The Engineer by James Hornby

The Engineer
by James Hornby

Gary Wheeler checked his watch. “Where on earth is he?” 
He looked out of the staff canteen window, watching the first leaves begin to grow on the borders of the car park. Spring had come already, he realised. Before he knew it there would be another Christmas. 
“Gary, the engineer has arrived,” called Sarah, the personnel manager, from the top of the stairs leading back to the staff entrance.
“About time,” he muttered, and straightened his tie before walking over to meet him. 
As Gary descended the corrugated stairway, he saw Sarah speaking to a grubby-faced man with closely clipped dark hair, dressed in workman’s overalls. In his hand he carried a sturdy case.
“I’m here to install the new software,” he said to Gary in a monotone voice, the moment he came within earshot.
“Wonderful. I’m Gary Wheeler, store manager.”
Gary held out a hand, but all he received in return was a mild nod of acknowledgement. The engineer stepped forward. “Where am I going?” he asked, with a sense of urgency.
“Up here,” Gary answered while throwing a wide gesture in that direction, caught off guard by his abruptness. 
Gary led him back up the corrugated stairs and into the canteen, ignoring the curious looks from his staff as they walked by. They went through the next set of doors, which took them into the upper warehouse. 
“Ignore all this stuff,” Gary said to him. “We’ve still not managed to clear out everything from last Christmas.”
The engineer made no comment, and continued to follow behind.
“You’re not what I expected from an engineer,” Gary told him. He had expected a typical tradesman, able to banter until the sun went down. This guy had about as much personality as an oven pizza.
“I’m here to do a job,” he answered.
“No problem,” said Gary, taking the hint, though thoroughly wishing that the man delivering Freshfields’ salvation would show some sliver of personality. “This will be a big day for us,” he continued, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told the SPIMS system is supposed to magnify our profits.”
“Great,” said the engineer, wholeheartedly uninterested. 
Gary was relieved when they arrived at their destination: a small back room that was used to house the store’s electrical systems. Gary opened the door for the engineer to enter, and stepped inside after him. 
The air conditioning took up the majority of the room, located in the far corner. It connected up to a vast network of pipes that ran the length and breadth of the store.
The engineer moved over to a blank section of wall and set his case down on the ground. Unclipping the lock, he opened it up, to reveal a box made from metal. Wires protruded from either side of it.
The engineer set to work, first mounting the box on the wall, then drawing wires from nearby sources to connect it up to mains electricity. 
Gary grew uncomfortable with the silence. He knew he should leave the man to do his work, but somehow couldn’t help but linger, fascinated to see how this technological innovation was to be installed.
Delving back into the case he had brought with him, the engineer next produced a collection of dials and knobs, which he fitted to the front of the metal box. 
“What do they do?” Gary asked, unable to help himself.
“They’re to calibrate the program,” explained the engineer, the most animated he had been since the pair had met. “For the program to work effectively,  a baseline needs to be set.”
The engineer followed by twisting the controls in a manner of different directions. Gary watched intentively, wondering how the engineer could possibly know how the baseline was set with no screen or gauge to inform him. 
“All done,” the engineer announced, bending down to close the case. 
“That’s it?” Gary was astonished by his speed. “And it’s all run from that tiny box?”
“Yep,” said the engineer, eyeing up the exit, and, clipping the case shut, headed for it. 
“Then I suppose I’ll show you out,” said Gary, stepping out with him.
“No need,” the engineer said abruptly. “I remember.”
Sure enough, the engineer marched off in the right direction, leaving a perplexed Gary Wheeler in his wake. 

In the Blue Candle coffee shop across the road, a man in a beige suit sat waiting at a table for two. The fingers of one hand drummed the table impatiently, a subconscious, repetitive beat of four, whilst the other hand pawed at the bristles of his neatly trimmed white beard. 
He resisted the urge to stand when the door opened. The engineer entered, and looked around, head like a periscope. Spotting the beige-suited man, he walked over to the table and sat across from him. The pair looked at odds from each other: one working class and dejected, the other regal and Superior.
“The program is installed, Agalon,” the engineer announced, monosyllabic. 
“And the Nolvox—” His eyes screwed shut, and he tutted impatiently. “What about the control unit?” 
“Fitted to your specifications,” he replied, looking dead behind the eyes. 
Agalon nodded, regarding the engineer with all the regard of a fly. 
He sighed. “It will have to do…”
Agalon snapped his fingers. The engineer began to blink rapidly, as though a pair of syllables had been smashed together in front of him. He began to take in his surroundings. Agalon rose to his feet and calmly walked away, entirely unnoticed by the perplexed engineer. 
“What can I get you, sir?” a waiter asked, homing in on the table like a harrier jet, notepad in hand. 
“Oh,” said the engineer, as if it finally dawned on him where he was. He snatched a menu from the holder in front of him. “Cappucino, please.”
The waiter jotted it down, and sped away as fast as he had come, leaving the engineer alone with his abundance of thoughts.
How the hell did I get here?

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