Ten Ways We Read Industry.
Ten ways of looking at industrial situations. Each chapter is one lens with one case study, hard numbers, the trap that is easy to miss, and the question worth asking in the field.
Ten chapters, ten case studies.
- 01Capability is the asset, not intellectual propertyInconel 718
- 02Materials and methods — the quiet moatGE LEAP fuel nozzle
- 03Substitution saves money. Creation makes it.Power-by-the-Hour
- 04The modern industrialist — why so fewHans Beckhoff
- 05Where computers meet machinesSiemens Amberg
- 06The whole life of the thingCaterpillar Reman
- 07Same technology, different sidesGPS · military and civilian
- 08Slow money and fast moneyWallenberg / Investor AB
- 09How long industry actually takesEtherCAT timeline
- 10Who buys it today, tomorrow, and in ten yearsAerones
How we read industry. Ten lenses.
This is how we look at industrial situations at Kaipability. If you find it useful, use it. If you find it wrong, write back.
Most of this work depends on reading situations correctly. A factory tour will give you fifteen minutes with the plant manager and a thousand impressions. A founder pitch will give you a deck and forty-five minutes. A diligence visit will give you two days. The question is always the same. What is actually going on here, and where is the value?
The ten chapters that follow are ten ways to read an industrial situation. Each one is a different lens you can put on the same scene. Used together, they tell you where to stand and what to ignore.
Three rules.
One. Use numbers wherever you can. Production rate. Defect rate. Headcount. Margin. Capital cost. Lead time. Service interval. Lot size. If you cannot put a number on something, you do not yet understand it. We say this often and we mean it.
Two. Plain English. We work across material science, controls, accounting, and law. Every discipline has its own private vocabulary. Do not use that vocabulary unless you are explaining its meaning. If you find yourself reaching for a three-letter abbreviation, you are probably also reaching for an idea you have not yet pinned down.
Three. Capability is the thing we are trying to see. Not technology, not products, not patents — those are visible artefacts of underlying capability. Capability is the ability of a specific human-and-machine system to repeatedly produce a specific outcome under realistic conditions. Most of what we do is figure out whether a particular capability exists, where it lives, who owns it, and how it can be protected, transferred, or scaled.
Capability is the asset. Not the patent.
Most people think industrial advantage lives in patents. It does not. Patents protect the formula. Capability is the ability to manufacture the formula at quality, at rate, repeatably, with the right tolerances, in the right materials, with the right cost, with the right supply chain. The formula is the easy part. The capability is the hard part. And the capability is the part that survives the patent expiring.
When an industrial patent expires, the dominant supplier usually keeps about 70 percent of the market. The patent was never the moat. The patent was the keep-honest-customers-honest paper. The moat was the twenty years of process learning that came with making the thing.
Special Metals Corporation
Inconel 718 is a nickel-based superalloy used in jet engine discs, hot-section turbine parts, and rocket nozzles. It was invented by Herbert Eiselstein at Huntington Alloys (now Special Metals) and patented in 1962. The patent expired around 1980. Forty-five years after expiry, anyone in the world can read the chemistry and make their own version. Many do.
Special Metals (now owned by Precision Castcomponents Corp) still holds the majority share of the aerospace-grade market. The reason is not the formula. The reason is the cumulative know-how of producing it to aerospace certification standards lot after lot for over sixty years. Vacuum induction melting, vacuum arc remelting, homogenisation cycles, forging routes, heat treatment windows, inclusion control, lot-to-lot consistency. Every one of those is a learned capability. None are written in the patent. All matter to whether a jet engine disc made from your alloy is allowed to fly.
When we look at a company, we do not start with their patents. We start with the questions: how long have you been doing this, how many lots have you made, what is your reject rate now versus three years ago, who in your team has been doing this for more than ten years, what happens if they leave. The answers tell us whether the capability is real and where it lives.
When we look at our own intellectual property — the assessment frameworks we use, the diagnostic methods, the worked examples — we treat them the same way. The framework written down is the entry ticket. The cumulative judgement of having used the framework on a hundred industrial situations is the moat. Anyone can read what we publish. Almost nobody can do what we do.
