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Data Analytics and Business
Intelligence
Computational Frameworks,
Practices, and Applications
Editors:
Vincent Charles
Programme Director for MSc Applied Artificial Intelligence and
Data Analytics School of Management, University of Bradford
Bradford, United Kingdom
Pratibha Garg
Assistant Professor, Amity School of Business
Amity University, Noida, Uttar Pradesh, India
Neha Gupta
Assistant Professor, Amity School of Business
Amity University, Noida, Uttar Pradesh, India
Mohini Agarwal
Unaffiliated Independent Researcher
Glendale, Arizona 85308 United States
p,
p,
A SCIENCE PUBLISHERS BOOK
A SCIENCE PUBLISHERS BOOK
First edition published 2023
by CRC Press
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300, Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
and by CRC Press
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the
author and publisher cannot assume responsibility for the validity of all materials or
the consequences of their use. The authors and publishers have attempted to trace
the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize to
copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained. If any
copyright material has not been acknowledged please write and let us know so we
may rectify in any future reprint.
Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted,
reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying,
microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without written permission from the publishers.
For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, access
www.copyright.com or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222
Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. For works that are not available
on CCC please contact [email protected]
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trade-
marks and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
Typeset in Palatino
by Radiant Productions
Preface
carbon emission across supply chains which would help in reducing the
overall carbon footprint across the supply chains. The blockchain can
be extremely useful in the carbon credit market by eliminating double
counting and multiple claims for the same offset.
The sixth chapter, “Exploring Adoption of Blockchain Technology
for Sustainable Supply Chain Management”, highlights how the Shared
ledger, Smart contract, Privacy, Trust, and Transparency, the five pillars of
Blockchain, can ease some of the global difficulties faced in supply chain
management and create sustainable supply chains. It further discusses the
application of blockchain and challenges in the adoption of blockchain
technology.
The second section of this book is based on chapters about Data
Mining, Computational Framework, and Practices. The seventh chapter,
“Mathematical Model of Consensus and its Adaptation to Achievement
Consensus in Social Groups”, discusses how this approach ensures
that all the opinions of the group members, their ideas, and needs will
be considered. This chapter discusses the results of statistical modeling
describing the dependence of the time to reach consensus on the number
and authoritarianism of social group members using a mathematical
model of consensus achievement in a group based on the model proposed
by DeGroot. Also, the mathematical model of consensus is constructed
on the work of social groups in terms of coalitions, which are overcome
during the negotiation process by concessions. It was revealed that even a
small concession leads to the onset of consensus, increasing the size of the
assignment results in a rapid decline in time before the consensus, which
is crucial for practice.
Chapter 8, “Data to Data Science: A Phenomenal Journey”, helps
the readers to gain insights about the data warehouse, data mining, and
big data and its challenges. Data has been crucial for humans since the
pre-historic age, from counting to bartering and other activities. With
evolution, data has occupied a very important position in human life
which can be used for future decision-making. The approach to recording
and storing data has moved from the conventional approach to a recent
manner of digitalization of data. The digitalization of human society has
started generating data at very large volumes, velocities, and variety. This
data is of semi-structured form and needs a robust and reliable approach
to extract meaningful information. Thus, big data and data science have
taken a central role in capturing, analysing, and extracting meaningful
information. This chapter describes different techniques and the challenges
that can be used for extracting meaningful information.
Chapter 9, “Application of Algorithm on Computational Intelligence
and Machine Learning for Product Design: Emerging Needs and
Challenges”, Computational intelligence is one of the most fascinating
vi Data Analytics and Business Intelligence
techniques that has recently joined the material science toolkit for
machining learning. This set of statistical tools has already demonstrated
its ability to significantly accelerate both fundamental and practical
research. Right now, several attempts are being placed into growing and
device studying (machine learning) implemented to solid-nation devices.
