Page 7 of Chaos Theory

SEVEN

We trundle back along the corridor, a fluttering in my stomach. Not the good kind – I feel terrible. Jen has enough on her plate already.

‘Kobi, you can’t do things like that.’

I want to get through to him that he’s off to a bad start. He’s just gotten on the wrong side of the one person who was excited about him being here – apart from JP, maybe. I look Kobi up and down, frustrated. ‘I don’t know. Can’t you just be…normal?’

He stops abruptly, bows his head a few inches. For a moment, he appears completely non-functional. Then lights in his chest panel start illuminating in sequence, like Morse code.

‘Normalising settings,’ he announces. ‘Settings normalised.’ He resumes his slow march forward.

Oh God, what was that? And was it good or bad? I feel a cold sweat coming on.

‘Stop for a second. Did I just change something?’ I do a quick body scan, although I don’t actually know what I’m looking for. ‘Wait, do you have a “normal” setting? ’

Kobi stops walking, triggers a disturbing robotic laugh. ‘No. Do you?’

I’m confused. ‘Do I what? Do I have a normal setting? Um…no?’

‘No,’ he agrees.

‘Wait. So that was just…?’

‘A joke,’ he says.

‘A joke?’

‘Correct.’

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I have so many questions, but I reach for the closest one. ‘But why?’

‘I sensed tension. I know that humans like to relieve tension with humour.’

I can’t help but laugh, remembering a phrase that Shane likes to use any time something ridiculous happens: ‘The mirthless laughter of the damned.’ My mirthless laugh brings me some relief in spite of myself, as does the sight of the maintenance guy heading towards us with his toolbox.

But I’d rather not have to explain to him what happened to the elevator, so I steer Kobi towards the end of the corridor, where the customer relations team work.

‘Maybe we’ll just pop in here for a bit. ’

This department was my old turf until nine months ago, when Shane and I were both promoted to client liaison positions in marketing.

Neither of us had particularly wanted the new role, but it promised a little more money and less customer-facing time.

I’m still not sure what the customer relations gang think about my move.

We enter the open plan, but there’s hardly anyone on the floor.

I look at my watch. ‘Oh, they must all still be on tea break,’ I tell Kobi.

‘I do not understand why tea break is necessary,’ he says. ‘The working day commenced 120 minutes ago. My battery charge lasts six hours.’

I sigh. ‘Keep your voice down, will you? Think of it like this: humans need regular fuel to do good work. Sometimes the fuel comes in the form of coffee, or tea. Sometimes the fuel is a conversation, or sharing a joke with someone.’

I find that I’ve automatically walked over to the cubicle area where Shane and I worked.

Dave and Julia now occupy these desks. They installed themselves almost the second we left, claiming we’d been hogging a prime position where no one could walk behind our workstations, thus ensuring screen privacy at all times.

I stand in front of my old desk, remembering last summer, when Shane went through a phase of leaving Post-it notes stuck to my screen while I was away from my desk.

He’d doodle a cartoon version of himself escaping work in increasingly ludicrous ways.

Sawing a hole in the floor around his chair.

Jumping from the window ledge wearing wings made from photocopier paper.

Drinking poison, dying, becoming an angel but then having to work in a very similar job in God’s office. I smile to myself at the memory.

I look up to see Dave and Julia approaching.

‘Hey, guys! I wanted you to meet Kobi on a more personal level. Answer any more questions you had after this morning’s meeting.

And, you know, maybe see if he could help you in some way?

’ I try to keep my tone light, hoping they won’t realise the extent to which this is already spinning out of my control.

‘What’s the story?’ says Dave by way of greeting.

No one loves using Dublin vernacular more than Dave.

I told him I was born in Dublin, but because I grew up in other places, he was singularly unimpressed.

Although something tells me that Dave is only really interested in being impressed by Julia.

He bounces into his seat, stretches his arms overhead.

I notice what looks like a new tattoo – a rabbit with an arrow through its heart.

‘Hi, Maeve. Hi, Kobi.’ Julia glances at Dave. ‘What an honour that you’ve chosen our department for improvement.’