It is easy to see a patent portfolio and assume defensibility. Patents disclose. To get a patent you have to teach the world how to copy you, in exchange for twenty years of legal exclusion. Trade secrets and process know-how do not have to be disclosed and do not expire. The strongest industrial moats are almost never patent-based.
The quiet moat is in the alloy.
The deepest layer of industrial capability is materials and process chemistry. In the physical world, what something is made of and how it was made determines what it can do. Change either and you change the product.
A fuel nozzle in a jet engine injects atomised fuel into the combustion chamber. It is small — about the size of a fist — and lives in one of the hottest, most chemically aggressive environments in any industrial machine. For decades the standard design used twenty individual parts machined separately and brazed together. The wrong materials or the wrong joint geometry shortens engine life by months. The right ones extend it by years.
GE Aviation · CFM International
In the late 2000s, GE Aviation was developing a new generation of jet engine called the LEAP — a joint venture with the French engine maker Safran through CFM International. The LEAP was destined to power the Airbus A320neo and the Boeing 737 MAX, the two most commercially important narrowbody aircraft in the world. The fuel nozzle had previously been made by brazing together twenty individual machined parts. GE Aviation decided to redesign it as a single component, made by direct metal laser melting — fusing cobalt-chrome alloy powder one twenty-micron layer at a time with a laser.
The result was a single part instead of twenty. About 25 percent lighter than the conventional version. Approximately five times more durable in operation. Brazed joints, which had been the highest-risk failure mode of the old design, were eliminated entirely. By 2024 GE had produced approximately one hundred thousand of these nozzles, every one of them flying in commercial aircraft over millions of flight hours.
What changed at once: the design moved from twenty parts to one, the manufacturing process moved from machining-and-brazing to laser-powder fusion, the materials specification was rewritten for additive construction rather than wrought, the inspection methods shifted from optical and dye-penetrant testing of welds to high-resolution computed tomography of the entire part, and the qualification pathway through the Federal Aviation Administration required first-of-kind safety approvals that took several years and set precedent for everything that has followed. A new entrant cannot match GE on any single one of these layers without matching the others as well.
When a company tells us they have a new product, we ask: what is it made of, why that, who else has tried that material, what does the production process look like end to end. If the answer reveals that materials and methods have moved at the same time as the product design, we pay attention. Single-axis innovation is incremental. Multi-axis innovation is a paradigm shift.
From a distance the fuel nozzle is a small metal cone with internal passages. Up close it is a five-layer capability rebuild expressed as one component. When you can name the five layers that had to change to make it possible — and explain why none of them could have changed alone — you understand how to read materials-and-methods change in industry generally.
It is easy to listen to the product story and ignore the supply chain story. Where is the alloy made? Who are the powder suppliers? What is the heat treatment furnace utilisation? What is the printer uptime? If the company cannot answer these questions, the product story is a slide. If they can answer them, the product story is a business.
Substitution saves money. Creation makes it.
There are two ways to make money in industry. You can do an existing job for less money than the people currently doing it. That is substitution. Or you can create a new thing that did not previously exist and sell it. That is creation. They look similar from a distance. They behave very differently up close.
Substitution moves money from one pocket to another. If a robot replaces a £25,000-a-year warehouse worker for a total cost of ownership of £18,000 a year, the warehouse owner saves £7,000 and the worker loses £25,000 of income. Society is poorer by £18,000 in total wages and richer by £7,000 in capital surplus. Net change: minus £11,000. Substitution only adds to civilisational wealth if the worker finds higher-value work elsewhere, which is not guaranteed.
Creation is different. Creation makes a thing that did not exist before and sells it. The buyer gets value they could not previously buy. The seller gets revenue they could not previously book. Both sides are better off. Net change: positive on both sides of the ledger.
Rolls-Royce Civil Aerospace · TotalCare
In 1962, Bristol Siddeley Engines invented a programme called Power-by-the-Hour for the Viper jet engine on the de Havilland Hawker Siddeley business jets. Instead of selling the engine and then selling spares and overhauls separately, they sold a fixed-price service per hour of flying time. If the engine ran for a thousand hours a year, the customer paid a thousand units. If it ran for two thousand, they paid two thousand. Rolls-Royce inherited the model when they absorbed Bristol Siddeley in 1966 and turned it into TotalCare in the 1980s.
