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Bigassignment."
"Yes, sir!" said Colihan eagerly.
"If Grimswitch is a sour apple, maybe _other_ department heads are, too.And who knows? IT knows."
Moss pointed a finger at the Personnelovac.
"I'm rounding up all the aptitude records of the department heads.They'll be in your hands in the next couple of days. Feed 'em in! Root'em out! Spot the deadwood, Colihan! ACT!"
"ACT!" echoed Colihan, his face flushed.
The old man got up and went over to the Brain.
"Marvelous machine," he said. "Honest. That's what I like about it."
As Moss went out the door, Colihan could have sworn he saw thePersonnelovac wink. He walked over to it and fingered the lever. It wasturned off, all right.
* * * * *
It was an interesting week for Colihan.
Morgan, the production man, was fired.
Grimswitch came up to see the Personnel man and tried to punch him inthe nose. Fortunately, he was a little too drunk, and the blow wentwild.
Seegrum, the Shipovac operator, was fired.
Douglas, the Treasurer, was permitted to keep his job, but thePersonnelovac issued a dire threat if improvement wasn't rapidlyforthcoming.
Wilson, the firm's oldest employee, was fired.
In fact, seven out of General Product's twelve department heads weregreeted by the ominous pink card.
Colihan, no longer plagued by doubt, felt that life was definitely worthliving. He smiled all the time. His memos were snappier than ever. Hisheels clicked merrily down the office hallways. He had p-e-p.
Then, the most obvious thing in the world happened--and Colihan justhadn't foreseen it.
_His_ record card came up.
* * * * *
"Have you run through the stack yet?" Miss Blanche asked.
"Er--just about." Colihan looked at her guiltily. He pushed his glassesback on the bridge of his nose. "Couple more here," he said.
"Well, we might as well finish up. Mr. Moss would like to have theschedule completed this afternoon."
"It will be. That's _all_, Miss Blanche."
His secretary shrugged and left. Colihan went to the Personnelovac withthe record in his hand. The file number was 630.
"Don't let me down," he told the Brain.
He placed the pin-holed card into the machine and flipped the lever. Itwinked, chittered, chortled, and chuckled with almost sinister softness.When the card was burped out at the other end, Colihan took it out withhis eyes firmly shut.
* * * * *
He walked over to the Action Chute mechanically. His hand hesitatedbefore he dropped it inside. Then he changed his mind, walked back tothe 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 shouldhave 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 itthrough 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 anhour, 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 hisfist 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 hookedfish. He beat his hands on the desk top. He paced the floor and tore atthe roots of his hair. Finally, exhausted, he gave up and floppedungracefully on the office sofa, abandoning himself to the inevitable.
At that precise moment, the mind being the perverse organ it is, he wasstruck by an inspiration.
The Maintainovac bore an uneasy resemblance to Colihan's ownthink-machine. Wilson, the oldest employee of General Products, had beenthe 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 sweptout in Colihan's own purge, the Personnel Manager had to deal with a newman 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'tthe answer.
"All right," he said, starting for the door. "I just wanted to helpyou."
He opened the door just a crack. Sure enough, Lockwood responded.
"How do you mean, help _me_?"
"Didn't you know?" Colihan turned to face him. "I'm running through anaptitude check on the Personnelovac. Special department head check. Mr.Moss's orders."
"So?"
"I was just getting around to yours. But I figured I'd better make surethe Brain was functioning properly." He grew confidential. "You know,that darned machine has been firing _everyone_ lately."
A little rockslide began on Lockwood's stoney face.
"Well ..." he said. "If that's the case--"
"I knew you'd understand," said Colihan very smoothly.
* * * * *
Eagerly, the Personnel Manager collated the records of thePersonnelovac. They were far more complex than any employee record, andit took Colihan the better part of an hour.
Any moment he expected to hear the President's angry voice over theinter-com. His anxiety made him fumble, but at last, the job was done.
He slipped the record, marked by a galaxy of pinholes, into the Brain.
"Now we'll see," he said grimly. "Now we'll find out what's eating thismonster."
He flipped the switch.
The Personnelovac winked.
It was several minutes before it digested the information in itschamber. Then it chittered.
It chortled.
It chuckled.
Colihan held his breath until the BURP came.
The card appeared. It read:
"_Subject #PV8. Mech. Rat. 9987. Mem. Rat. 9995. Last Per. Vac._
"_An. None. Cur. Rat. 100._
"_Analysis: Subject operating at maximum efficiency. Equipped to performat peak level. Is completely honest and does not exhibit bias,prejudice, or sentiment in establishing personnel evaluations.Cumulative increase in mnemonic ability. Analytic ability improving._"
Colihan walked slowly over to the Action Chute as he finished readingthe card.
"_However_," it read, "_because of mechanistic approach to humanisticevaluation, subject displays inability to incorporate human equation inanalytical computation, resulting in technically accurate buthumanistically incorrect deductions._
"_Recommendation: Fire him._"
Colihan dropped the pink card into the chute. In half an hour, theAction wheels of General Products concluded their work, and thePersonnelovac had winked for the last time.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor
spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
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"Yes, sir!" said Colihan eagerly.
