He arched his head back, squinting up at the sky. If he concentrated, he could just make out the faintest arc of the Dome far above his head, curving all the way into the horizon. Some people said it had no end, that everything there was lay under it; others argued that it was impossible for anything to go on forever—even the Dome. Either way, it didn’t matter—yet another of those things that didn’t. The fact was, the Dome kept them alive, protected the City like a gigantic, almost invisible, carapace. Outside the Dome, all was death. Everyone knew that. It was in the tenets. It might even be true.

Looking back down, his eye caught yet another giant holograph of the Administrator glaring down. Right under it, two bots from the Sanitation Department dutifully scrubbed graffiti off a wall. Albert narrowed his eyes and stared, trying to make out the words: COME TO FA—

That was as much as he could make out, the bots’ industriousness having decimated the rest. Well, if nothing else, it proved their intelligence was artificial all right. They could buzz and scrub at the slogan till their circuits fell out, and it would still be back by morning. With friends. After all, there was no shortage of people willing to assist in the process.

Despite their best efforts, the Justice Department had been as ineffective at ridding the sidewalks and sewers of assorted human rabble as the Sanitation Department was at clearing up their handiwork. It was for this reason that Albert had given up walking to the Department. Even though the exercise used to be the high point of his day, it certainly wasn’t worth the risk of being mugged by some cyber-junkie who needed a few credits. Not that there were too many of those. Credits, that is; there were plenty of junkies, however—poor, lost, derelict souls. Despite himself, he felt a stab of pity for them.