Machine learning concepts, algorithms, descriptors, and databases are the
starting points in materials science. Various machine learning algorithms
for detecting stable materials and predicting their crystal structure are
being debated all the time, on a range of quantitative structure-property
correlations, as well as a few more ideas for using machine learning to
replace first-principal methods. It looked at how active learning and
surrogate-based optimization may help with the rational design process
and other relevant applications. The interpretability of machine learning
models and the physical understanding acquired from them are two
key concerns. As a result, the many aspects of interpretability and their
significance in materials research have been examined. Finally, solutions
and research suggestions for a variety of computational materials science
issues have been provided.
The third section of the book is based on Business Intelligence and
Analytics Applications. Chapter 10, “HR ANALYTICS: Galvanizing the
Organizations with the Prowess of Technology”, With the emerging
dependency on data for making optimized decisions, data analytics is
emerging as a significant tool to increase the efficacy of the organizations.
The HR department has now forayed into HR analytics to make rational
decisions with less human intervention. In this tech-driven process, the
data related to the workforce is assessed, evaluated, and analyzed. HR
analytics is the emerging discipline adopted by organizations to give
preference to analytics at all stages ranging from a candidate getting
on board, to performance monitoring and stretching to scrutinizing the
social media opinions of the employees. It provides information from
all the touchpoints vital to employee profiling and thus leverages the
competitive advantage of the organization. In the pursuit of exploring
the concept and applicability of HR analytics, the authors have adopted a
mixed methodology for this chapter.
In Chapter 11, “Marketing Analytics—Concept, Applications,
Opportunities, and Challenges Ahead”, regardless of the industry in
which they operate, businesses employ a variety of marketing analytics.
Technology-driven techniques and solutions are critical for optimizing
marketers’ connections with clients in a large and unpredictable market
environment. By focusing on interaction and feedback, marketing and
customer analytics have now become industry keywords as they help
marketers to gain a more in-depth understanding of their consumers’
experiences and make appropriate changes as a result. Analytics is used
Preface vii
Preface iii
List of Contributors xi
1. Rofin TM
National Institute of Industrial Engineering (NITIE), Mumbai,
Maharashtra, 400087.
2. Biswajit Mahanty
Department of Industrial and Systems Engineering, Indian Institute of
Technology Kharagpur, Kharagpur – 721 302, West Bengal, India.
3. Arvind Shroff
Indian Institute of Management, Indore.
4. Vikas Swarnakar
Kahlifa University, Abu Dhabi.
5. Anthony Bagherian
Quality Management Unit, Vectrus System Corporation, Stuttgart,
Germany.
6. Pratibha Garg
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
7. Neha Gupta
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
8. Mohini Agarwal
Independent Researcher, Glendale, Arizona 85308 United States.
9. Piyusha Nayyar
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
10. Salaj
School of Basic and Applied Sciences, K R Mangalam University, Sohna
Road, Gurugram-122103.
11. Subhrata Das
Department of operational Research, University of Delhi, Delhi-07.
xii Data Analytics and Business Intelligence
24. Md Sohail
Jaipuria Institute of Management, Jaipur.
25. Richa Srivastava
Jaipuria Institute of Management, Lucknow.
26. Srikant Gupta
Jaipuria Institute of Management, Jaipur.
27. Pooja Mathur
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
28. Sony Thakural
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
29. Khushboo Bhasin
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
30. Saloni Pahuja
Amity School of Business, Amity University, Uttar Pradesh, Noida.
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Language: English
Illustrated by SCHOENHERR
CHAPTER I
Inside the rocket grounds, the band was playing the inevitable
Heroes' March while the cadets snapped through the final maneuvers
of their drill. Captain Thomas Murdock stopped at the gate near the
visitors' section, waiting until the final blatant notes blared out and
were followed by the usual applause from the town kids in the stands.
The cadets broke ranks and headed for their study halls, still stepping
as if the band played on inside their heads.
