company the way it should have been run--"
Torkleson had been slowly turning purple. Now he slammed his fist downon the desk. "We should just turn the company back to Management again,eh? Just let you have a free hand to rob us blind again. Well, it won'twork, Towne. Not while I'm secretary of this union. We fought long andhard for control of this corporation, just the way all the other unionsdid. I know. I was through it all." He sat back smugly, his cheeksquivering with emotion. "You might say that I was a national leader inthe movement. But I did it only for the men. The men want theirdividends. They own the stock, stock is supposed to pay dividends."
"But they're cutting their own throats," Walter wailed. "You can't builda company and make it grow the way I've been forced to run it."
"Details!" Torkleson snorted. "I don't care _how_ the dividends come in.That's your job. My job is to report a dividend every six months to themen who own the stock, the men working on the production lines."
Walter nodded bitterly. "And every year the dividend has to be higherthan the last, or you and your fat friends are likely to be thrown outof your jobs--right? No more steaks every night. No more privategold-plated Buicks for you boys. No more twenty-room mansions inWestchester. No more big game hunting in the Rockies. No, you don't haveto know anything but how to whip a board meeting into a frenzy sothey'll vote you into office again each year."
Torkleson's eyes glittered. His voice was very soft. "I've always likedyou, Walter. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you." He paused, thencontinued. "But here on my desk is a small bit of white paper. Unlessyou have my signature on that paper on the first of next month, you areout of a job, on grounds of incompetence. And I will personally see thatyou go on every White list in the country."
Walter felt the fight go out of him like a dying wind. He knew what theWhite list meant. No job, anywhere, ever, in management. No chance,ever, to join a union. No more house, no more weekly pay envelope. Hespread his hands weakly. "What do you want?" he asked.
"I want a production plan on my desk within twenty-four hours. A planthat will guarantee me a five per cent increase in dividends in the nextsix months. And you'd better move fast, because I'm not fooling."
* * * * *
Back in his cubbyhole downstairs, Walter stared hopelessly at thereports. He had known it would come to this sooner or later. They allknew it--Hendricks of Promotion, Pendleton of Sales, the wholemanagerial staff.
It was wrong, all the way down the line. Walter had fought it tooth andnail since the day Torkleson had installed the moose heads in Walter'sold office, and moved him down to the cubbyhole, under Bailey's watchfuleye. He had argued, and battled, and pleaded, and lost. He had watchedthe company deteriorate day by day. Now they blamed him, and threatenedhis job, and he was helpless to do anything about it.
He stared at the machines, clicking busily against the wall. An ideabegan to form in his head. Helpless?
Not quite. Not if the others could see it, go along with it. It was arepugnant idea. But there was one thing they could do that evenTorkleson and his fat-jowled crew would understand.
They could go on strike.
* * * * *
"It's ridiculous," the lawyer spluttered, staring at the circle of menin the room. "How can I give you an opinion on the legality of thething? There isn't any legal precedent that I know of." He mopped hisbald head with a large white handkerchief. "There just hasn't _been_ acase of a company's management striking against its own labor. It--itisn't done. Oh, there have been lockouts, but this isn't the same thingat all."
Walter nodded. "Well, we couldn't very well lock the men out, they ownthe plant. We were thinking more of a lock-_in_ sort of thing." Heturned to Paul Hendricks and the others. "We know how the machinesoperate. They don't. We also know that the data we keep in the machinesis essential to running the business; the machines figure productionquotas, organize blueprints, prepare distribution lists, test promotionschemes. It would take an office full of managerial experts to handleeven a single phase of the work without the machines."
The man at the window hissed, and Pendleton quickly snapped out thelights. They sat in darkness, hardly daring to breathe. Then: "Okay.Just the man next door coming home."
Pendleton sighed. "You're sure you didn't let them suspect anything,Walter? They wouldn't be watching the house?"
"I don't think so. And you all came alone, at different times." Henodded to the window guard, and turned back to the lawyer. "So we can'tbe sure of the legal end. You'd have to be on your toes."
"I still don't see how we could work it," Hendricks objected. His heavyface was wrinkled with worry. "Torkleson is no fool, and he has a lot ofpower in the National Association of Union Stockholders. All he'd needto do is ask for managers, and a dozen companies would throw them to himon loan. They'd be able to figure out the machine system and take overwithout losing a day."
"Not quite." Walter was grinning. "That's why I spoke of a lock-in.Before we leave, we throw the machines into feedback, every one of them.Lock them into reverberating circuits with a code sequence key. Then allthey'll do is buzz and sputter until the feedback is broken with thekey. And the key is our secret. It'll tie the Robling office into grannyknots, and scabs won't be able to get any more data out of the machinesthan Torkleson could. With a lawyer to handle injunctions, we've gotthem strapped."
"For what?" asked the lawyer.
Walter turned on him sharply. "For new contracts. Contracts to let usmanage the company the way it should be managed. If they won't do it,they won't get another Titanium product off their production lines forthe rest of the year, and their dividends will _really_ take anosedive."
"That means you'll have to beat Torkleson," said Bates. "He'll never goalong."
"Then he'll be left behind."
Hendricks stood up, brushing off his dungarees. "I'm with you, Walter.I've taken all of Torkleson that I want to. And I'm sick of the junkwe've been trying to sell people."
The others nodded. Walter rubbed his hands together. "All right.Tomorrow we work as usual, until the noon whistle. When we go off forlunch, we throw the machines into lock-step. Then we just don't comeback. But the big thing is to keep it quiet until the noon whistle." Heturned to the lawyer. "Are you with us, Jeff?"
Jeff Bates shook his head sadly. "I'm with you. I don't know why, youhaven't got a leg to stand on. But if you want to commit suicide, that'sall right with me." He picked up his briefcase, and started for thedoor. "I'll have your contract demands by tomorrow," he grinned. "Seeyou at the lynching."
They got down to the details of planning.
* * * * *
The news hit the afternoon telecasts the following day. Headlinesscreamed:
MANAGEMENT SABOTAGES ROBLING MACHINES OFFICE STRIKERS THREATEN LABOR ECONOMY ROBLING LOCK-IN CREATES PANDEMONIUM
There was a long, indignant statement from Daniel P. Torkleson,condemning Towne and his followers for "flagrant violation of managementcontracts and illegal fouling of managerial processes." Ben Starkey,President of the Board of American Steel, expressed "shock and regret";the Amalgamated Buttonhole Makers held a mass meeting in protest,demanding that "the instigators of this unprecedented crime bepermanently barred from positions in American Industry."
In Washington, the nation's economists were more cautious in theirviews. Yes, it _was_ an unprecedented action. Yes, there wouldundoubtedly be repercussions--many industries were having managerialtroubles; but as for long term effects, it was difficult to say just atpresent.
On the Robling production lines the workmen blinked at each other, andat their machines, and wondered vaguely what it was all about.
Yet in all the upheaval, there was very little expression of surprise.Step by step, through the years, economists had been watching with waryeyes the growing movement toward union, control of industry. Even as farback as the '40's and '50's unions, finding themselves oppressed withthe administrat
ion of growing sums of money--pension funds, welfarefunds, medical insurance funds, accruing union dues--had begun investingin corporate stock. It was no news to them that money could make money.And what stock more logical to buy than stock in their own companies?
At first it had been a quiet movement. One by one the smaller firms hadtottered, bled drier and drier by increasing production costs,increasing labor demands, and an ever-dwindling margin of profit. One byone they had seen their stocks tottering as they