Despite the fact that the Technological Revolution had made human occupation superfluous, the authorities were of the firm opinion that an unemployment rate of 100 per cent had no place on the resume of a perfect world and so, every morning, everyone who didn’t go to the Academy went to the Department instead, and sat out the requisite eight hours in their workspaces before catching the transport pods back home. Which was why Albert often secretly referred to the Employment Department as the Redundancy Corporation. More secretly than often, though, he had to admit.

A sudden sound—sharp and unfamiliar—caught his attention, and he turned to the right to see Tweedledum, short, tubby and tweedy as ever, pudgy cheeks puffing as he blew the notes outward. It wasn’t his usual melody either. No, this was a strange tune, almost like a dirge, both mournful and haunting. And though he whistled softly, the sound seemed to fill the entire floor.

Tweedledum shifted, noticing Albert’s interest in him, and stopped, looking at him sideways.

‘It’s called “Que sera sera”,’ he said.

Albert, well aware of the rules, glanced at him quickly and then looked down, pretending he hadn’t heard. The man continued to gaze at him and opened his mouth, as if to say something else, and then, with a slight shake of his head, he turned away and resumed whistling.

That was when Albert heard it, a low whirring—soft at first but getting louder and louder—rising above the murmurs and choked whispers that suddenly filled the air. Swinging to look to the left, Albert saw them, two lawbots whizzing down the conveyor belt, huge, fast and frightening. He felt a sudden thud shake his torso from within, then another and another, quicker and quicker, as his heart decided to compensate for the sudden cold feeling in his veins by putting in some good old-fashioned overtime. Next to him, Tweedledum had closed his mouth; he was shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to another.

The lawbots continued to zoom towards them, slowing down as they got closer and closer, virtually drawing to a halt as they came up alongside Albert. He felt the chill spread all over him, and a sudden twinge in his knees. What if they were coming for him? It wasn’t he who’d spoken, but what if he was the only one who knew it? What if there had been some mistake? His heart, ever mindful of its obligations at moment like this, now began to dutifully pound a tattoo on the inside of his chest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the lawbots passed him, coming to a stop in front of his neighbour.

CITIZEN 3173, YOU WILL COME WITH US.

The words seemed to hang in the air long after the voice had faded away. Suddenly, there was silence all around—deathly silence—with not even the sound of breathing to ease its weight.