Maybe it did, Murdock thought. There had been little parade drill and
less music back on Johnston Island when his group won their rocket
emblems fifteen years before; yet somehow there had been a sense
of destiny, like a drum beating in their brains, to give them the same
spring to their stride. It had sent most of them to their deaths and a
few to command positions on the moon, long before the base was
transferred here to the Florida coast.
Murdock shrugged and glanced upwards. The threatening clouds
were closing in, scudding across the sky in dark blobs and streaks,
and the wind velocity was rising. It was going to be lousy weather for
a take-off, even if things got no worse.
Behind him, a boy's voice called out. "Hey, pilot!"
He glanced about, but there was no other pilot near. He hesitated,
frowning. Then, as the call was repeated, he turned doubtfully toward
the stands. Surprisingly, a boy of about twelve was leaning over the
railing, motioning toward him and waving a notebook emphatically.
"Autograph, pilot?"
Murdock took the book and signed the blank page automatically,
while fifty pairs of eyes watched. No other books were held out, and
there was complete silence from the audience. He handed the pencil
and notebook back, trying to force a friendly smile onto his face. For a
moment, there was a faint ghost of the old pride as he turned back
across the deserted parade ground.
It didn't last. Behind him, an older voice broke the silence in disgusted
tones. "Why'd you do that, Shorty? He ain't no pilot!"
"He is, too. I guess. I know a pilot's uniform," Shorty protested.
"So what? I already told you about him. He's the garbage man!"
There was no vocal answer to that—only the ripping sound of paper
being torn from the notebook.
Murdock refused to look back as the boys left the stands. He went
across the field, past the school buildings, on toward the main
sections of the base—the business part, where the life-line to the
space station and the moon was maintained. A job, he told himself,
was a job. It was a word he would never have used six ships and
fifteen years before.
The storm flag was up on the control tower, he saw. Worse, the guy
cables were all tight, anchoring the three-stage ships firmly down in
their blast deflection pits. There were no tractors or tankers on the
rocket field to service the big ships. He stared through the thickening
gloom toward the bay, but there was no activity there, either. The
stage recovery boats were all in port, with their handling cranes
folded down. Obviously, no flight was scheduled.
It didn't fit with predictions. Hurricane Greta was hustling northward
out to sea, and the low ceiling and high winds were supposed to be
the tag end of that disturbance, due to clear by mid-day. This didn't
look that way; it looked more as if the weather men on the station had
goofed for the first time in ten years.
Murdock stared down the line toward his own ship, set apart from the
others, swaying slightly as the wind hit it. Getting it up through the
weather was going to be hell, even if he got clearance, but he couldn't
wait much longer. Greta had already put him four days behind his
normal schedule, and he'd been counting on making the trip today.
There was a flash bulletin posted outside the weather shack,
surrounded by a group of young majors and colonels from the pilot
squad. Murdock stepped around them and into the building. He was
glad to see that the man on duty was Collins, one of the few
technicians left over from the old days on the Island.
Collins looked up from his scowling study of the maps and saluted
casually without rising. "Hi, Tommy. How's the hog business?"
"Lousy," Murdock told him. "I'm going to have a hungry bunch of pigs
if I don't get another load down. What gives with the storm signals? I
thought Greta blew over."
Collins pawed the last cigarette out of a pack and shook his head as
he lighted up. "This is Hulda, they tell me. Our geniuses on the station
missed it—claimed Hulda was covered by Greta until she grew
bigger. We're just beginning to feel her. No flights for maybe five days
more."
"Hell!" It was worse than Murdock had feared. He twisted the weather
maps to study them, unbelievingly. Unlike the newer pilots, he'd spent
enough time in the weather shack to be able to read a map or a radar
screen almost as well as Collins. "The station couldn't have goofed
that much, Bill!"
"Did, though. Something's funny up there. Bailey and the other brass
are holding some pow-wow about it now, over at Communications. It's
boiling up to a first-class mess."
One of the teletypes began chattering, and Collins turned to it.
