“Rogers,” the Viking said. Was there a smile playing on her face? “I get it.”

“Right,” he said, thankful for the reprieve. “I’d just hate it if something happened and you still thought I was just some stupid metalhead droid-lover.”

The Viking chewed on her lip a little bit. “You are a stupid metalhead droid-lover,” she said, but the bite was out of it.

“Reformed,” Rogers said, shrugging.

After looking him over for a second, the Viking shook her head. “Apology accepted, I guess. If we’re going to have to crack some Thelicosan heads, we might as well do it together.”

Just the word “together” made Rogers tingle all over.

“Hey,” he said. “Now that there’s something without motor oil in the kitchens, maybe you and I could do the Uncouth Corkscrew sometime.”

She looked at him levelly.

“I mean go to the Uncouth Corkscrew. To eat.”

“I like Sewer rats,” she said, and started to walk past him. He felt all of the air come out of him. No matter what he did, he’d always be the cowardly metalhead. What good was stupidly sticking around to fight a war that you were certain to lose if you didn’t end up getting with the girl of your dreams?

“But sometimes, I like to put some Tabasco on ’em,” she said. “I’ll think about it, Rogers.”

Rogers kept a straight face until the Viking turned around, after which Rogers gave himself a celebratory fist pump. Corporal Mailn, who had been discreetly listening near the door, gave Rogers a wink, a slow nod, and a thumbs-up. Despite the overabundance of affirmation gestures, Rogers mouthed a thank-you just before Mailn followed her boss out the door and down the corridor to do whatever it was that marines did all day. Rogers had some ideas, but he was pretty sure they were all just fantasies.

“Hey, Rogers,” McSchmidt called from behind. Rogers turned to see McSchmidt walking over, looking rather spiffy with the new rank on his shoulders. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Rogers said.

“Outside.”

They walked back into the hallway, Deet following silently behind them, where McSchmidt motioned over to a quiet spot in the large, somewhat-circular terminus of the command deck.

“Something’s bothering me about that data,” McSchmidt said.

“What,” Rogers said, “something bothers you about hundreds of battleships that weren’t there yesterday suddenly appearing out of nowhere?”

McSchmidt frowned. “You don’t believe it either?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe it,” Rogers said, “it’s that I believe it too easily.”

“You realize that doesn’t make any sense,” McSchmidt said.

“That’s only because you’re not listening close enough. You and I both know that it’s not physically possible for those ships to be there if they weren’t there yesterday.”

“Yeah, but what about cloaking? New technology?” McSchmidt said, taking a moment to salute a passing commander. “Hey, where did that sling come from? Are you hurt?”

“Ignore it,” Rogers said. “The cloaking device theory is interesting but not practical.”