The numbers are now significant. Civil Aerospace services revenue is roughly equal to its product revenue. About half of all Rolls-Royce Civil Aerospace turnover comes from TotalCare contracts rather than engine sales. The economic shape of the business changed from selling capital equipment once every twenty years to selling availability continuously. Capital expenditure on the customer side became operating expenditure. Risk of unplanned downtime moved from airline to engine maker. The engine maker had every incentive to design for reliability because they were now paying for failure.
This was not substitution. Nobody used to buy thrust-by-the-hour and now buys it from Rolls-Royce instead of someone else. Power-by-the-Hour created a category that did not exist. Customers willingly paid for it because the value to them — predictable cost, reduced downtime, no spares inventory — was higher than the price. Both sides gained.
When we look at a company we ask whether they are substituting or creating. Substitution companies are not bad businesses but they have hard ceilings. The total market is the wage bill of the workers they replace, minus the cost of capital to replace them, minus the friction of adoption. Creation companies have no such ceiling. Their market is the value of the new category, which can be much larger than the existing one.
The Power-by-the-Hour shift is the textbook creation case. The economic surface area changed shape. Customers willingly paid for something that did not previously exist. Both sides gained. Most industrial paradigm shifts have the same shape — when the commercial artefact changes, not just the technology, the category itself opens up.
It is easy to listen to a humanoid robotics pitch and get excited about cost savings on labour. The right question is not "how much does this save in labour cost." The right question is "what new commercial activity does this enable that did not exist before." If the answer is "nothing — it just does the existing job for less" you are looking at substitution. Substitution can be a good business at small scale. It rarely becomes a generational company.
The modern industrialist. Why so few.
The single biggest constraint on industrial value creation is people who can hold the whole stack in their head at once. We call these people modern industrialists. They are engineers who understand materials, processes, controls, software, economics, and customer behaviour simultaneously, and who can move a design across all of those layers without losing coherence. The five-layer LEAP nozzle from Chapter 02 was not designed by five specialists handing work to each other in series. It was designed by people who could see all five layers at the same time and make trade-offs across them in real time.
Modern industrialists are rare for a specific reason. The education system trains specialists. Career incentives reward specialists. Corporate structures are organised around specialists. So the natural progression of a smart engineer is to go deep on one thing — materials science, control engineering, software — and stay there. The number of people who manage to keep breadth while also developing depth is small. Our estimate, based on the population we have hired from and worked alongside across Rolls-Royce and Atlas Copco, is on the order of one in a thousand engineers becomes a modern industrialist by age forty. Most of those are already employed.
Beckhoff Automation · founder and managing partner
Beckhoff Automation is a family-owned industrial controls business based in Verl, in north-west Germany. It was started in 1953 by Arnold Beckhoff in the back of an electrical goods shop. His son Hans took it over in 1980, built it into one of the largest industrial automation businesses in the world, and is still managing it. Revenue in 2024 was approximately €2.1 billion. The business employs about 5,300 people across 75 countries. Roughly 4 percent of revenue goes into research and development every year — about €80 million annually.
Hans Beckhoff is a modern industrialist. He has a doctorate in physics. He spent decades on the shop floor. He understands controls, software, networking, mechanical engineering, and commercial strategy at depth. In 2003 his company released a communications standard called EtherCAT, which is now the dominant way industrial machines talk to each other on a factory floor — over 105 million devices deployed globally as of 2025. The semiconductor factories that make the chips inside the GPUs used to train AI models run on EtherCAT.
The point is not the product. The point is that one person, over four decades, with patient family ownership and a regional industrial ecosystem, built a quietly dominant business in a market with massive global stakes. That is what a modern industrialist looks like when given the conditions to operate.
