away!'
'He's going nowhere!' interrupted Robson, firmly.
'But this is an emergency,' insisted Harris.
'These people are in my custody until I decide what to do with them.'
'But my wife... ' Harris was almost pleading.
Robson thumped his fist on the side of the Cone. 'Damn you, Harris! I won't have you bringing your domestic problems into this refinery.' Then he turned and shouted at the rest of his crew working in the Hall. 'And that goes for the lot of you!'
Harris was appalled. This time Robson had gone too far. 'Mr Robson,' he said through clenched teeth, 'my wife is ill. If anything happens to her, I'll... '
Robson was completely taken aback by his second-incommand's defiance. But he had been long enough in the business to know that if he lost the respect of his crew, there was nothing left.
'All right, Mr Harris,' he replied, without blinking his eyes. 'One hour!'
'Mrs Harris?'
'Yes?'
'We're maintenance controllers, madam. I wonder if we could have a few words with your husband?'
Maggie had answered her front door to two men. One of them was small and fat. The other was tall and thin. Both of them were dressed in white cap, tunic, and trousers. They looked like medical orderlies.
Maggie rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. She was absolutely drained of all energy. 'My husband isn't here,' she said. 'He's at the Compound.'
It was Mr Oak who replied. He was the small, fat one, with a cherubic, almost circular face, which seemed to be fixed in a perpetual smile. 'Oh dear,' he said, 'that does make it rather difficult.
We have to carry out an inspection.'
'Inspection?'
'Your gas cooker, madam. In the kitchen.'
Maggie looked blank.
Mr Oak exchanged a puzzled look with his colleague. Then he turned back to Maggie and said, 'Your husband didn't tell you?'
'No, he didn't,' sighed Maggie wearily. 'Look, I'm not feeling very well. Can't it wait until another day?'
Mr Oak shook his head, but retained his smile. 'Oh, I'm afraid not, madam. It's got to be done without delay. Chief Robson's instructions.'
Maggie groaned. 'Chief Robson! That man never stops giving out instructions. Well, I suppose you'd better come in.' She opened the door wide, and stood back.
'Thank you, madam,' said Mr Oak, bowing politely. 'After you, Mr Quill.'
The tall, thin man entered the hallway first. He was carrying a small black leather bag. Mr Oak followed him in.
'Allow me to introduce ourselves, madam,' said small and fat.
'My name's Mr Oak. And this is my colleague, Mr Quill.'
Mr Quill didn't speak. In fact he never spoke. He slightly raised his cap, and bowed politely.
Maggie closed the front door and said impatiently, 'Could you please be quick? I really am not very well.' She pointed to a door on the other side of the hallway. 'That's the kitchen.'
'Thank you madam,' said Mr Oak. 'And don't you worry about us. You won't even know we're here. Will she, Mr Quill?'
Maggie disappeared quickly back into her bedroom. Only then did Mr Oak's smile finally fade. He nodded to tall and thin, and they both went into the kitchen.
Mr Quill went straight to the back patio door of the kitchen, and for a moment just stared at it. His pale, gaunt, funereal features were quite impassive.
'The bag, Mr Quill,' said short and fat. He was already inspecting the cooker they were supposed to be servicing.
Mr Quill took the small black leather bag to the cooker, placed it on a working top alongside, and opened it.
Mr Oak reached into the bag, and took out two pairs of plain white gloves...
'Mr Robson, sir!' Price was calling from the Control Cone.
'Message from Control Rig!'
Robson was on the observation platform, checking temperature gauges. 'What do they want?' he yelled.
'There's an excessive pressure build-up in their pipeline feed to us!'
Robson hurried across to the Cone, snatched the telekation print-out message from Price. 'Ask them how much,' he ordered.
'Mr Robson!' Van Lutyens was rushing across from the
'He's going nowhere!' interrupted Robson, firmly.
'But this is an emergency,' insisted Harris.
'These people are in my custody until I decide what to do with them.'
'But my wife... ' Harris was almost pleading.
Robson thumped his fist on the side of the Cone. 'Damn you, Harris! I won't have you bringing your domestic problems into this refinery.' Then he turned and shouted at the rest of his crew working in the Hall. 'And that goes for the lot of you!'
Harris was appalled. This time Robson had gone too far. 'Mr Robson,' he said through clenched teeth, 'my wife is ill. If anything happens to her, I'll... '
Robson was completely taken aback by his second-incommand's defiance. But he had been long enough in the business to know that if he lost the respect of his crew, there was nothing left.
'All right, Mr Harris,' he replied, without blinking his eyes. 'One hour!'
'Mrs Harris?'
'Yes?'
'We're maintenance controllers, madam. I wonder if we could have a few words with your husband?'
Maggie had answered her front door to two men. One of them was small and fat. The other was tall and thin. Both of them were dressed in white cap, tunic, and trousers. They looked like medical orderlies.
Maggie rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. She was absolutely drained of all energy. 'My husband isn't here,' she said. 'He's at the Compound.'
It was Mr Oak who replied. He was the small, fat one, with a cherubic, almost circular face, which seemed to be fixed in a perpetual smile. 'Oh dear,' he said, 'that does make it rather difficult.
We have to carry out an inspection.'
'Inspection?'
'Your gas cooker, madam. In the kitchen.'
Maggie looked blank.
Mr Oak exchanged a puzzled look with his colleague. Then he turned back to Maggie and said, 'Your husband didn't tell you?'
'No, he didn't,' sighed Maggie wearily. 'Look, I'm not feeling very well. Can't it wait until another day?'
Mr Oak shook his head, but retained his smile. 'Oh, I'm afraid not, madam. It's got to be done without delay. Chief Robson's instructions.'
Maggie groaned. 'Chief Robson! That man never stops giving out instructions. Well, I suppose you'd better come in.' She opened the door wide, and stood back.
'Thank you, madam,' said Mr Oak, bowing politely. 'After you, Mr Quill.'
The tall, thin man entered the hallway first. He was carrying a small black leather bag. Mr Oak followed him in.
'Allow me to introduce ourselves, madam,' said small and fat.
'My name's Mr Oak. And this is my colleague, Mr Quill.'
Mr Quill didn't speak. In fact he never spoke. He slightly raised his cap, and bowed politely.
Maggie closed the front door and said impatiently, 'Could you please be quick? I really am not very well.' She pointed to a door on the other side of the hallway. 'That's the kitchen.'
'Thank you madam,' said Mr Oak. 'And don't you worry about us. You won't even know we're here. Will she, Mr Quill?'
Maggie disappeared quickly back into her bedroom. Only then did Mr Oak's smile finally fade. He nodded to tall and thin, and they both went into the kitchen.
Mr Quill went straight to the back patio door of the kitchen, and for a moment just stared at it. His pale, gaunt, funereal features were quite impassive.
'The bag, Mr Quill,' said short and fat. He was already inspecting the cooker they were supposed to be servicing.
Mr Quill took the small black leather bag to the cooker, placed it on a working top alongside, and opened it.
Mr Oak reached into the bag, and took out two pairs of plain white gloves...
'Mr Robson, sir!' Price was calling from the Control Cone.
'Message from Control Rig!'
Robson was on the observation platform, checking temperature gauges. 'What do they want?' he yelled.
'There's an excessive pressure build-up in their pipeline feed to us!'
Robson hurried across to the Cone, snatched the telekation print-out message from Price. 'Ask them how much,' he ordered.
'Mr Robson!' Van Lutyens was rushing across from the
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