3. Technical Difficulties

Al Simpson was in a sour mood. Apparently there had been some kind of incident with one of the Wildcatters that needed his immediate attention. Probably another contract dispute. It’s always something on this rock he thought to himself.

 He was just getting up to leave when a haggard looking Bill Andrews stepped through the doorway and into his office. Bill was the maintenance chief on Acheron, and as volatile as the weather. He didn’t knock.

 “Got a minute, Al?” He took off his hardhat and wiped his brow with the oil-stained rag that hung perpetually from his back pocket. His face was set in a grimy scowl which the rag only seemed to make worse. Simpson wondered offhand if he had ever washed it - or himself, for that matter.

 “Sure, have a seat.” Simpson said impassively.

 Bill Andrews did not sit.

 “The new amplifiers we installed in the transmitter just fried all of the relays between the dish and operations. Hazard a guess why?”

 Simpson stared at him blankly. “You’re the maintenance chief, you tell me.”

 “They were the wrong spec. I chewed out Weitz for the screwup but then I checked the log and saw that you changed the parts requisition.”

 Simpson sighed. “Look, orders come to me and I push them through. I either hear nothing back and the part appears on the next supply ship or it comes back red. When it comes back red I switch it out with something the company will pay for. That one must have come back red. I can’t keep track of them all.”

 “Well you need to keep track of this one” Andrews said tightly. He took a breath and his face flushed crimson. “When I specifi….”

 Simpson cut him off. “How long?”

 Andrews exhaled. “Eighty hours, maybe more depending on what parts we have on hand.” His face was returning to its normal, grimy coloring. He turned to leave.

 “Off-world comms will be down for the interim.”