January 27, 2030
Timothy had decided to try out one of the medical technologies he should reconstruct.
The idea had already settled by the time he recognized it as a decision, the way certain conclusions arrived only after every alternative had quietly removed itself. He noticed it late at night, alone in the office again, the building thinned down to maintenance staff and security rounds, when he realized he was no longer asking whether something could be built.
He was asking what it would cost to build it correctly.
The autodoc scene from the film replayed in his head without sound. Not the drama of it, not the novelty, but the calm sequence of steps. The machine did not rush. It did not panic. It assessed, adjusted, executed, and monitored. No single component was miraculous. The effect came from coordination.
That was the part that stayed.
