The room was eerily silent, and after a moment, Rogers realized it was soundproof. He didn’t really want to think about why, but for some reason, rubber hoses kept popping into his head.

For that reason, he didn’t hear anyone coming before the door slid open to reveal two men in uniforms—sector police this time, not Meridan military. One of them, a grizzled older man with a pale, pockmarked face and yellowed, watery eyes, barged into the room in a huff and, before Rogers could say anything, began shouting.

“You scum,” he snapped. “You worthless pile of trash. How dare you show your face in our facility?”

“You brought me here!” Rogers said, but the man didn’t seem to hear him.

“You are a disgrace to Meridan society!” The officer pointed a long, bony finger at him, inches from Rogers’ nose. “In fact, you’re a disgrace to all humanity. People like you make me wish we had stayed monkeys!”

Inexplicably, the other man, a younger officer with charcoal skin and dainty little eyebrows, stood at the doorway politely and rapped on the edge of the doorframe.

“Hello, Mr. Rogers. May we come in?”

Rogers wordlessly gestured to the other officer who had been shouting at him. The younger man took this as acceptance of his request and tiptoed gingerly inside the room, smiling the whole way.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” he said. “I’m Officer Atikan, and this is Officer Brooks from the sector police. I’ve read so much about you from the report.”

“I’ve read your report,” the older officer—Brooks—spat. “I wiped my ass with your report, and it added character. How can you look at yourself in the mirror?”

Rogers didn’t know what to do. He looked back and forth between the two police officers, clutched feebly at the arms of his chair, and hoped he never touched Brooks’s datapad.

“But,” he said, pointing at Atikan, “he just said . . .”

“I don’t care what he said,” the mean officer shouted. “I don’t care what anyone says. I know what you’re about. I’ve seen hundreds of so-called ‘men’ like you. I know your type.”

“And we could use more men like you,” Atikan said.

“You . . . need more scum?” Rogers said.

“Oh no,” the younger officer said. “No, we need more men of valor and honor, with the constitution and fortitude you displayed.”

“That’s right,” the older officer said, and Rogers thought it had finally been settled until he continued. “You are scum. You only look out for number one, and you’d stab your mother in the back for an extra dime.”

“Well,” Rogers said, bristling a little, “who the hell else is going to look out for number one? Who is number two? How many numbers are there?”

“Don’t get arithmetic-ish with me,” Brooks said. “I know how to count!”

“Oh yeah? Let’s use our fingers to find out. Here’s one—”

“I should explain,” the younger officer broke in.

“I wish you would!” Rogers shouted, his face red. Who was this idiot to come in here and start telling him who to look out for? And who the hell used dimes anymore?