“Are you sure they can’t take you back to the zoo deck?” Rogers asked, trying to veil his hope that he’d be rid of the man. He still hadn’t forgiven him for running out of the room during the fire drill, and he’d never liked the idea of having an orderly, anyway.

“Oh no,” Tunger said, “though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ask for it once I found out that the AIGCS had been disbanded.” He looked up at Rogers, embarrassed, and added hurriedly, “It’s all I know, you see. I’ve been managing animals my whole life. It wasn’t out of disrespect, sir.”

“No offense taken,” Rogers said.

“Oh good. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.” Tunger sighed. “One day, though, I hope they pick me up for that spy slot. Chimpanzees—and you—are great, and all, but . . . Aie wursh they could see maie taalunts for whut they ur.”

Rogers shot him a look.

“Sorry, sorry.”

They boarded the up-line—which also went down, and sometimes sideways, so Rogers wasn’t really sure why they called it the up-line—and zoomed through the belly of the Flagship toward the command deck, which also held the bridge, the war room, and several other conference rooms that Rogers hoped he never set foot inside. Part of the short list of benefits to being transferred to serve as Klein’s executive officer included moving from the quarterdeck to a stateroom on the command deck. It also hopefully meant no more inspections, a room with a view, and one less glowing picture of a droid on his wall.

Rogers was dismayed to see that a couple of droids also occupied the small car, as well as a smattering of officers of similar rank to his own who all looked haggard and generally annoyed. None of them spoke.

“CALL FUNCTION [MAINTAIN AWKWARD SILENCE].”

Rogers looked up to see the droids—three of them—standing in the direct center of the car, all looking toward him. At least, he thought they were looking toward him. How did one really tell what those glowing blue orbs were looking at? The last thing he wanted to deal with right now were droids, so he made it a point to turn his back on them and look through the viewport at the head of the car, watching the guts of the ship blur by.

“CALL FUNCTION [MAINTAIN AWKWARD SILENCE].”

“What’s their problem?” Rogers muttered to Tunger.

“I don’t know, sir,” Tunger replied. He placed the bag of Roger’s things—things that Rogers had insisted he could carry himself—on the floor and sat down on one of the seats on the edge of the car. “Maybe they think you’ll accidentally destroy them, too.”

Rogers frowned. “Was that a joke, corporal?”

“No, sir,” Tunger said earnestly. “I’m not very good at joking.”

“CALL FUNCTION [MAINTAIN AWKWARD SILENCE].”

“Oh, stop it!” Rogers said. “You know you’re not maintaining any kind of silence when you keep announcing it, don’t you?”

The droids didn’t reply. They got off at the commissary deck, where, presumably, they were heading toward one of the mess halls to plug in and make a mockery of human dining practices. If Rogers ever met the man who programmed those things, he would punch him in the face. Unless he had a droid with him; his knuckles still hurt from giving Barber Bot a rap on the head.