Two hours later, Albert sat slumped in his chair, staring at the floor, wondering what exactly he’d got himself into and how on earth he was ever possibly going to get himself back out. He couldn’t see a way.

Stretching his legs out, he arched his back, feeling the welcome twinges as muscles relaxed back into place. He stood up, one hand on his lower back, glaring at the screen, as if it was the source of all his troubles. In a way, it was.

As if it had been waiting for his attention, it flashed. YOU HAVE 1 PENDING MESSAGE.

‘Show me,’ he said, his voice tight.

A single line of text appeared, crowned by the now uncomfortably familiar crest of the Justice Department. CITIZEN 3481, UNIQUE IDENTIFIER ALBERT—REQUEST TO PRESENT PETITION IN PERSON APPROVED. ESTIMATED TIME TO PROCEEDINGS: 334:36:24.

So that was it. Less than two weeks and he would be standing where nobody in living memory had gone before, to convince the Justice Machines to put an end to one of their own. And he had no idea what he would say, or even how to start, which only added to the rapidly growing sense of unease that hovered constantly over his head.

The screen was beeping again, he realized, and he turned his head to look unhappily at it. He had a feeling it could bode no good. As it turned out, he was right.

ADMINISTRATOR WANTS TO HAVE A CONVERSATION.

He sat bolt upright, his chest tightening inadvertently. Then he breathed out heavily and rose to his feet. ‘Yes,’ he said.

The screen shimmered for an instant, and was then filled up by a face. Literally filled up—Albert had only ever seen a face as fat once before, and that had been the last time he had seen this one. The piggish snout curved out like a gently sloping mountain across the landscape created by the vast, quivering cheeks and the massive, roiling jowls, gelatinous blobs that extended beyond the limits of the screen. Deep within the rolls of flab, tiny eyes gleamed. Even the hair that flopped down around the face was fat, each strand at least twice as thick as a normal person’s, lush and synthetic. All in all, the Head of the Employment Department was not an attractive sight.

In a slow, thick voice, like butter made audible, the Head spoke, ‘Citizen … um … uh … 3481! Citizen 3481! What’s this all about?’

Albert cursed mentally. He had been half-expecting trouble of some sort and here it was, served on a gross, obese platter. He put on his best expression of confusion. ‘What’s what about, Head?’

‘All this nonsense I hear you’re about!’

‘Head, I have merely used the rights available to me as a citizen under the Law. According—’

‘Kicking up a ruckus for nothing is what you’re doing, petitioning against a machine and whatnot! You’re supposed to petition against citizens, not machines, you understand?’