Our long-term view is that Kaipability has to function as a way of growing modern industrialists, not just identifying them. The consultancy work, the field manuals like this one, the worked case studies, the placement of people into portfolio companies, the apprenticeship model — these are not adjacent to the business. They are the business at its full shape. The fund deploys capital alongside the people. The fund is one of several mechanisms. The deeper mechanism is the population.
When you read a company pitch, the most important slide is the team slide. Not the credentials. The capability shape. Does anyone in this team hold three or more layers of the stack at depth? If yes, the company has a chance. If no, it has a problem nobody on the slide yet knows about.
It is easy to over-weight credentials and under-weight track record across layers. A PhD in materials from a top university is not a modern industrialist. A first-class degree from a less famous place who has spent eight years on the shop floor of three different industries probably is. The signal we look for is depth in two or more layers and visible curiosity in the rest. Curiosity matters because the modern industrialist's career is permanent self-education.
Where computers meet machines.
Every industrial business now runs on two technology stacks. The digital stack is the office computers, the planning software, the data warehouses, the dashboards. The shop-floor stack is the controllers, the sensors, the drives, the motors, the conveyors, the inspection cameras, the welding robots. These were two different worlds for thirty years. They are now converging, and the businesses that get the convergence right pull away from the businesses that do not.
To understand why this matters, look at a number. The average industrial defect rate across European manufacturing in 2024 was somewhere around two to five thousand defects per million products shipped. That sounds high. It is roughly typical. Some businesses do much better. The world's best plant is one of them, and the gap between the best and the average is six orders of magnitude.
Bavaria, Germany · Simatic factory automation products
The Siemens factory in Amberg, Bavaria makes Simatic programmable controllers — the brains of industrial machines. It has been running since 1989. About 1,200 people work there. They produce roughly 17 million products per year. The defect rate is approximately 12 defects per million products — meaning if you ordered a million of their products, you would expect about 12 of them to have a problem.
The plant is roughly 75 percent automated. The other 25 percent is human. The humans do the things humans are still better at — exception handling, judgement calls, interaction with customers and suppliers. The machines do the things machines are better at — repetitive precision tasks, around-the-clock operation, perfect record-keeping. The integration between digital and physical happens at every level. Every machine reports its state continuously. Every product has a digital twin from the moment its components arrive. Every defect is traced backwards to its root cause within minutes, and the production line adjusts before the next batch.
The plant did not start this way. In 1989 it was a normal Siemens factory. It has taken thirty-five years of continuous improvement, software upgrades, automation investment, and workforce training to reach the current state. The defect rate is now hundreds of times better than industry average. The output per employee is many times higher than industry average. Neither of those was the result of buying a piece of software. Both were the result of integrating digital and physical capability over decades.
When we walk into a factory, we look at the dashboards on the office computers and then we walk down to the shop floor and look at the same data on the operator screens. If the numbers match and the operators can act on them, the integration is real. If they do not match, or the operator screens are blank, or the operators ignore the screens, the integration is theatre.
A common pattern is that companies invest heavily in the digital stack while neglecting the shop-floor stack. The dashboards look great. The shop floor still runs on whiteboards and paper. This is worse than not investing in either, because the company now believes it has solved a problem that it has not solved. We look for evidence that integration is happening at the operator level, not the manager level.
It is easy to spend the office-tour part of a site visit being impressed by dashboards and the shop-floor part being polite. Spend it the other way round. The dashboards are usually built to impress visitors. The shop floor is where the truth lives. Talk to the operators. Look at what they actually use. Ask what they wish was different.
The whole life of the thing.
Most companies focus on selling a product. The best industrial companies focus on the entire life of the product — from raw material to manufacture, through years of operation, through repairs and overhauls, through eventual recycling or remanufacture, and back to raw material again. The whole life matters because the largest part of the value of most industrial products is captured after the original sale, not at the sale itself.
A rough rule of thumb across most industrial categories is that the lifetime cost of operating, maintaining, and repairing a piece of capital equipment is between three and ten times the original purchase price, depending on how long it runs. A power plant turbine purchased for £50 million might cost the operator £400 million across thirty years of operation. A pump purchased for £20,000 might cost the operator £100,000 across fifteen years. The original equipment maker captures very little of this lifecycle value unless they design for it.
