As she was coming back alone he stopped her, having seen to it that I was present. “Umm-Miss McNye. . . .”
“Yes?”
“I think you should know, uh, well…Chief Inspector Dalrymple is a married man.”
“Are you suggesting that my conduct has been improper?”
“No, but-”
“Then mind your own business!” Before he could answer she added, “It might interest you that he told me about your four children.”
Tiny sputtered. “Why. . . why, I’m not even married!”
“So? That makes it worse, doesn’t it?” She swept out.
Tiny quit trying to keep her in her room, but told her to notify him whenever she left it. It kept him busy riding herd on her. I refrained from suggesting that he get Dalrymple to spell him.
But I was surprised when he told me to put through the order dismissing her. I had been pretty sure he was going to drop it.
“What’s the charge?” I asked. “Insubordination!”
I kept mum. He said, “Well, she won’t take orders.”
“She does her work okay. You give her orders you wouldn’t give to one of the men and that a man wouldn’t take.”
“You disagree with my orders?”
“That’s not the point. You can’t prove the charge, Tiny.”
“Well, charge her with being female! I can prove that.”
I didn’t say anything. “Dad,” he added wheedlingly, “you know how to write it. No personal animus against Miss McNye, but it is felt that as a matter of policy, and so forth and so on.”
I wrote it and gave it to Hammond privately. Radio techs are sworn to secrecy but it didn’t surprise me when I was stopped by O’Connor, one of our best metalsmiths. “Look, Dad, is it true that the Old Man is getting rid of Brooksie?”
“Brooksie?”
“Brooksie McNye, she says to call her Brooks. Is it true?” I admitted it, then went on, wondering if I should have lied.
It takes four hours, about, for a ship to lift from Earth. The shift before the Pole Star was due, with Miss Gloria’s relief, the timekeeper brought me two separation slips. Two men were nothing; we averaged more each ship. An hour later he reached me by supervisors circuit, and asked me to come to the time office. I was out on the rim inspecting a weld job; I said no. “Please, Mr. Witherspoon,” he begged, “you’ve got to.” When one of the boys doesn’t call me ‘Dad,’ it means something. I went.
There was a queue like mail call outside his door; I went in and he shut the door on them. He handed me a double handful of separation slips. “What in the great depths of night is this?” I asked.
“There’s dozens more I ain’t had time to write up yet.”
None of the slips had any reason given-just “own choice.” “Look, Jimmie what goes on here?”
“Can’t you dope it out, Dad? Shucks, I’m turning in one, too.”
I told him my guess and he admitted it. So I took the slips, called Tiny and told him for the love of Heaven to come to his office.
Tiny chewed his lip considerable. “But, Dad, they can’t strike. It’s a non-strike contract with bonds from every union concerned.”
“It’s no strike, Tiny. You can’t stop a man from quitting.”
“They’ll pay their own fares back, so help me!”
“Guess again. Most of ’em have worked long enough for the free ride.”
“We’ll have to hire others quick, or we’ll miss our date.”
“Worse than that, Tiny, we won’t finish. By next dark period you won’t even have a maintenance crew.”
“I’ve never had a gang of men quit me. I’ll talk to them.”
“No good, Tiny. You’re up against something too strong for you.”
“You’re against me, Dad?”
“I’m never against you, Tiny.”
He said, “Dad, you think I’m pig-headed, but I’m right. You can’t have one woman among several hundred men. It drives ’em nutty.”
I didn’t say it affected him the same way; I said, “Is that bad?”
“Of course. I can’t let the job be ruined to humor one woman.”
“Tiny, have you looked at the progress charts lately?”
“I’ve hardly had time to-what about them?”