Milton Keynes Magic
"Warehouse robot technician Chiamaka fixes machines by day—but the thick Sierra Leonean night manager fixes something else entirely during their overlapping shifts."
The robots never misbehaved for Chiamaka.
But Fatmata made her malfunction constantly.
The thick Sierra Leonean night manager appeared every evening at 6 PM, just as Chiamaka's shift was ending. Their paths crossed for exactly thirty minutes.
Thirty charged, electric minutes.
"Overtime tonight?" Fatmata would ask.
"Depends on the incentive."
"I could think of some."
The incentive came after everyone left.
"The cameras don't cover this section," Fatmata said. "I checked."
"That's suspicious."
"That's planning." She pulled Chiamaka between two massive shelving units. "I've been planning for weeks."
Against boxes marked FRAGILE, they proved they were anything but.
Fatmata's thick body was soft and demanding. Her hands knew exactly what they wanted.
"Quiet," she warned. "The robots hear everything."
"Then make me quiet."
Fatmata's mouth found other uses.
The arrangement became ritual.
6 PM to 6:30 PM. Their private window.
"We should stop," Chiamaka said.
"We really should." Fatmata kissed her neck. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Obviously."
The warehouse developed a reputation for excellent shift coordination.
Staff noticed the technician and manager got along remarkably well.
They didn't know how well.
"Best job I ever had," Chiamaka would say.
"Best employee I ever managed," Fatmata agreed.
Milton Keynes' most efficient warehouse kept many secrets.
The robots weren't programmed to share them.