Caterpillar Inc. · remanufacturing operations
Caterpillar makes the yellow earth-moving machines, generators, and industrial engines that show up on every construction site and mine in the world. In 1973 they started a business called Caterpillar Reman, which takes worn-out engines and transmissions from old machines, disassembles them, inspects each part, remanufactures the parts that can be saved, replaces the parts that cannot, and sells the result as a Reman product at roughly 60 to 70 percent of the price of a new equivalent. The Reman product carries the same warranty as a new product.
The numbers are real. Caterpillar Reman is a roughly $4 billion-a-year business. It operates around 70 facilities worldwide. Every remanufactured engine uses approximately 85 percent less raw material than a new one and produces about 86 percent less carbon dioxide over its lifecycle. The economics work because the original engine was designed with remanufacture in mind. The crankcase castings are heavy and durable. The bearing surfaces are designed to be resurfaced multiple times. The connecting rods are designed to be inspected and refurbished. Every design choice trades some original-build cost for higher remanufacture yield decades later.
Caterpillar customers love it because they get warranty-grade equipment at lower cost. Caterpillar loves it because the lifecycle revenue per machine is much higher than it would be if every replacement was a new build. The environment benefits because raw material consumption falls dramatically. Three-way win that took fifty years of design discipline to build.
When a company tells us about their product, we ask about year five, year ten, year fifteen. What does the customer do with it then? Is the company involved? Where does the wear happen? Can it be regenerated? What is the data trail through the lifecycle? Most pitches stop at the sale. We start where the sale ends.
The LEAP fuel nozzle from Chapter 02 is a lifecycle case as much as a materials-and-methods case. Every nozzle in service is monitored as part of CFM International's engine-hours contracts. Each flight cycle adds data to the model of how the nozzle's specific operating conditions affect its durability. Over time the model sharpens, the wear pattern is better predicted, and the service interval can be tuned to the individual engine. The longer the nozzle is in service, the more valuable the data and the customer relationship become. The original sale of the nozzle was the start of a multi-decade conversation.
It is easy to look at the price per unit and stop. The price per unit is the smallest number in the analysis. The total cost of ownership over the asset life is many times larger. The total revenue from servicing that asset life — for the maker who is set up to capture it — can be larger than the original sale itself. Always ask about lifecycle economics. If the company has not thought about them, they are leaving most of the value on the table.
Same technology. Different sides.
Many of the things we work with have civilian and defence applications at the same time. A vacuum pump for semiconductor fabrication is also a vacuum pump for cryogenic missile guidance systems. A precision-machined turbine blade for civil aviation is also a precision-machined turbine blade for fighter jets. A drone for wind turbine inspection is also a drone for battlefield reconnaissance. The same capability serves both sides. The challenge is that the two sides have very different rules about who can buy, who can sell, who can know, and what gets shared.
The defence world has had this challenge for centuries and built infrastructure for it. Classification, clearance, allied agreements like NATO, technology export controls like the International Traffic in Arms Regulations in the United States or the corresponding rules in the United Kingdom and European Union. These systems work imperfectly, but they exist and they handle dual-use technology routinely.
The civilian world has nothing equivalent. Industrial capability that took twenty years to build is currently legally protected by trade secrets, which only hold as long as nobody talks, and patents, which require disclosure to grant exclusion. Both regimes are now under strain because artificial intelligence systems can ingest and synthesise prior knowledge faster than humans can. A capability built over five years of operator practice can be reproduced in months by a model trained on the right inputs. We are entering a period where the civilian world needs something like the defence world's classification architecture, applied to capability rather than to documents.
US Department of Defense · civilian and military signals on one rail
The Global Positioning System is a constellation of around 31 satellites operated by the US Space Force. Every smartphone, every car satnav, every shipping container, every aircraft, every drone uses it. The civilian use is so universal that most people never think about the military origin. About six billion GPS receivers are currently in use globally. The economic value of civilian GPS to the world economy is estimated at over $300 billion per year.
