"feetch!" grated ogden piltdon, president of the piltdon opener company, slamming the drafting board with his hairy fist, "i want results!"

heads lifted over boards. kalvin feetch shrunk visibly.

"as chief engineer you're not carrying the ball," piltdon went on savagely. "the piltdon can-opener is trailing the competition. advertising and sales are breaking their necks. it's engineering that's missing the boat!"

"but mr. piltdon," remonstrated feetch unsteadily under his employer's glare, "don't you remember? i tried to...."

"for two years there hasn't been one lousy improvement in the piltdon can-opener!" roared mr. piltdon. "look at our competitors. the international rips apart cans in three and three-tenths seconds. universal does it in four."

"but mr. piltdon—"

"the minerva mighty midget does it in four point two two and plays home sweet home in chimes. our own piltdon opener barely manages to open a can in eight point nine without chimes. is this what i'm paying you for?"

feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. "but mr. piltdon, our opener still has stability, solidity. it is built to last. it has dignity...."

"dignity," pronounced piltdon, "is for museums. four months, feetch! in four months i want a new can-opener that will be faster, lighter, stronger, flashier and more musical than any other on the market. i want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. otherwise, feetch—"

feetch's body twitched. "but mr. piltdon, four months is hardly time enough for development, even with an adequate staff. i've been trying to tell you for years that we're bound to fall behind because we don't have enough personnel to conduct research. our men can barely keep up with production and maintenance. if you would let me put on a few draftsmen and...."

"excuses," sneered mr. piltdon. "your staff is more than adequate. i will not allow you to throw out my money. four months, feetch, no more!" piltdon trudged out of the room, leaving behind him an oppressive silence.

how could you set a time limit on research and development? a designer had to dream at his board, investigate, search, build, test, compare, discard. he had always wanted to devote all his time to research, but piltdon opener had not given him that opportunity. twenty-five years! thought feetch. twenty-five years of close supervision, dead-lines, production headaches, inadequate facilities and assistance. what had happened, to the proud dream he once had, the dream of exploring uncharted engineering regions, of unlimited time to investigate and develop?

ah, well, thought feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had managed somehow to design a few good things during his twenty-five years with piltdon. that was some satisfaction.

what now? he had to hang on to his job. technical work was scarce. since the early 1980's the schools had been turning out more technicians than industry could absorb. he was too old to compete in the employment market. he couldn't afford to lose any money. jenny wasn't well.

how to meet this four month dead-line? he would get right on it himself, of course; hanson—good man—could work with him. he shook his head despairingly. something would be sure to blow up. well, he had to start—