He remembered the heavy, smug face of Steward Thornton Henniger, who had happened in the Institute the day he and Martha signed.
Henniger had laughed heartily with them. “My new employees! I’ve got an option on your contract, you know, and I’d double that contract price if I thought it would put you to work a year sooner. Our control has been waiting for five years for contracts like yours.”
“Better not wait for us,” Martha had laughed. “You’ll die of old age. We intend to retire to a villa on Mars at ninety.”
“Now look, you take good care of my property,” warned Henniger jovially.
Before the accident, John hadn’t thought much about the fact that the Institute of Cybernetics was extremely happy to receive such contracts as his and Martha’s. The cyberneticists themselves professed not t