What is interesting for our purposes is how the architecture handles the dual-use problem. The same satellites broadcast two signals at once. One is the Coarse/Acquisition code, which is open to anyone in the world with a $5 receiver chip, and gives accuracy of about three metres. The other is the Precise code, which is encrypted, only readable by US military and approved allies, and gives accuracy of better than one metre with anti-jamming and anti-spoofing protections. Same satellites. Same hardware. Two coding regimes. Two access tiers. Total economic value distributed across both. National security maintained on the upper tier. Civilian utility maximised on the lower tier.
The architecture took thirty years to evolve. The system was conceived in the 1960s, became operational in the mid-1990s, had civilian access deliberately degraded by something called Selective Availability until 2000, and has since added more signal bands and more accuracy. The point is not that any of this is simple. The point is that it has been done before in another domain. There is no first-principles obstacle to applying the same architecture to civilian industrial capability.
When we look at a portfolio company we ask whether their capability is naturally dual-use. If yes, we think carefully about how it is protected, who can know it, where it sits in our portfolio, and what the export control implications are. Some capabilities will need to be deliberately built with classification logic from day one. This is uncomfortable for engineers used to open-source culture but it is increasingly the right answer for genuinely sensitive industrial capability.
The flip side is that dual-use capability tends to have access to two different capital pools — civilian venture and defence — and two different customer bases. Companies that can serve both at once, without compromising either, are unusually valuable. Saab Group, Leonardo, and BAE Systems are examples of businesses that live natively on this boundary.
It is easy to assume defence work is incompatible with civilian commerce. It is not. Most modern primes — Saab, BAE Systems, Leonardo, Lockheed Martin — run substantial dual-use programmes and have done so for decades. The compatibility question is about architecture, not about ethics or commerce. Get the architecture right and dual-use is a competitive advantage. Get it wrong and it is a problem.
Slow money. Fast money.
Money has different shapes depending on who gives it and what they expect back. A venture capital fund has a ten-year life and needs to return capital to its investors at the end of that life. A family office can hold an asset for a hundred years. A sovereign wealth fund operates on a fifty-year horizon. A retail investor in a public equity fund operates on a one-day horizon. All of this is the same money in nominal terms — pounds, dollars, euros — but the time horizon completely changes what the money can be used for.
The mismatch between an asset and the capital backing it is one of the most common ways industrial companies fail. A factory that takes twenty years to compound to dominance cannot be funded by a ten-year venture vehicle. A research programme that takes thirty years to mature cannot be funded by quarterly earnings reports. When the wrong money meets the right idea, the idea either dies or gets sold to someone with the right money at a fraction of its eventual value.
Wallenberg family · Sweden · industrial holding company
In 1856 a Swedish banker called André Oscar Wallenberg founded the bank that would become Stockholms Enskilda Bank. His descendants spent the next 170 years compounding capital into a portfolio of long-held industrial assets. Today their main vehicle is Investor AB, a publicly listed holding company with major positions in ABB, AstraZeneca, Atlas Copco, Ericsson, Saab, Electrolux, and others. Net asset value is approximately $130 billion as of 2024. The family motto, attributed to one of the early Wallenbergs, translates roughly as "to be, not to be seen."
The Wallenberg model is patient. They typically hold positions for decades. They take board seats. They influence strategy across generations of executives. When one of their companies needs to make a multi-decade bet — a new factory, a new technology platform, a new market entry — the Wallenberg presence on the board makes it easier to fund. Their explicit purpose is to ensure that these companies exist for the next hundred years. Compare that to a venture fund whose explicit purpose is to return capital within ten years.
The difference shows up in the kind of bets the companies can make. ABB can fund a twenty-year industrial automation roadmap. Atlas Copco can absorb a multi-decade integration of an acquisition like Edwards. AstraZeneca can fund a fifteen-year drug development pipeline. None of these would be possible if the controlling shareholder needed exit liquidity in five years. Patient ownership is itself a competitive advantage at the industrial scale.
