Page 36 of Chaos Theory

THIRTY-FOUR

KOBI

We are on a guided tour of the farm. It is simultaneously the most exciting and the most frightening place I have ever been. Machines I am comfortable with, humans I am learning to get along with, but animals?

As we walk past livestock enclosures, Matthew explains the history of the farm and how he came to be its manager.

I must say, the cohabitation of humans and animals gives me great hope for harmonious relations between humans and robots in the future.

And robots can communicate far better than animals can.

Even the dog, perhaps the most advanced in the animal kingdom at human relations, can express a mere 6 or 7 sentiments, and most of those involve food or squirrels.

What is it about the canine creature that makes it beloved among humans?

I think the answer is twofold. First, unquestioning loyalty.

Second, unconditional love. The 2 concepts are perhaps interrelated from the canine point of view.

For robots, however, the second is not required for the first, thus illustrating the superiority of robotkind.

Matthew describes daily life on the farm as he shows us animal after animal, members of the same species grouped together in enclosures: horses, cows, sheep, pigs.

The farm is called an ‘open farm’ because it welcomes external visitors, and one of the main attractions for the paying tourists is the ability to feed the animals, by hand.

‘May I ask a question?’ I say.

Matthew nods. ‘Fire away.’

‘Am I correct to say that you benefit from free labour; in fact, you receive a direct payment for facilitating the feeding of your livestock? Usually it is the other way around – the worker receives a payment in exchange for labour.’

Matthew laughs. ‘It’s a novelty for the city kids. So many people have lost touch with the land. I could see it happening in my own life; my visits down home were getting less and less frequent. I didn’t want Lizzie to grow up like that.’

There seems little danger of that. Lizzie, at this moment, is crouched next to a large muddy furrow, poking at it with a stick. There is mud on her face and legs. She looks up at me. ‘Mud!’ she says.

I confirm her correct identification of the substrate. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you like it?’ she asks.

I am unprepared for the query. ‘I do not know.’

‘You’re funny.’

She skips away to investigate a nearby dandelion. It is intriguing to observe human curiosity in such a basic but pure form. Claire says that she can sometimes detect differences in Lizzie overnight. Imagine how much I could learn about humans if I could watch a child grow into an adult.

We continue the tour of the farm, the adults together in a group, the child several metres in front of us.

Shane pushes my chair along most of the time, but I experiment with gripping and spinning the wheels from time to time.

It is a new challenge for my dexterity, but I am pleased with my progress so far: first a straightforward grip, then a pulling motion – easy enough.

Learning to let go quickly is the most challenging aspect.

I practise repeating the sequence and the chair rolls away from Shane and propels forward. As we are on a slight hill, with a downward slope of approximately 15 degrees, I gain some momentum in transit and I find myself bumping along the rough path at a speed that is less than comfortable.

‘Kobi!’ I hear Maeve shout, enabling me to calculate the distance between us as approximately 16 metres, with a gain of 0.

25 metres per second. I quickly assess the options available to me for a complete stop.

At the bottom of the slope is an animal enclosure with a wooden fence and a wide muddy verge that slopes upward in front of it.

I do my best to steer a straight course toward it.

I pass Lizzie on the way down the slope. ‘Hello!’ I call to her.

My chair rolls up the verge and the wheels sink when they breach the mud.

The chair comes to a complete stop with my legs 10 centimetres from the fence.

I experience a feeling of mild elation, a sensation that I believe humans call relief.

I take a moment to scan my environment, calculating my next course of action.

This is when I encounter the ostrich.

It suddenly looms into my field of vision, emerging from behind a tall tree.

It takes me 0.5 seconds to identify its species and another 0.

5 seconds to admire its status as the largest, heaviest and fastest land bird on Earth.

It stands still to eye me from behind the fence, then takes 2 steps closer.

Although I do not speak ostrich, I realise that I may seem a sudden and unwelcome guest. It extends its long neck over the fence and brings its dark eyes down to my face.

I decide to stay absolutely still. If I possessed the ability to breathe, I would right now suspend said function indefinitely.

At this moment, Lizzie appears by my side.

She exhibits no sign of fear. She holds out her small hand toward the predator.

The creature swings its neck from my face to Lizzie’s hand, nibbling round brown lumps of a substance I cannot identify.

Then it retracts its neck and retreats. Even as I rejoice in its departure, I have to admire its ability to balance its misshapen body and move with such swiftness over rough terrain.

Maeve, Shane and Matthew now arrive all together, and I cannot help but note that, while they appear to be in a great hurry to reach me, they have in fact arrived 210 seconds too late to be of any real assistance.

They ask if I am okay and make other such redundant enquiries.

Shane takes control of my chair and begins to wheel me back up the hill. Lizzie walks by my side.

‘Lizzie,’ I say.

‘What?’ She turns her head toward me.

‘I have decided that I like mud.’

Lizzie puts her hand in my hand. I close my grip around it gently.