Reject

CHAPTER 9

  Tools, sellotape and scissors were so vulnerable to being stolen that the only way to keep any was to lock them away securely in a drawer, preferably with a proper security deadlock since workers on the night shift had been known to borrow a master key and ferret through the cupboards, filing cabinets and desks in search of them. Grey had made a special study of the subject and come to the conclusion that the rate of loss followed the radioactive decay laws. He had even worked out the half life of sellotape as 37.25 hours. (The half life is the time taken for the number of objects to reduce to half what it was at the beginning. Thus, taking time zero as the moment of requisition from the stores, a box of 12 reels of sellotape would be reduced to 6 reels 37.25 hours later, 3 reels after 74.5 hours and so on). He had given up ordering things by the box and taken to drawing items singly to the intense annoyance of the storeman, who was gradually accumulating odd boxes of everything with one item removed. It satisfied Grey's intellect that, because the decay laws only applied to statistically meaningful numbers of objects, the survival time of a single piece was incalculable and therefore unpredictable.

  The pilot plant was particularly affected by the lack of tools so that, over the years, Rees had found ways to do most of the running work with only a file, which was covered in grimy residues of compound and had no handle - only the tang end, somewhat buckled and a screwdriver with a chipped blade and a bent shaft, similarly encrusted. These two things were so tatty that they were considered to be beneath the dignity of even the meanest of thieves but in practice were extremely versatile. On Monday morning, Dave had to remove the metal seals from three new barrels of resin which had come in for the High Impact-Strength project. He could think of no easy way to get them off with his universal toolkit and so was forced to seek out a fitter in order to borrow a pair of pliers. As usual, when he wanted an engineer, he couldn't find one. On his second fruitless tour of the factory, he met the Safety Officer who was looking harassed.

  "Factory Inspector will be round later. Make sure that everything in your area is shipshape. Safety guards all in place and that sort of thing."

  "Our pilot plant is always a model of efficiency and quiet excellence" he quipped. "You wouldn't happen to have a pair of pliers on you, I suppose? No? Pity!"

  After three circuits without success he decided, in frustration, to see if he could open them with his two tools. Using the screwdriver as a chisel and the blade of the file as a hammer, he managed to split the metal foil across two-thirds of its width on the first of the drums and then could get it no further because the screwdriver had come up against a lug on the screw cap underneath the seal. He changed direction and pushed the blade in under one side of the split. Levering down, he managed to pucker up the side. It was on the move. He gave it one more really hard wrench, the foil split, suddenly releasing the screwdriver and the back of his hand raked across the ragged edges of the mutilated cap, slicing it open across all four knuckles. He dropped the tools and stared incredulously at the exposed details of his hand. At the bottom of the cut, a bluish tinge suggested bone and as he watched, blood began to ooze from the lacerated flesh on either side and then run out over his hand and forearm.

  Cursing and leaving a liberal red trail on the floor, he made his way to the surgery. From halfway along, he could see a notice on the door and, when he was close enough to read it:

  'Gone on First-aid Course. Report to Gatehouse'

  It was a long way from surgery to gatehouse and passers by stopped to stare at the white-coated figure, bleeding profusely from one hand which he held at head height with the other, squeezing it tightly at the wrist to staunch the flow and muttering very nasty things about the nurse to anyone who caught his eye. The gateman watched his coming with awe.

  "What the devil have you done to yourself?"

  Dave told him briefly while the gateman held his hand under the washroom tap and flooded water over the wound.

  "This is too serious for me to handle. You'll have to go back to the surgery, I'll get the nurse over there by the time you return. She'll have some real first aid to try herself out on, for a change!"

  The passers by stopped again to stare at the, now red-and-white coated figure, this time wearing a bloodstained towel around his hand, tramping through the factory, still reviling the unfortunate nurse.

  "Why is it that you are never in when I hurt myself?" he enquired as she effected repairs.