Murdock moved outside where a thin rain was beginning to fall,
whipping about in the gusts of wind. He headed for the control tower,
knowing it was probably useless. In that, he was right; no clearances
for flight could be given without General Bailey's okay, and Bailey was
still tied up in conference, apparently.
He borrowed a raincape and went out across the field toward his
ship. The rain was getting heavier, and the Mollyann was grunting
and creaking in her pit as he neared her. The guying had been well
enough done, however, and she was in no danger that he could see.
He checked the pit gauges and records. She'd been loaded with a
cargo of heavy machinery, and her stage tanks were fully fueled. At
least, if he could get clearance, she was ready to go. She was the
oldest ship on the field, but her friction-burned skin covered sound
construction and he had supervised her last overhaul himself.
Then he felt the wind picking up again, and his stomach knotted. He
moved around to the more sheltered side of the ship, cursing the
meteorologists on the station. If they'd predicted this correctly, he
could have arranged to take off during the comparative lull between
storms. Even that would have been bad enough, but now....
Abruptly, a ragged klaxon shrieked through the air in a series of short
bursts, sounding assembly for the pilots. Murdock hesitated, then
shrugged and headed out into the rain. He could ignore the signal if
he chose, since he'd been on detached duty for years, except when
actually scheduled for flight; yet it was probably his best chance to
see Bailey. He slogged along while the other pilots trotted across the
field toward Briefing on the double. Even now, covered with slickers
and tramping through mud, they seemed to be on parade drill, as if a
drum were beating out the time for them.
Murdock found a seat at the rear, separate from the others, out of old
habit. Up front, an improvised crap game was going on; elsewhere,
they were huddled in little groups, their young faces too bright and
confident. Nobody noticed him until Colonel Lawrence Hennings
glanced up from the crap game. "Hi, Tommy. Want in?"
Murdock shook his head, smiling briefly. "Can't afford it this week," he
explained.
A cat could look at royalty; and royalty was free to look at or speak to
anyone—even a man who ferried garbage for the station. At the
moment, Hennings was king, even in this crowd of self-determined
heroes. There was always one man who was the top dog. Hennings'
current position seemed as inevitable as Murdock's own had become.
Damn it, someone had to carry the waste down from the station. The
men up there couldn't just shove it out into space to have it follow
their orbit and pile up around them; shooting it back to burn up in
Earth's atmosphere had been suggested, but that took more fuel in
the long run than bringing it down by ship. With nearly eight hundred
men in the doubly expanded station, there was a lot of garbage, too.
The job was as important as carrying the supplies up, and took just
as much piloting skill. Only there was no band playing when the
garbage ship took off, and there could never be a hero's mantle over
the garbage man.
It had simply been his bad luck that he was pilot for the first load
back. The heat of landing leaked through the red-hot skin of the cargo
section, and the wastes boiled and steamed through the whole ship
and plated themselves against the hull when it began to cool, until no
amount of washing could clean it completely; after that, the ship was
considered good for nothing but the carrying of garbage down and
lifting such things as machine parts, where the smell wouldn't matter.
He'd gone on detached duty at once, exiled from the pilot shack; it
was probably only imagination, but the other men swore they couldn't
sleep in the same room with him.
He'd made something of a joke of it at first, while he waited for his
transfer at the end of the year. He'd finally consented to a second
year when they couldn't get anyone else for the job. And by the end
of five years of it, he knew he was stuck; even a transfer wouldn't
erase his reputation as the garbage man, or give him the promotions
and chances for leadership the others got. Oh, there were
advantages in freedom, but if there had been anything outside of the
service he could do....
The side door opened suddenly and General Bailey came in. He
looked older than his forty years, and the expression on his face
sobered the pilots almost at once. He took his time in dropping to the
chair behind the table, giving them a chance to come to order.
Murdock braced himself, watching as the man took out a cigarette.