Kaipability is being built as a multi-vehicle organisation. The fund — kAIndustrial Capital I — is the validation-cheque mechanism for proving paradigm-shift candidates over a ten-year cycle. The consultancy is the calibration engine and operating cashflow. Special purpose vehicles will form around individual paradigm shifts and will raise capital appropriate to each — sometimes family-office money, sometimes sovereign, sometimes strategic original-equipment-maker money. The Foundation will eventually carry the longer-term governance of frameworks and methodology, on an evergreen basis.
The honest position is that no single vehicle is capable of carrying the full thirty-year arc. Different mechanisms carry different parts of the work. Readers in capital roles should know this so they understand why we sometimes turn down capital that looks attractive on paper. Wrong-shape capital is more harmful than no capital.
It is easy to think the goal is to raise the largest amount of money at the highest valuation as quickly as possible. The goal is to raise the right kind of money at a structure that lets the business attempt what it actually needs to attempt. Sometimes that means raising less money. Sometimes it means turning down a famous investor in favour of a quieter one. The cap table is the long-term constraint. Treat it that way.
How long industry actually takes.
Industrial change is slower than software change. Software products can go from launch to market dominance in three to five years. Slack went from launch in 2014 to acquisition by Salesforce in 2021 for $27.7 billion — seven years. Stripe was founded in 2009 and reached a $95 billion valuation by 2024 — fifteen years. These are fast outcomes by any historical standard, and they are normal for software.
Industrial change runs at a different clock speed. New manufacturing processes take five to ten years to qualify into safety-critical industries. New materials take ten to twenty years to displace established materials. New industrial standards take fifteen to twenty-five years to become dominant. None of this is because industrial people are slow. It is because the consequences of getting it wrong are physical and irreversible, and the qualification work that prevents getting it wrong takes time.
Beckhoff Automation · industrial Ethernet protocol
EtherCAT is the industrial communications protocol mentioned in Chapter 04. It is the way machines on a modern factory floor talk to each other in real time. The protocol was released to the public in 2003. Beckhoff retained no proprietary rights — anyone could implement it, free of charge — and set up an industry organisation, the EtherCAT Technology Group, to govern it. The strategy was to win on technical merit first and standardise the result.
The timeline is worth memorising as a benchmark for industrial standards adoption.
From release to ~30 percent market share took seven years. From release to today's dominance — over a hundred million devices, the standard on which the world's semiconductor fabrication runs — took twenty-two years. And EtherCAT is considered one of the faster successful industrial standards. By comparison, the Robot Operating System, which is now the de facto open standard for academic and research robotics, was released in 2007 and is still gaining ground in commercial robotics two decades later. The combustion engine took roughly thirty years from invention to ubiquitous adoption. Industrial change runs on decadal cycles, not annual ones.
Our fund vehicle is ten years long. That is the right length to validate paradigm-shift candidates and prove that they can be capitalised. It is not the right length to ride a paradigm shift all the way to industrial dominance. The Foundation, the methodology, and the consultancy operate on longer horizons because they have to. Anyone working with us in any of these mechanisms should be honest with themselves about which one they are operating in at any given moment. Different mechanisms reward different time horizons of thinking.
When you assess a company pitching to us, ask yourself how long their proposition realistically takes to mature. If they say five years and you can see ten years of qualification work ahead of them, they are either being optimistic or they have not done the work to know. Either way, ask the question explicitly. The answer tells you a lot about how much of the work the founder actually understands.
It is easy to apply software pacing expectations to industrial projects. Why is this taking so long? Because it is industry. The slowness is not a bug in the system. It is the system catching errors before they kill people. Embrace the slowness and look for ways to compress without breaking the safety case. Compressing is possible — that is the whole point of time compression technologies — but only by changing the structure of the work, not by demanding people work faster.
Who buys it today, tomorrow, and in ten years.
Every industrial business answers three market questions, and the answers should be different from each other. Who is a customer today? Who will be a customer in two to three years if the company executes? Who will be a customer in ten years if the category matures? If the answers are the same, the company is targeting too narrow a market. If they are wildly disconnected, the company has not thought about how it grows. Good industrial businesses have a clear progression from today's customers to tomorrow's, each one bridged by a specific capability the company is building.
