Chapter 13
None of them would ever know about Section Seven. None of them would ever know about the red stylus, the seventy-five-thousand-dollar contract, or the two-hour countdown that had ticked down inside an air-conditioned conference room while they were checking part tolerances.
They didn’t need to know.
That was the point of doing the job right.
I put the truck in reverse, backed out of the stall, and pointed the hood toward the highway heading south.
I had a client in Dayton whose packaging machines were dropping three packets every thousand cycles on their high-speed line. It was probably an optical timing drift on an older Sick sensor, or maybe a loose ground wire on the servo bus.
Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a fresh cup of coffee, a clean meter, and an hour or two of listening to how the machine wanted to run.