Then, as it was tapped sharply on the table to pack the end, he
nodded. It was going to be a call for volunteers! The picture of the
weather outside raced through his mind, twisting at his stomach, but
he slid forward on his seat, ready to stand at once.
"At ease, men." Bailey took his time lighting the cigarette, and then
plunged into things. "A lot of you have been cursing the station for
their forecast. Well, you can forget that—we're damned lucky they
could spot Hulda at all. They're in bad shape. Know what acrolein is?
You've all had courses in atmospherics. How about it?"
The answer came out in pieces from several of the pilots. Acrolein
was one of the thirty-odd poisons that had to be filtered from the air in
the station, though it presented no problem in the huge atmosphere
of Earth. It could get into the air from the overcooking of an egg or the
burning of several proteins. "You can get it from some of the plastics,
too," one of the men added.
Bailey nodded. "You can. And that's the way they got it, from an
accident in the shops. They got enough to overload their filters, and
the replacements aren't enough to handle it. They're all being
poisoned up there—just enough to muddle their thinking at first, but
getting worse all the time. They can't wait for Hulda to pass. They've
got to have new filters at once. And that means—"
"Sir!" Hennings was on his feet, standing like a lance in a saddle
boot. "Speaking for my crew, I ask permission to deliver whatever the
station needs."
Murdock had been caught short by Hennings' sudden move, but now
he was up, protesting. His voice sounded as hollow as he felt after
the ringing tones of the younger man. "I'm overdue already on
schedule, and by all rights—"
Bailey cut him off, nodding to Hennings. "Thank you, Colonel. We'll
begin loading at once, while Control works out your tapes. All right,
dismissed!" Then finally he turned to Murdock. "Thanks, Tom. I'll
record your offer, but there's no time for us to unload your ship first.
Afraid you're grounded for the storm."
He went out quickly, with Hennings following jauntily at his heels.
CHAPTER II
He was right. The timing had been as bad as possible. The blob of
light on the screen was obviously being buffeted about. Something
seemed to hit the top and jerk it.
The screen went blank, then lighted again. Collins had shifted his
connections, to patch into the signal Control was watching. The blip
of the Jennilee was now dead center, trying to tilt into a normal
synergy curve. "Take it up, damn it!" Murdock swore hotly. This was
no time to swing around the Earth until after the ship was above the
storm. The tape for the automatic pilot should have been cut for a
high first ascension. If Hennings was panicking and overriding it back
to the familiar orbit....
As if the pilot heard him, the blip began rising again. It twisted and
bucked. Something seemed to separate from it. There was a
scattering of tiny white dots on the screen, drifting behind the ship.
Murdock couldn't figure them. Then he forgot them as the first stage
let go and began falling backward from the ship, heading on its great
arc toward the ocean. Recovery would be rough. Now the second
stage blasted out. And finally, the ship was above the storm and could
begin to track toward its goal.
Abruptly the speaker in the corner snapped into life, and Hennings'
voice sounded from it. "Jennilee to Base. Cancel the harps and
haloes! We're in the clear!"
Collins snapped his hand down against a switch, killing the speaker.
"Hotshot!" he said thickly, and yet there was a touch of admiration in
his voice. "Ten years ago, they couldn't build ships to take what he
gave it. So that makes him a tin god on wheels. Got a cigarette,
Tommy?"
Murdock handed him the package and picked up the slicker again.
He'd seen enough. The ship should have no further trouble, except
for minor orbital corrections, well within the pilot's ability. For that
matter, while Collins' statement was true enough, Hennings deserved
a lot of the credit. And if he had to boast a little—well, maybe he
deserved credit for the ability to snap back to normal after the
pounding his body and nerves must have taken.
In the recreation hall, some of the pilots were busy exaggerating the
dangers of the take-off for the newsmen, making it sound as if no
parallel feat had been performed in all history. Murdock found a
phone where he had some privacy and put through a call to let Pete
and Sheila know when he'd be back—and that he was returning
without a load. They'd already heard the news, however. He cut the
call short and went out across the soggy field, cursing as his shoes
filled with water. From the auditorium of the school, he could hear the
band practicing; he wondered for a moment whether the drumbeat
could make the cadets feel like heroes as they moved through mud
with shoes that squished at every step. It had no such lifting effect on
him.