Whoa . I should have gone to tea break today. God knows what people have been saying to each other about Kobi. Dave was probably riling them all up with his conspiracy theories. ‘I didn’t say improvement, Julia. I said help.’

‘Yeah, we all know what “help” is code for,’ she says spikily.

‘What is it code for?’ Kobi asks. ‘I am always interested in code.’

Dave laughs. Julia joins in. Although I’m glad they’re laughing, I feel like I’m not included in the joke. I try to defend myself.

‘Hey, I’m not the bad guy. It wasn’t my idea for Kobi to be here.’ I look at the robot, standing alert beside me, awaiting instruction. I feel a little pang. I remember what it’s like to be new. ‘Sorry, Kobi. I’m glad you’re here.’ Let him process that little white lie.

‘It is nice to be here,’ Kobi says. I almost feel sorry for him.

‘Dave and Julia do the job that I used to do here – customer service. Julia, do you want to describe your job to Kobi?’

‘Sure,’ she says, settling in at her workstation with just a hint of an eye roll.

‘We answer the phone and emails. It’s mostly tourists looking for advice: where’s the best place to go, to stay, to eat – that kind of thing.

But most of the information is already on our website, so it’s usually just a case of directing people to the right place. ’

The website. Oh no. How long until somebody notices a problem? How long until Jen can fix it? And is there any chance of the latter being faster than the former?

At least Kobi provides a distraction. ‘It surprises me,’ he says, ‘that given the advances in voice automation technology, humans are still required to answer telephones.’

‘Kobi!’ I cough and try to elbow him, but my arm just clunks against solidness and elicits no response.

‘’Sokay,’ says Dave. ‘As a matter of fact, the company did try to bring in voice automation for phone queries a couple of years ago. Remember that summer, Jules? But come August they got rid of it. Said it was too impersonal – the tourist experience should begin the moment you first speak to someone in Ireland. We’re authentic , apparently.

’ He leans back in his chair, basking in his apparent authenticity.

As if on cue, Dave’s and Julia’s phones both begin to buzz gently. ‘See, the hotline is ringing again. It never stops.’

‘I’ll get it,’ says Julia. Her voice pitches to a singsong as she answers. ‘Go Ireland, this is Julia, how can I help?’

The rest of us do that thing where we remain silent, imagining what the voice on the other end of the line is saying.

Julia’s eyes go wide. ‘It says what ? On our website? Our website? That can’t be right.’ She picks up a stress ball in the shape of an orange hedgehog, hurls it at Dave. She jabs her finger at her screen repeatedly.

Dave taps at his keyboard, frowns. ‘This is nuts,’ he mutters.

Clearly Jen hasn’t been able to undo whatever Kobi did yet.

Julia finishes her call. ‘Dave, have you seen this?’

‘Looking at it now,’ he says.

‘What’s the problem?’ I regret asking as soon as I’ve said it.

I watch Julia’s eyes scan her screen. ‘The website… The text is…just… so… wrong. Where to start? It says here: “Leprechauns are a popular pet among the Irish, an extremely superstitious people. These small creatures are thought to bring good luck to the homestead.”’

‘Janey Mack,’ says Dave. ‘Check out the page about the Blarney Stone. “The Blarney Stone is believed to be a space rock deposited by aliens from the Planet Gab in the third century. Another name for the Blarney Stone is shamrock.” This doesn’t even make any sense.’

Julia laughs. ‘It says here, “The national drink of Ireland is Guinness.”’

‘Well,’ I begin, ‘that’s not far wrong.’

She interrupts. ‘It says, “The Irish are drawn to darkness. They drink Guinness at breakfast time and at bedtime to ward off evil spirits.”’

The phone buzzes again. I hear phones ring on other desks around the room .

Julia looks up at me. ‘Sorry, Maeve, I don’t know what’s going on here, but we don’t have time for you right now. You or your, your’ – she shakes her head at Kobi – ‘Tin Man.’

She shoos us away.