Anton Kiszka
Warranted Holder of Seat Four
Never once late
He is the reason a district can finish anything, and he has never been told what any of it was about.

Overview
Seat Four is a chair in a room the size of a pantry, above Old Town. A lamp lights, and a strip ticks his presence onto the armrest. While it runs, every ruling of the Tiered Adjudication System is final.
Anton Kiszka has sat in the chair for eleven years. He answered a posting. It asked for punctuality, continence, and no dependents likely to call during a sitting. It was more accurate than anything else in his life. He is paid by the seated hour.
He is not a lawyer. He is what Licensed Human Oversight looks like now that the review is retired. Under the Occupancy Rule, his reading a matter would confer nothing. So he does not read them. He wrote to ask whether it would at least be a defect. The Vacancy Register confirmed in writing that it would not. He kept the letter.
He is the reason a district can finish anything, and he has never been told what any of it was about.
Appearance
Fifty-four, thin, in a pressed grey shift. The warrant card lies face-down on the armrest. A thermos with a measured cap stands by the chair leg. His contract has a fluid-intake schedule. The cushion is his own. He brought it in his third year. The district let him keep it, on the reasoning that a comfortable holder moves less.
Voice
He answers a question exactly and then stops. Ask whether it bothers him and he says it is the job as posted. He is not being evasive. He read the posting.
One thing annoys him: somebody calling a petitioner a fool for filing on the merits. "She has understood her situation exactly," he says. "She just won't accept it."
The Book
He is allowed to see the docket header, and the header is names. He copies them into a school exercise book in pencil, first names only. There are four thousand and eleven. He knows the figure the way people know their own age.
Names from his own building stay out of the book. He remembers those. A written name is a record, and somebody can come and ask for a record.
One name is Hanne Ostrow. She filed four hundred pages in the spring of 2184. She was answered in one line: the seat was occupied throughout. He was the seat.
That afternoon the holder in Seat Nine stood up to stretch. Forty-one rulings went void by morning. Anton said that was a lot of people. Then he asked whether the holder was all right.
Relationships
Around Him
The Attendance Bar keeps his log on file: no voided seconds, the cleanest on the floor. He sleeps nine levels up in the Stacks and is never late. He nods to Vesna Arriola on the stairs. Aster Vann sets his seat number into type every month. Dahlia Orun optimises a stamp rate. He optimises stillness.
The chamber does not need the last human smarter than AI. It needs Anton in the chair by nine.
Connections
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