“CALL FUNCTION [DEJECTEDLY DEPART THE AREA].”

Rogers breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of the droid’s treads faded away into the distance, replaced by the beating of his own heart. He shouldn’t have been addled so easily by a clunky machine. Stupid thing didn’t even know how to say anything other than “YOU MISSED OUR APPOINTMENT.” Damn shinies.

“FAILURE TO BE PRESENT AT TIME OF INSPECTION. ONE DEMERIT WILL BE AWARDED.”

“Gaaaah!” Rogers screamed, jumping up. He found Sergeant Stract and Inspect-o-Droid standing in front of him, the droid’s gloves almost completely gray with dust and Sergeant Stract’s pencil ground to nothingness from the copious demerits he must have been awarding Rogers on his clipboard.

“What the hell are you two doing in here?” Rogers cried. “This is my room! This is breaking and entering! I have rights! I have . . . What is that droid doing?”

Rogers noticed, for the first time, that a second droid was in the room, standing by the empty space on the wall where that ridiculous propaganda poster used to be. For some reason, he was wearing a pair of suspenders that held a workman’s belt at the end, and a bright, floppy orange cap. At the moment, he appeared to be drilling a hole in the wall.

“CALL FUNCTION [PERFORM PRIMARY DUTY],” said Inspect-o-Droid. “OUTPUT STRING: YOUR FAILURE TO HAVE SUFFICIENT MORALE REQUIRES THAT WE SUPPLY IT FOR YOU. CYBERMAN SECOND CLASS CB-101 IS ENSURING ADEQUATE MORALE.”

CB-101—obviously some kind of carpentry droid—finished drilling and reached down to a metal case that had been propped up against the wall. Opening it, he removed a rectangular vidscreen, big enough to be on the bridge among Admiral Klein’s observation displays, and placed it on the wall, where he firmly bolted it in place.

“Oh, finally,” Rogers said. “Some entertainment. That’s what you meant by morale. I was beginning to think that everyone in this ship had a stick up—”

The vidscreen blinked on, so bright that Rogers shielded his eyes. When he lowered his arm, he found that, instead of a movie, he was looking at the brightest, most high-definition poster he’d ever seen in his life. The advertisements outside cinema theaters paled in comparison to the gaudiness of this display. It was as though the wall was screaming at him with light.

On it was a picture of a droid from the chest up, blurred lines around the chassis creating the feeling of motion. Below, in large block letters, was written AUTOMATION IS EFFICIENCY IS EFFICACY IS GOOD.

Rogers wasn’t exactly sure what to think. He stared at the glowing poster for a moment, then averted his eyes, fearful for the health of his retinae.

“There is no way in hell you are keeping that in here,” Rogers said, blinking tears from his eyes. “Get that off my wall right now or I’m going to use one of you as a sledgehammer.”

“CALL FUNCTION [EXPRESS DOUBT AND LOWER CONFIDENCE]. OUTPUT STRING: THE COMPOSITE MASS OF YOUR ABDOMINAL REGION IN PROPORTION TO YOUR MUSCULAR STRUCTURE SUGGESTS THIS IS AN IMPROBABILITY.”