "Well? Did they
get them fixed?"

Bailey spread his hands nervously. "The electronics boys have been at it
since yesterday afternoon. Practically had the machines apart on the
floor."

"I know that, stupid," Torkleson roared. "I ordered them there. Did they
get the machines _fixed_?"

"Uh--well, no, as a matter of fact--"

"Well, _what's holding them up_?"

Bailey's face was a study in misery. "The machines just go in circles.
The circuits are locked. They just reverberate."

"Then call American Electronics. Have them send down an expert crew."

Bailey shook his head. "They won't come."

"They _what_?"

"They said thanks, but no thanks. They don't want their fingers in this
pie at all."

"Wait until I get O'Gilvy on the phone."

"It won't do any good, sir. They've got their own management troubles.
They're scared silly of a sympathy strike."

The door burst open, and a lawyer stuck his head in. "What about those
injunctions, Dan?"

"Get them moving," Torkleson howled. "They'll start those machines
again, or I'll have them in jail so fast--" He turned back to Bailey.
"What about the production lines?"

The shop steward's face lighted. "They slipped up, there. There was one
program that hadn't been coded into the machines yet. Just a minor item,
but it's a starter. We found it in Towne's desk, blueprints all ready,
promotion all planned."

"Good, good," Torkleson breathed. "I have a directors' meeting right
now, have to get the workers quieted down a bit. You put the program
through, and give those electronics men three more hours to unsnarl this
knot, or we throw them out of the union." He started for the door. "What
were the blueprints for?"

"Trash cans," said Bailey. "Pure titanium-steel trash cans."

It took Robling Titanium approximately two days to convert its entire
production line to titanium-steel trash cans. With the total