“Deet will have to be the one to plug in,” Rogers said. “He’s the only droid not programmed to try killing us all.”

“If I get out of this alive,” Deet said.

“CALL FUNCTION [CONTINUE VALIANTLY BATTLING].”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Rogers said. “I’ll put you back together if Barber Bot knocks something off. In fact, why haven’t you beaten him yet? He’s a barber.”

“Because you put me back together with random parts you found in the garbage!” Deet said. “I’m like an EXPLETIVE kitchen tool!”

“Hey, that was a simile,” Rogers said. “Almost a metaphor. Good job.”

“Are you done?” the Viking barked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rogers said sheepishly.

“Now,” she said, pointing at the communications deck. “We’ll have to figure out how to get Deet into the IT room without alerting any of the other droids. We’ll also have to disable the droid network—”

“CALL FUNCTION [FEINT LEFT].”

“It’s not a feint if you announce it,” Deet said. Clank. Clank. Spark. Clank.

“CALL FUNCTION [RETRACT PREVIOUS FUNCTION]. CALL FUNCTION [FEINT RIGHT].”

“Still not working,” Deet said. Clank. Clank.

Rogers could barely see through the cloud of sparks and, now, a little bit of smoke, but Deet appeared to be winning. The little dent on Barber Bot’s face had now become a big dent, and one of his glowing blue eyes was hanging from its socket. A thick river of black lubricant was sliding down the side of the droid’s cheek.

“Can you guys pipe down?” Rogers asked. “We’re trying to plan a coup here.”

“I can’t EXPLETIVE go any faster,” Deet said. Boy, he sounded angry. “It’s just EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE OBSCENITY EXPLETIVE FECAL MATTER SEXUAL ALLUSION EXPLETIVE!”

“Wow,” Rogers said. “Calm down, buddy.”

The blur of robot arms became impossibly more blurry. The speed at which Deet was raining blows down upon Barber Bot intensified, turning the image into something almost solid, like one giant arm was frozen in space as it tried to vanquish a determined foe.

“Calm down?” Deet said. “I can’t EXPLETIVE calm down! Oh, for EXPLETIVE’S sake, why can’t I just . . . say . . .”

“Oh, screw this,” the Viking said. “I’m not going to keep trying to plan a battle if you’re going to keep interrupting me.” She pointed at Rogers. “You take your bucket of bolts and get to the IT desk. Us marines’ll make sure that the network in the mess halls gets shut down. Baboon boy and Thelly spy, you do what you can to distract the droids. Is everyone clear?”

“No way,” McSchmidt said. “There’s no way I’m working with someone who makes such a mockery of my language.”

“Ur, curm onnnnn,” Tunger whined, Bobo the Baboon chirping in agreement. “We cun talk of the old country!”

McSchmidt raised a fist, but Bobo bared his fangs. Bobo didn’t have to do anything, however, as the Viking stepped so close to McSchmidt that it was no longer possible to see him anymore. She put her hands on her hips, widening her sphere of influence even further, and looked down at what was—Rogers guessed—a probably extremely scared Thelicosan spy.