Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction July 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
FELONY
By JAMES CAUSEY
Illustrated by VIDMER
Vogel started with crossword puzzles ... and worked his wayup to Man's greatest enigma!
hen he was nine, Vogel almost killed another boy who inadvertentlyscattered his half-completed jigsaw puzzle.
At sixteen, he discovered the mysteries of the Danish Gambit, andcried.
At twenty-two, he crouched in a foxhole on Okinawa, oblivious to thedeath bursting about him, squinting in a painful ecstasy at thetattered fragment of newspaper on his knee. His sergeant screamed inagony, then died at his elbow. Vogel's face lit up. "Slay," he saidhappily, scribbling. As crossword puzzles go, it had been a toughie.
At thirty, he was Production Manager of Sachs Fixtures. His men hatedhim. The General Manager loved him. Tall, gaunt and ruthless, he couldglance at any detail print and instantly pinpoint the pattern of finalassembly, total man-hour budget and fabrication lead time.
Once, he made a mistake.
On a forty-thousand-dollar job lot he estimated too high on productionscrap. When the final assemblies were completed, they had two feet ofbulb extension left over. It disturbed him. He spent that evening inhis den brooding over chessmen. His wife let him alone.
Next day, he hired Amenth.
ersonnel called that morning and apologized. "No experience, butamazing shop aptitude. He's coming down to you for an interview."
"I want," Vogel said into the phone, "three bench men. By noon. Withshop experience."
Personnel was sorry. Vogel snarled and hung up.
"Hello, please, sir," said a voice.
Vogel stared, icily.
Meekness cowered in front of his desk. Meekness in the form of a smallbirdlike person with beseeching amber eyes.
"I am Amenth," he said, cringing.
Vogel eyed the olive skin, the cheekbones, the blue-black hair. "Awetback," he said. "Three men short and they send me wetbacks. Youknow sheet metal, buster?"
"I am not of the understanding," Amenth offered. "Experience, no." Hebeamed. "Aptitude, yes."
Fighting apoplexy, Vogel took him out into the shop. Amenth cringed atthe howl of air tools and punch presses. Vogel contemptuously took himby the arm and led him to a workbench where a wizened persimmon of aman performed deft lightnings with rivets and air wrench.
"Benny, this is Amenth. He's new." Vogel pronounced it like a curse."Get him some goggles from the crib, a rivet gun."
Vogel returned to his office scowling. The phone rang almostinstantly.
"Boss," said Benny, "he's from nothing—all thumbs with an air wrenchand he don't know alclad from stainless."
"Be right out," Vogel said, hanging up.
Before he had a chance to fire Amenth, the Fabrication Super came inwith a production problem. Vogel solved it, but it was almost an hourbefore he returned to Benny's bench—and stared.
Amenth wa