Red-faced, the communications tech gasped for breath, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Rogers just stared at him. What the hell was he supposed to do with all of that? He wasn’t a fleet commander. He wasn’t even a real lieutenant. He was an ex-sergeant who liked to drink alcohol, play rigged games, and trick people into doing silly things for amusement. This was insane. This was completely insane.

Deet, who had been quietly standing next to him, piped up.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

Rogers nodded dumbly.

“In light of the extremity of the situation, you should probably get off your EXPLETIVE POSTERIOR BODY SECTION and put out that EXPLETIVE fire.”

Rogers blinked. “Expletive,” he said. “You’re right.”

“You don’t have to censor yourself,” Deet said, sounding dejected. “It’s not your fault I can’t express myself properly.”

“I was just trying to show some solidarity,” Rogers said. He turned to the Viking. “Captain Alsinbury.”

“What?”

“Can you take a small group of your marines down to whatever pods those idiots are running for and keep them from jettisoning themselves into space?”

The Viking cracked her knuckles, a sound that did strange things to Rogers. “My pleasure.”

“And afterward . . .” he said before his brain could stop his mouth, but he trailed off.

The Viking raised an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” he said, swallowing. “Just keep those troops inside the ship.”

She gave him a nod and bulldozed her way out of the room, knocking everything from people to heavy equipment aside in her haste to get into a situation where she might actually get to hit someone.

“Get Hart from engineering on the line,” Rogers said to the tech. “Tell them to get some of the heavy lifters over to the mess halls and see if they can’t flip those droids before they start an electrical fire. Bring fire foam. And find out why the fire-suppression systems in the kitchen haven’t gone off yet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring up the zoo deck so I can see what’s going on,” Rogers said.

The display technician changed the screen, and Rogers’ heart jumped into his throat. In the middle of one of the camera’s views was Tunger, lying on his back with a giant, full-grown male lion on top of him. The unfortunate corporal was trying futilely to fend off the claws of the powerful savannah feline.

“Oh my god,” Rogers said. “We need to get him out of there! Turn on the audio so we can tell him help is on the way!”

The communications tech flipped a switch, but before Rogers could get a word out he was surprised to hear a cacophony of giggling coming from the two-way system.

“Stop!” Tunger tittered. “Es nur fair! Nur fair! Yur cheated!”

McSchmidt, for some reason, groaned.

“Never mind,” Rogers said slowly. “They’re just playing.”

The whole bridge relaxed as a single unit. Nobody wanted to see a man mauled by a lion on live video. Well, maybe some of them did, but nobody would admit to wanting to see a man mauled by a lion on live video.