The reason this matters more in industry than in software is that industrial sales cycles are long. An aerospace prime takes two to three years to qualify a new supplier. A semiconductor fabrication facility takes one to two years to integrate a new tool. A defence procurement programme takes five to ten years from initial scoping to first delivery. Today's customer is determined by work the company did three years ago. Today's work determines who the customer is three years from now.
Latvia · drone-based blade inspection and repair
Aerones is a Latvian company that builds large drones for inspecting and repairing wind turbine blades. A modern wind turbine blade is sixty to ninety metres long, exposed to weather, and prone to leading-edge erosion that reduces aerodynamic efficiency by 1 to 5 percent over a few years of operation. Repair traditionally requires a team of rope-access technicians who hang from the nacelle and grind, fill, and repaint the blade by hand. It is slow, dangerous, expensive, and weather-dependent.
Aerones built a drone-based system that does the same job. The drone hovers next to the blade, grinds the eroded area, applies filler, and recoats — all controlled from the ground. By 2024 they had serviced approximately 20,000 wind turbines globally. Their customers include Vestas, Siemens Gamesa, ENGIE, and Ørsted — the largest wind turbine makers and operators in the world. They have raised approximately $80 million in capital across multiple rounds. The business has clear customers today, clear growth into adjacent maintenance applications tomorrow, and clear potential to become the standard infrastructure for renewable energy maintenance as the installed base of wind turbines triples over the next ten years.
What is interesting is how each time horizon has a different customer profile. Today's customer is the wind turbine operator doing reactive maintenance. Tomorrow's customer — three years out — is the integrated services contract for entire wind farms across multiple operators. The ten-year customer is the standard inspection and maintenance infrastructure for offshore wind, which is the fastest-growing renewable category globally. The same capability serves three different commercial relationships, each one larger than the last.
Kaipability's near-term work is with industrial operators on specific paradigm-shift scoping engagements — the today customer. The eighteen-month-to-three-year customer is a portfolio of named primes in aerospace and defence, plus the first of the Kaipability special purpose vehicles built around specific paradigm shifts. The ten-year customer is the broader ecosystem of UK and European industrial businesses that need capability assessment, paradigm-shift advisory, and capital backing as standard infrastructure. Each step is funded by the previous one. None of it is automatic.
When you walk into a founder pitch, the question to keep at the back of your mind is whether the company you are looking at has the same kind of progression. Today, tomorrow, and ten years from now. If they do, and the progression makes sense, you are looking at a real business. If they do not, you are looking at a one-trick shop.
It is easy to ask about today's customers and stop. Today's customers tell you whether the company can sell anything at all. Tomorrow's customers tell you whether the company has a path to scale. The ten-year customers tell you whether the company can become a generational business. All three answers matter. Ask all three questions.
Ten lenses. One pair of eyes.
Each lens gives a partial answer. Used together, they triangulate the situation accurately enough to act on. The skill is not memorising them — it is knowing which lens to apply first, and then applying the next four or five quickly enough to have an informed view by the end of a meeting.
Kaipability is, in shape, a way of growing the modern industrialist as a population and protecting the capability they originate as the world fills up with artificial intelligence systems that can read and reproduce most things.
- Wallenberg-shapebut the held asset is capability, not equity.
- Bessemer-shapebut the royalty flows on protected know-how, not raw-material patents.
- ARM-shapebut the licensing surface is methodology, not instruction sets.
- Beckhoff-shapebut the protocol layer is matter, method, and data, not Ethernet timing.
- Guild-shapebut the credential is verified origination, not time-served craft.
None of these analogies are exact. All are useful. Investors hear the Wallenberg version. Founders hear the Guild version. Policymakers hear the ARM version. Engineers hear the Beckhoff version. The underlying object — civilian capability protection and distribution in the age of artificial intelligence — is the same in every case.
Apply the ten lenses, pay attention to the numbers, and remember that capability is the thing we are trying to see. Not products, not patents, not pitches. Capability. The ability to repeatedly do a specific thing well, under realistic conditions, in a way that survives the people who built it leaving the room.
If you cannot explain it in plain English, you have not yet thought it through.
If you cannot find the capability under the product, you are still looking at the surface.