Page 23 of Chaos Theory

TWENTY-THREE

A gust of wind whips my hair against my face as I walk down the stone steps of the Midlands train station.

I fiddle uselessly with the collar of my linen jacket.

A tinge of yellow high in the billowing treetops.

It’s October now, officially tourism off-season.

Although Duncan Canning is fond of reminding me that ‘tourism never sleeps’ whenever we pass in the corridor.

A perky bwawm bwawm alerts me that Josh has already arrived. The size of his vehicle is in inverse proportion to the tiny car park. He lowers the window to call out, ‘Hey!’

‘Hey, I should’ve guessed you’d have a big one!’

I wince as the words come out of my mouth. Maybe Josh won’t notice?

‘And why’s that?’ he asks as I hoist myself up and into the belly of the beast.

I flounder. ‘You know, because you’re, you’re…’ Don’t say big. Don’t say big. I try to gesture vaguely, but my hands start shaping large invisible things in front of me and that just makes it worse.

‘Yes?’

‘American.’ I exhale. ‘Americans love their cars. ’

‘Well, you’re not wrong. I could’ve picked you up in the city, you know.’

‘I know. I wanted the time on the train to prepare for this meeting.’

That’s partly true. I also wanted some alone time, to think.

Instead of meeting Shane and the work crew for the usual pints on Thursday, I went for a drink with Josh after the Viking Museum and we ended up talking for hours – about work, about life, about the future.

Yes, I’m enjoying Josh’s company now, but what’s going to happen in the weeks ahead?

What if I fail with Kobi? Will Josh be disappointed?

Or, if I do manage it, could Josh and I end up working together one day?

Maybe even at RoboTron? In which case, we should probably keep things professional…

just like I should have done with Shane.

‘We don’t have to do this, you know.’ He sounds tired. ‘We could just drive back to Dublin and forget the whole thing.’

Maybe he’s right. This excursion was my idea, but now that we’re en route, I’m nervous.

Over drinks, I convinced Josh to return to the location of Kobi’s last assignment, where it all went wrong on the factory floor.

If we understood better what went wrong, maybe we could fast-track Kobi’s interpersonal development.

Even get some insight into what happened at Phelan’s, see if there was any behavioural pattern.

Josh was reluctant at first. He’d already gathered all available information from the manufacturing plant.

He’d shown me the CCTV video of Kobi’s malfunction; the silent, black-and-white images reminded me of 1950s sci-fi B movies.

But Josh had to admit he hadn’t talked to everyone involved at the time. He’d focused on analysing Kobi’s systems. I argued that if Kobi’s memories were erased, we might learn more from talking to his colleagues about that night instead. Eventually, after three beers, Josh agreed.

‘No, let’s stick to the plan,’ I tell him now as we speed through the countryside towards PHI.

I did do some research about PHI on the train.

It’s a US multinational with two plants in Ireland that it uses as a gateway to European markets.

At the Midlands plant, they make titanium implants and other medical devices that are supposedly transforming healthcare.

Bones decay; titanium lasts forever. When you die, your metal hip will live on.

I wonder if family members ever hold onto the hip as a keepsake?

Perhaps mount it in a glass case on the mantlepiece.

‘By the way,’ says Josh as we round a bend, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. ‘I meant to say?—’

‘The four worst words in the English language: I meant to say.’

‘Okay, fine. I probably should have said this earlier.’

‘Not much better.’

‘These manufacturing companies are obsessively secretive. This business is all about intellectual property. They treat every outsider like they’re a spy.

Ron said he had to go through a very complicated process to get Kobi in.

So, I was thinking’ – he takes a narrow bridge a little too fast – ‘it might be best if you don’t say who you really are. ’

‘What? Why? That sounds very cloak-and-dagger.’ And a bit paranoid.

‘I just mean you don’t have to say where you work. They wouldn’t understand and might get spooked. Just say you work with me – which is kind of true. We can keep it vague. If pushed, we’ll say you’re a specialist in robot psychology – which is also kind of true. Or will be one day.’

‘I don’t like lying, Josh.’ My mind races. Should I go along with this?

‘It’s not exactly lying. It’s for everyone’s benefit, really. If this meeting helps us to figure out what happened, that means there’s less chance of it ever happening again, and a better chance of securing Kobi’s future.’

‘But you already said there was no chance of it happening again!’

