"How should I know," said the mechanic, irritably. "I kept telling you I was a waiter." There was silence for a while, then the driver's door opened and the frowning tense face of the waiter-mechanic appeared. He glanced at Pepper, gazed around the cab, tugged the wheel for some reason, then put both arms under the seat and started feeling around.
"Would this be the jack?" he asked quietly.
"N-no," said Pepper. "I believe it's the starting handle."
The mechanic raised the handle to his eyes, examined it, placed it on the step, and thrust his arms once more under the seat.
"What about this?" he asked.
"No," said Pepper, "I can be absolutely sure of that one. It's a calculating machine. Jacks aren't like that."
The waiter-mechanic wrinkled his low forehead and looked the machine over carefully.
"What are they like then?" he inquired.
"We-11 ... a sort of metal rod ... there's different kinds. They've got a sort of movable handle."
"Well there's a handle on this, like a cash register."
"No, it's a different handle altogether."
"What happens if you turn this one?"
Pepper was completely at a loss. The mechanic waited for a moment, placed the machine on the step, and got back under the seat. "Would it be this?" he said.
"Could be. It looks very like it. Only there should be another metal spoke to it, a thick one."
The mechanic found that, too. He hefted it in his palm, saying: "Okay, I'll take this along to him for a start," then left, leaving the door open. Pepper lit a cigarette. Somewhere behind him came the sound of metal clanking accompanied by swearing. The truck began creaking and trembling.
There was still no sign of Acey, but Pepper wasn't worried. He was picturing them bowling down the main street of the Directorate and no one looking at them. Then they would turn toward the settlement dragging a cloud of yellow dust behind them. The sun would rise higher and higher, it would be to their right and would soon start scorching, then they'd turn from the settlement onto the main road, it would lie long, even, gleaming and monotonous, on the horizon mirages would flow like great shining pools...
Once again the mechanic walked past the cab, rolling before him a heavy rear wheel. The wheel raced along the concrete floor and it was obvious the mechanic wanted to stop it and lean it up against the wall. The wheel, however, wobbled a little and ponderously trundled out into the yard, the mechanic in awkward pursuit, but being outdistanced. At this point, they disappeared from view. Out in the yard the mechanic began shouting despairingly. Came the tramp of many feet past the gates and shouts of: "Catch it! Come in from the right." More people ran past.
Pepper noticed that the truck was not standing as evenly as before and looked out of the cab. The manager was busy with the rear wheel.
"Hello," said Pepper. "What're you ..." "Ah, Pepper, friend!" the manager cried happily, continuing his work. "You stay there, stay there, don't get out! You're not bothering us. Jammed, blast it. One came off fine, the other's jammed."
"How's that? Something broken?"
"Don't think so," said the manager, straightening up and wiping his brow with the back end of the palm with which he held the spanner. "Just rusted in a bit, probably. I'll do it right away. Then we'll get the chessmen out. What d'you say?"
"Chess?" said Pepper, "but where's Acey?"
"Acey? That is, Ace? Ace is our senior lab assistant. He's been sent to the forest. Ace doesn't work with us anymore. What d'you want him for?"
"Nothing, just ..." said Pepper quietly. "I just thought ..." He opened the door and leapt down onto the cement floor.
"No need to get out. You could have stayed there, you're not in our way."
"Why sit in here," said Pepper. "This truck's not going anywhere, is it?"
"No, it isn't. Can't go without wheels, and these want taking off. That's all I needed - jammed! Ah, to ... Never mind, the mechanics'll take them off. Let's go and set up the board."
He took Pepper's arm and led him into his office. They sat down at a table, the manager pushed away a heap of papers, set out the board, and disconnected the telephone.
"Are we going to play with a clock?" he asked.
"Well I don't know, really," said Pepper.
It was dim and cold in the office, blue tobacco smoke floated between the cupboards like frozen seaweed, and the manager, warty, rotund, and covered in mottled patches, was like a gigantic octopus opening the lacquered shell of the chess board with two hairy tentacles, and busily extracting its wooden innards. His round eyes held a dull gleam, the righthand one, the false one, was permanently directed toward the ceiling, whereas the left one, lively as a mercury dot, rolled freely in its srcket, fixing its stare in turn on Pepper, the door, and the board.
"With a clock," the manager decided finally. He took a clock from the cupboard, wound it up and, pressing the button, made his first move.
The sun was coming up. From the yard came a shout of "come in from the right!"
