They were alone in the main living room of the apartment. The automatic cleaning machines were restoring the rooms and disposing of the debris. Their faint whine was the only sound.
Morten Bradwell sat on one end of the sofa that faced the window overlooking the city far below. Arlee Bradwell, his wife, sat at the other end, as far away as possible.
“It was like an exodus,” said Arlee Bradwell. “They couldn’t get out of here fast enough. I looked around and suddenly everybody was gone. Most of them didn’t even stop to say thanks and goodbye.”
“They should have better manners,” said Morten quietly. “It’s not like engineered humans to behave so rudely. We’ll have to take another look at the gene charts we’re using. Of course, they’re older models — virtually obsolete now. We’ll have to ta