I wish he would slow down, and everything else with him. While I’m good at adapting to new situations, I have my limits.

‘There isn’t, as it stands. But in some ways Kobi is almost like a living organism. He can learn – that means he can change. If whatever led to his malfunction the first time around were to happen again…’

My heart sinks. I look longingly at the door-opening mechanism of the car, lamenting the absence of traffic lights as we speed along the back roads.

How bad would it be if I were to just open the door and roll out of the vehicle right now?

I imagine a friendly cow licking my wounds and nursing me back to health, before I start a new life as a dairy farmer with a previously untapped talent for making butter.

I’m quiet for the rest of the journey. We snake our way through a large, confusing business park until Josh announces, like a satnav, that we’ve reached our destination. Maybe it will be okay. We’re here now and I’m curious about how this day will unfold.

The building receptionist invites us to wait in a bright, cavernous foyer.

I glance distractedly through the corporate magazines laid out on a low glass table.

The internal company mag is glossy, full of images that look like stock photography or maybe even AI-generated – happy customers, happy staff, happy shareholders.

Medical devices are big business, it seems. ‘The Changing Face of Healthcare’ runs the headline on an article about a new company policy to ensure greater diversity at all levels of the organisation.

I skim another article – ‘Affordable Healthcare for All’ – the CEO’s vision for a future where advanced healthcare is accessible to everyone, not just those who can afford bespoke technological solutions.

Yes, you can get a custom titanium implant right now, but only if you also happen to own at least two-thirds of an island.

Another article praises the health and safety record of the Irish PHI plant.

No mention of the Kobi incident, of course.

No headlines that say ‘Robot Runs Amok on Factory Floor’ or ‘Rogue-Bot: My Night-Shift Terror’.

‘Heads up,’ says Josh as a tall woman approaches, hair swept back from her face in a neat bun. She wears tailored trousers, a suit jacket and a black t-shirt with white text that says Forever Coding . She looks like me, if I had an upgrade of cool sophistication.

‘Hello, Josh, good to see you again.’ She extends her hand to me. ‘I’m Laura Cantwell. Head of programming and robot relations.’

‘Cool title,’ I say. A tattoo goes the whole way around Laura’s wrist, like a bracelet. Squinting, I see that it’s composed of a series of tiny zeroes and ones.

‘Thanks! And what’s your title?’

I look at Josh in panic.

‘This is my associate, Maeve,’ he says smoothly. ‘Thanks for meeting with us today, Laura. We’re very grateful for your time. I know you’re super busy.’

‘Aren’t we all though?’ she replies. ‘How’s Ron? I keep meaning to reach out to him but, like you say, busy busy. Send him my regards. Let’s talk in my office. This way. Oh, and keep to the left!’

Before I can ask why, I hear a whoosh . A tiny yellow vehicle on four wheels zips by my ankles, a red basket on top holding white and brown envelopes. It looks like the remote-control cars I played with when I was a kid.

‘Well, you’re in a hurry today, aren’t you?’ Laura is apparently addressing the vehicle.

She produces a device the size of a phone from her pocket, taps at the screen. The car slows a little.

‘Autonomous postal bot,’ she tells us. ‘Let’s take the elevator to my office.’

If someone were to ask me what the theme of Laura’s office was, I would immediately say, ‘Glass.’ Then I’d say, ‘No, wait! Transparency,’ and nod sagely.

The desk is made of glass or possibly plastic, with a transparent keyboard and mouse.

One entire wall is see-through, overlooking the factory floor below.

‘May I?’ I nod towards the wall.

‘Knock yourself out,’ says Laura. ‘Actually, be careful you don’t hit your head for real. I just had the glass cleaned. ’

I stand with my face very close to the clear wall and survey the scene below. This must be where Kobi worked.

Just like in the video Josh showed me, large metallic boxes are spaced out evenly around the room – each one the size of a small tank.

The boxes presumably hold the 3D printing machines; faint red lights within indicate that lasers are melting titanium powder into the desired implant shape – metal hips or knees, soon to be enhancing human bodies and lives.

It seems strangely hushed for a factory floor – maybe the glass is sound-proof?

At first I think it’s devoid of human life, until three people emerge from between the rows of machines, wearing branded PHI jumpsuits.

I try to imagine Kobi down there among them.

Josh sits down in a chair facing Laura’s desk, but Laura comes and stands next to me. She’s a good eight inches taller, even in flat shoes.