Neville's smile became troubled, strained at the edges. His mind raced through the contents of his apartment.
The virtual pod—surely everyone in the interstellar era has those.
The kitchen—there were still suspicious machines. Hopefully, there were some that resembled other machines.
The couch—was acceptable; he bought those online.
The bedroom—he already locked it, but there were still items that he hadn't put away in the room.
Oh no! The cereal mess was still on the floor!
"I can get you my robot's findings if you're not sure," Neville offered desperately, grasping at anything to redirect Grayson's attention.
He knew that his home robot kept meticulous health logs according to the doctor's orders. Every robot in this dormitory was also issued a health certificate if the person was ill and unable to come to work.
Surely, this would work. Neville thought.