The parking lot beyond the drill grounds was almost deserted, and his
big truck seemed to huddle into the wind like a lonely old bull buffalo.
He started the turbine and opened the cab heater, kicking off his
sodden shoes. The dampness in the air brought out the smell of
refuse and pigs from the rear, but he was used to it; anyhow, it was
better than the machine-human-chemical stench of the space station.
Driving took most of his attention. The truck showed little wind-sway
and the roads were nearly deserted, but vision was limited and the
windshield kept steaming up, in spite of the silicone coating. He
crawled along, grumbling to himself at the allocation of money for
tourist superhighways at the expense of the back roads.
A little ways beyond the base, he was in farm country. It was totally
unlike the picture of things he'd had originally. He'd expected only
palm trees and citrus groves in Florida, though he'd known vaguely
that it was one of the major cattle-producing states. This part wasn't
exactly like the Iowa section where he'd grown up, but it wasn't so
different, either.
Pete Crane had introduced him to it. At the time, Pete was retiring
after twenty years of service and looking for something to do. He'd
found a small farm twenty miles from Base and had approached
Murdock with the hope of getting the station garbage for food for the
hogs he planned to buy. The contractor who took care of the Base
garbage wouldn't touch the dehydrated, slightly scorched refuse, and
disposal had always been a problem.
They ended up as partners, with permanent rights to all the station
wastes. Pete's sister, Sheila, joined them to keep house for them. It
beat living in hotels and offered the first hope for the future Murdock
had. Unless his application for Moon service was accepted—which
seemed unlikely, since he was already at the age limit of thirty-five—
he had no other plans for his own compulsory twenty-year retirement.
The farm also gave some purpose to his job as garbage collector for
the station.
For two years, everything went well. Maybe they grew over-confident
then. They sank everything into new buildings and more livestock.
When the neighboring farm suddenly became available, they used all
their credit in swinging the mortgage, leaving no margin for trouble.
And trouble came when Pete was caught in front of a tractor that
somehow slipped into gear; he was hospitalized for five weeks, and
his medical insurance was only enough for a fraction of the cost.
Now, with Hulda cancelling the critically necessary trip to the
station....
The truck bumped over the last half mile and into the farm-yard.
Murdock parked it near the front door and jumped out. He let out a
yell and made a bee-line for the kerosene heater, trying to get his feet
warm on the floor near it. The house was better built than many in
Florida, but that wasn't saying much. Even with the heater going, it
was probably warmer in their new pig sty.
Sheila came through the dining room from the kitchen, spotted his
wet feet, and darted for his bedroom. In a second she was back with
dry clothes. "Change in here where it's warm. I'll have lunch ready in
a couple of minutes," she told him, holding her face up for a kiss.
Sheila wasn't a beautiful woman and apparently didn't care.
Murdock's mother would probably have called her plain good looks
"wholesome," and referred to her slightly overweight body as
"healthy." He only knew that she looked good to him, enough shorter
to be comfortable, eyes pleasantly blue, and hair some shade of
brown that seemed to fit her.
He pulled her to him snugly, but she wriggled away after a brief kiss.
"Pete's in town, trying to get help. He'll be back any minute," she
warned him.
He grinned and let her go. They'd gone through the romantic binge of
discovering each other long enough ago to be comfortable with each
other now, except for the occasional arguments when she didn't want
to wait. Mostly, though, she had accepted their agreement. In eight
more months he'd be thirty-six and too old for assignment on the
Moon; if he didn't make that, they'd get married. But he had no
intention of leaving her tied to him if he did leave, since the chance of
taking her along was almost nil. Pete had backed him up on his
decision, too.
