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Now: –.5
Nothing is more regulated and inspected on a construction site than the stability of a tower crane, especially one that soars this high into the sky and has within its perimeter a half-dozen structures—and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of human souls. Meticulous calculations are made of the load—in this case, 36,000 pounds of six-by-four-inch flange beams—and the counterweights, the rectangular blocks of cement, to make sure this particular crane can lift and swing the payload. Once that’s signed off on, the info goes into the computer and the magic balance is maintained—moving the counterweights behind him back and forth ever so slightly to keep the needle at zero.
Moment …
–.51
He looked back at the counterweights. This was instinctive; he didn’t know what he might see.
Nothing was visible.
–.52
The blaring continued.
–.54
He shut the alarm switch off. The accompanying indicator flashedWarningand theMoment Imbalancemessages continued.
–.55
The super said, “We’ve hit diagnostics and don’t see a sensor issue.”
“Forget sensors,” Garry said. “We’re tilting.”
–.58
“I’m going to manual.” He shut off the controller. He’d been riding tower cranes for the past fifteen years, since he signed up with Moynahan Construction, after his stint as an engineer in the army. Digital controls made the job easier and safer, but he’d cut his teeth operating towers by hand, using charts and graphs and a pad attached to his thigh for calculations—and, of course, a needle balance indicator to get the moment just right. He now tugged on the joystick to draw the load trolley closer to center.
Then, switching to the counterweight control, he moved those away from the tower.
His eyes were fixed on the LMI, which still indicated moment imbalance forward.
He moved the weights, totaling a hundred tons, farther back.
Thishadto achieve moment.
It was impossible for it not to.
But it did not.
Back to the front jib.
He cranked the trolley closer to him. The flanges swung. He’d moved more quickly than he’d meant to.
He was looking at his coffee cup.
The chair—padded, comfortable—did not come factory-equipped with a cup holder. But Garry, an afficionado of any and all brews, had mounted one on the wall—far away from the electronics, of course.
The brown liquid was level; the cup was not.
Another glance at the LMI indicator.
A full –2 percent down in the front.
He worked the trolley control and brought the load of flanges closer yet.
Ah, yes, that did it.
