The saniclone uniform tight across her bodice, Sari knocked on the third-floor door, the personal suites housed at the west end of the complex. All the other quarters were on the first and second floors, she"d noticed.
“Whatever you do,” Eodo had told her, “don"t shut off or resist the nanostim neuramod. You"re a saniclone.”
A tall, sharp-looking man wearing a goatee whipped open the door.
Sari recoiled, the man"s jaws rippling in obvious agitation. “Pardon, Sir, saniclone Sari, at your service. I didn"t mean to disturb you.” She couldn"t look at his face, compelled to keep her gaze on the floor. “I can come back.”
The man retreated. “No, uh, not necessary. Come in.” Marching across the room to the floor-to-ceiling window opposite the entrance, he reminded her of someone.
Sari entered