  "That's because you're not organised. I usually expect written permission before anybody has an accident. You will be making my report book look most untidy!" She wound a final loop of bandage around his hand and pinned it neatly into place. "There, that's a tidy job, even if I say it myself! Now don't forget, if you do anything in future, make sure it's not between twelve and one oclock any day of the week and absolutely not on Monday mornings, because that's when I do the First-aiders' course."

  Grey was away on a week's Management Development course at Head Office so he took his teabreak in the company of Smith (who had remarked that Grey had confused the Management Development Course with a Course for Development Managers. Folklore would never have agreed to him going on the latter!). He scrutinised Dave's bandaged hand. "How did you manage that?"

  "I was trying to take the cap off a drum without a pair of pliers. I slipped."

  "Don't you know how? It's a piece of cake. Let me show you."

  He led the way to the pilot plant and picked up the file which still lay where Dave had dropped it. "You put the end of the handle through the little hole, here, give it a bit of a twist and then", he smacked the palm of his hand smartly against the other end of the file and the cap popped off, "hey-presto, the job is done!"

  After tea, he returned thoughtfully to the pilot plant and the third drum. He picked up the file and inserted the tang end into the little hole as Smith had done, gave the blade a half twist and smartly banged his palm against the other end. The foil cap took off like a bullet just as the Safety Officer walked in through the doorway, accompanied by a man in a dark suit. It flew between them at eye level, pinged off the door surround and landed neatly in a scrap bin.

  The safety officer's eyes narrowed. "Dave, I'd like to introduce you to our Factory Inspector. This man who's just done his best to put out your eyes is our new recruit to the Development Department. Shouldn't expect anything better, I suppose!"

  "What did you do to your hand?" enquired the Factory Inspector.

  "I'm sorry about that" he waved the file apologetically at the scrap bin into which the missile had disappeared. "I'm learning how to take the tops off these drums. I did this to myself opening that one." He indicated the distorted wreckage of the foil cap on the bloodstained drum. "Not doing terribly well, am I?"

  "You know what they say" the Factory Inspector said heavily. "Always have the right tools for the job."

  "We don't have a pair of pliers, you see" he countered.

  "Make sure that he has a pair, it would be a pity to let him damage himself any further."

  The Safety Officer pulled a notepad from his pocket and wrote out a chitty, then and there. "Go and get them from the stores, straight away!"

  "Thank you."

  "All part of the service!"

  He took the new pliers to the engineers' workshop and had the legend 'TECH' inscribed on both sides. He then had a hole bored through the end of one of the handles and a length of chain welded through it. The fitter returned with him to the pilot plant, bored a hole in the framework of the 'Old 4D' and 'pop' rivetted the other end of the chain to it so that the pliers hung down out of sight behind the casing. Satisfied, he locked the doors and went home.

  The next morning, Folklore's secretary accosted him on his way into the department.

  "Mr Folklore wishes you to go with him to British United Plastics, to visit their new resin plant. Would you like to have a word with him straight away."

  "Yes, but why me? He has never taken me on an outsid
e visit before."

  "I expect you'll find out. He's waiting for you". She knocked on the door of Folklore's office and held it open for him to enter.

  "Good morning, Dave. I do hope your hand is a little better. Good man! That's the spirit! I would like you to accompany me on an outside visit, it will broaden your experience. Do you have your car here?"

  The penny dropped, but a trip out was a trip out. In Grey's absence, Folklore was deprived of his chauffeur and that made Dave next in line. He reflected that he had never mentioned his transport arrangements in Folklore's presence and so he must have gone to the trouble to find out for himself. He meekly replied "yes".*

  "Good. We will be out for lunch. I don't think I need to remind you to be cautious in what you say and to keep your eyes and ears open. If you bring your car round to the department, we can be off straight away."

  He made his way to the staff car park, all of fifty yards, and drove round to the gatehouse, where he was stopped at the barrier and had to get out to explain to the security man that he was collecting Mr Folklore from the Development Department. He got back into his seat, the barrier was lifted and he drove down to the entrance to the department, got out again and collected Folklore from his office,