“My programming suggests that I should take offense at this,” D-24 said.

“Shut up!” Rogers said.

The Viking pointed a long, sausage-like finger at him. “You know, when you spaced all those droids in the training room, I thought, maybe he’s not such a piece-of-shit metalhead after all. When you got promoted to lieutenant and made Klein’s exec, I thought, hey, maybe this guy’s alright. But I was wrong. You’ve always been a piece-of-shit metalhead, and you always will be.”

She made a motion to Mailn. “Come on, Corporal. Let’s leave this guy in the trash where he belongs. I hope the door gets stuck and you get vented with the rest of the garbage, Rogers.”

“Wait!” Rogers cried as the two women turned their backs on him and started to walk out of the chute. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to deliberately and carefully plot my escape! I still hate droids!”

“My programming also suggests that I should take offense at this,” D-24 said.

Rogers turned around, ready to grab the nearest piece of wieldable metal and bash the droid over the head. Behind him, he heard Mailn yell something unintelligible but clearly offensive before the chute door closed, leaving him alone.

“You moron!” Rogers said. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get with that beautiful specimen of the female sex?”

“Don’t blame me for your stupid EXPLETIVE romantic life!” D-24 said. “You were the one standing in the garbage chute with your ANATOMICAL REFERENCE half out the door!

“I had it under control,” Rogers said through clenched teeth. “I could have explained . . . Wait, why am I explaining myself to a droid? I should just finish what the maintainers started and press that red button. That’ll teach you to ruin my life.”

“If you’d like to find out what it would feel like to have your whole body sucked out of a small tear in your VMU,” the droid said, “go ahead.”

Rogers stood there for a moment, seething, wondering how to best hurt a droid. He wanted to take out all the frustrations of the last few weeks on this one half-broken piece of metal with a strange computer in its brain. The droid was right—it wasn’t his fault that Rogers’ life had gotten so screwed up—but smashing a partially inanimate object seemed like just the catharsis that Rogers needed.

But he couldn’t summon the strength to do it. His arm was just too tired from saluting.

“If I may,” D-24 said, “I’m curious as to why the most powerful man on the ship is attempting to escape.”

Rogers looked up. “What?”

“The large one said that you were the executive officer to Admiral Klein; isn’t that correct?”

“I don’t see how that makes me powerful. So far, it’s just made me want to kill myself and jump out into open space wearing a thin protective suit and become an intergalactically wanted outlaw. Thanks again for screwing that up, by the way.”