They whirred and buzzed all around, dozens and dozens of them, on the floor, the walls, even the ceiling, removing invisible dirt, mopping away unseen marks. This was the first time he’d ever seen them at work—they started well after everyone was scheduled to leave. He didn’t know what he’d expected to feel at the sight, but hadn’t been prepared for the complete emptiness of his reaction. They were there. It didn’t matter. It was as if the storm of emotions and thoughts that had buffeted him all day had also washed away his ability to feel, or even think about, anything else. Slowly, he walked past them on to the conveyor belt, looking around wordlessly as it carried him back down towards the door.

He walked out of the exit and continued towards the transport docks. They were empty. In the distance far ahead, he could see a huge transparent sphere, about thirty feet in diameter and filled with people, moving smoothly down the conveyor belt that was the street. Private transportation had been outlawed—an unnecessary source of pollution—which made the transport pods the lifeline of the City. And he had just missed the last one.

The breeze hit him in the face as he stood at the dock, looking out into the empty space ahead. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with what the Health Department circulars called ‘freshly pumped inhalation gases of the best possible quality, comprising oxygen, nitrogen and other permissible additives to enhance the inhalation experience’. It was supposedly the perfect air, far cleaner than its underprivileged cousin outside the Dome, as established by the possibly unintentionally poetic annexure to the circular that told of how ‘Dome air is designed to be better than just clean and good, Dome air is the only air that smells as air should.’ Or something to that effect. Whatever. It wasn’t like he had an alternative, either to the air or the trek that awaited him.

He turned to begin the long walk home.

He was making his way through a paradox. Golden spiral structures loomed overhead—an ostentatious testament to the marvels of the Revolution—their shadows almost, but not quite, obscuring the piles of rubble and garbage that indicated Outlier activity in the neighbourhood. Far above the tallest spires, the setting sun filtered through the Dome, losing none of its light and warmth, yet devoid of the ultraviolet rays and other radiation that had once caused such widespread problems. But that had been a long time ago, generations ago. Progress had happened since then.