“What does it say?” Rogers asked.

“It says, ‘Is everything ready for the imminent attack on the Meridan fleet? Please make sure everything is prepared so that we can take our ships and use them to cross the border and attack the Meridan ships using plasma cannons and other weapons, like our secret weapons that are very powerful, weapons that will make the Meridans blow up because they are clearly unprepared for an attack with those weapons because they are weak and disorganized.’ ”

A silence settled over the table. A group of droids that had been “eating” at the table behind them finished charging their batteries and got up, clanking noisily out of the mess hall.

“That seems pretty clear,” Rogers said.

“It does and it doesn’t,” McSchmidt said.

“Please stop doing that,” Deet said.

“For one thing, why would anyone ever send a transmission like that on an open channel?” McSchmidt explained, glaring at Deet. “It sounds like a drunk pirate talking in his sleep. Second, Thelicosans don’t call us Meridans.”

“They don’t?” Mailn asked.

“No. They call us Galactics. Ever since the Pythagorean War,^I they haven’t internally recognized Meridan sovereignty.”

Rogers frowned. “How do you know that?”

McSchmidt blushed and cleared his throat. “I’m a political science major from the Academy,” he said. “You know, the Meridan Military Academy. The one I’ve been talking to you about that I went to. You know?”

“Yeah,” Rogers said. “Sure. Whatever. So, what does that mean? Are we intercepting someone else’s communication?”

“I have no idea,” McSchmidt said, leaning back and shaking his head. He looked tired. Snatching up another piece of chicken, he took a bite and chewed noisily as he mumbled through a mouthful. “I curn’t imurgine who wurd say surmthing like thurt.”

“Hey!” came a voice from behind Rogers. “That’s really good!”

He turned to see Tunger approaching, a tray of food in his hands. None of it, however, looked fit for human consumption; Rogers saw soon that they were scraps, probably for the animals. Tunger looked a lot happier than he had a week or so before. The zoo deck was agreeing with him, it seemed, and he hardly had any gouges on his face from the lion at all.

“Dur yur spurk Thelicosan too?” he asked.

McSchmidt’s face turned red and he swallowed hurriedly. “I don’t—ack!”

McSchmidt started coughing. The Viking gave him a powerful blow on the back, dislodging the food stuck in McSchmidt’s throat (and also perhaps a vertebra).

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I don’t talk in your stupid accent. Why don’t you go somewhere and sound like an idiot to someone else?”

The whole table became silent for a moment. Mailn found something very interesting to stare at on the table, and even the Viking looked like she didn’t know who to hit in this situation, which must have confused her terribly.

“Take it easy, McSchmidt,” Rogers said. “He’s just trying to be friendly. I mean, sure, he annoys the living piss out of me and I want to open the room to vacuum every time he opens his mouth, but . . . at least I’m not a jerk about it.”