"If Grimswitch is a sour apple, maybe _other_ department heads are, too.And who knows? IT knows."
Moss pointed a finger at the Personnelovac.
"I'm rounding up all the aptitude records of the department heads.They'll be in your hands in the next couple of days. Feed 'em in! Root'em out! Spot the deadwood, Colihan! ACT!"
"ACT!" echoed Colihan, his face flushed.
The old man got up and went over to the Brain.
"Marvelous machine," he said. "Honest. That's what I like about it."
As Moss went out the door, Colihan could have sworn he saw thePersonnelovac wink. He walked over to it and fingered the lever. It wasturned off, all right.
* * * * *
It was an interesting week for Colihan.
Morgan, the production man, was fired.
Grimswitch came up to see the Personnel man and tried to punch him inthe nose. Fortunately, he was a little too drunk, and the blow wentwild.
Seegrum, the Shipovac operator, was fired.
Douglas, the Treasurer, was permitted to keep his job, but thePersonnelovac issued a dire threat if improvement wasn't rapidlyforthcoming.
Wilson, the firm's oldest employee, was fired.
In fact, seven out of General Product's twelve department heads weregreeted by the ominous pink card.
Colihan, no longer plagued by doubt, felt that life was definitely worthliving. He smiled all the time. His memos were snappier than ever. Hisheels clicked merrily down the office hallways. He had p-e-p.
Then, the most obvious thing in the world happened--and Colihan justhadn't foreseen it.
_His_ record card came up.
* * * * *
"Have you run through the stack yet?" Miss Blanche asked.
"Er--just about." Colihan looked at her guiltily. He pushed his glassesback on the bridge of his nose. "Couple more here," he said.
"Well, we might as well finish up. Mr. Moss would like to have theschedule completed this afternoon."
"It will be. That's _all_, Miss Blanche."
His secretary shrugged and left. Colihan went to the Personnelovac withthe record in his hand. The file number was 630.
"Don't let me down," he told the Brain.
He placed the pin-holed card into the machine and flipped the lever. Itwinked, chittered, chortled, and chuckled with almost sinister softness.When the card was burped out at the other end, Colihan took it out withhis eyes firmly shut.
* * * * *
He walked over to the Action Chute mechanically. His hand hesitatedbefore he dropped it inside. Then he changed his mind, walked back tothe 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 shouldhave 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 itthrough 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 anhour, 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 hisfist 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 hookedfish. He beat his hands on the desk top. He paced the floor and tore atthe roots of his hair. Finally, exhausted, he gave up and floppedungracefully on the office sofa, abandoning himself to the inevitable.
At that precise moment, the mind being the perverse organ it is, he wasstruck by an inspiration.
The Maintainovac bore an uneasy resemblance to Colihan's ownthink-machine. Wilson, the oldest employee of General Products, had beenthe 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 sweptout in Colihan's own purge, the Personnel Manager had to deal with a newman 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'tthe answer.
"All right," he said, starting for the door. "I just wanted to helpyou."
He opened the door just a crack. Sure enough, Lockwood responded.
"How do you mean, help _me_?"
"Didn't you know?" Colihan turned to face him. "I'm running through anaptitude check on the Personnelovac. Special department head check. Mr.Moss's orders."
"So?"
"I was just getting around to yours. But I figured I'd better make surethe Brain was functioning properly." He grew confidential. "You know,that darned machine has been firing _everyone_ lately."
A little rockslide began on Lockwood's stoney face.
"Well ..." he said. "If that's the case--"
"I knew you'd understand," said Colihan very smoothly.
* * * * *
Eagerly, the Personnel Manager collated the records of thePersonnelovac. They were far more complex than any employee record, andit took Colihan the better part of an hour.
Any moment he expected to hear the President's angry voice over theinter-com. His anxiety made him fumble, but at last, the job was done.
He slipped the record, marked by a galaxy of pinholes, into the Brain.
"Now we'll see," he said grimly. "Now we'll find out what's eating thismonster."
He flipped the switch.
The Personnelovac winked.
It was several minutes before it digested the information in itschamber. Then it chittered.
It chortled.
It chuckled.
Colihan held his breath until the BURP came.
The card appeared. It read:
"_Subject #PV8. Mech. Rat. 9987. Mem. Rat. 9995. Last Per. Vac._
"_An. None. Cur. Rat. 100._
"_Analysis: Subject operating at maximum efficiency. Equipped to performat peak level. Is completely honest and does not exhibit bias,prejudice, or sentiment in establishing personnel evaluations.Cumulative increase in mnemonic ability. Analytic ability improving._"
Colihan walked slowly over to the Action Chute as he finished readingthe card.
"_However_," it read, "_because of mechanistic approach to humanisticevaluation, subject displays inability to incorporate human equation inanalytical computation, resulting in technically accurate buthumanistically incorrect deductions._
"_Recommendation: Fire him._"
Colihan dropped the pink card into the chute. In half an hour, theAction wheels of General Products concluded their work, and thePersonnelovac had winked for the last time.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor
spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
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