He slipped into coveralls and dry boots and went out to the dining
room, where a hot meal was waiting. At least their credit was good at
the local grocery between paydays. He filled her in on what had
happened while they ate. At the hour mark, he switched on the
television to the news. It was filled with the station emergency and
rescue, of course. Most of it seemed to be devoted to pictures of
Hennings entering the ship and a highly colored account of the flight.
But at least he learned that the flight had been completed. It made
good publicity for the service. A sound track of a band playing the
Heroes' March had been spliced into the movies. Maybe that was
good publicity, too. He had to admit that Hennings fitted the music
better than he could have done.
For a moment, the racket of the wind outside died, and another sound
reached his ears. The hogs knew it was past feeding time and were
kicking up a fuss. Murdock grimaced. He shoved away from the table,
feeling almost guilty at having stuffed himself, and dug rain clothes
out of the back closet. He hated going out in the weather again, but
the animals had to be pacified.
They heard him coming and set up more of a racket. He bent against
the wind and made a dash for it, getting his feet wet again in a
puddle. But the inside of the building was warmer than the house, as
he had expected. He lifted the cover of the mash cooker and began
ladling out the food into the troughs. His pail was scraping the bottom
of the cooker, while the sleek Poland China hogs fought and shoved
toward the spot where he was emptying it. They'd been on half
rations since yesterday, and they were obviously hungry.
He stopped when he had used half of what was in the cooker and
headed for the next building. On the way, he paused for a futile look
in the big storage shed, but he knew the answer. Pete had used the
last bag of grain in cooking the day's food. They'd exhausted the last
of the waste from the station earlier and had to fall back on the
precious commercial feed usually only used as a supplement. Damn
Greta and double damn Hulda! If the weekly predictions had been
right, he could have wangled clearance for a flight ahead of schedule,
before the storms, and they wouldn't be in this mess.
It was worse in the brooder house. The sows seemed to know that
milk for their sucklings depended on their feeding. They received a
somewhat larger portion, but it disappeared from the troughs as he
watched. The animals fought for the last scraps and then began
rushing about looking for more. They were smart enough to know he
was the source of it, and they stared at him, expressing their
demands in eloquent hog language. They weren't like other animals.
Cows were too stupid to realize they'd been gypped, sheep were
always yelling even when things went well. But hogs could pretty
nearly swear in English when they felt robbed, as these did. Even the
sucklings were squealing unhappily in sympathy with their mothers.
Murdock heard the door open behind him and turned to see Pete
coming in, drenched to the skin. He looked worn out, and his back
was still stiff from the accident, though he'd made a fine recovery. "Hi,
Tom. Sis told me what happened at the field. Good thing, too. This
stuff's no good for flights. How long till it clears?"
"Five days!" Murdock told him, and saw the older man flinch. The
hogs might not starve to death in that time, but they'd suffer, as well
as losing weight that would be hard to put back. He had no idea of
how it would affect the milk supply for the little pigs, and he didn't
want to guess.
They left the squealing hogs and slogged back to the house to
change before Pete would report on his luck in town. It seemed to be
all bad. They could get a loan against the mature hogs or they could
sell some, but with the week-end coming up they would have to wait
for money until they would no longer need it. Their credit at the only
feed and grain store was used up.
Murdock frowned at that. "You mean Barr wouldn't let us have
enough to carry us over in an emergency like this? After all our
business with him?"
"Barr's gone north on some business," Pete reported. "His brother-in-
law's running things. Claims he can't take the responsibility. Offered
to lend me twenty bucks himself if I needed it, but no credit from the
store. And he can't locate Barr. Darn it, if I hadn't had to get in front of
that tractor—"
"If!" Sheila snorted. "If I hadn't insisted you two pay the hospital in full,
or if I hadn't splurged on spring clothes.... How much can we get for
my car?"
Pete shrugged. "About half enough, but not till maybe Tuesday or
Wednesday, after title transfer. I already asked at Circle Chevy. How