Sally slammed his thick-knuckled hands on the table. “George, what in tarnations is this fool-headed sack of pork-and-beans yappin’ about?”

“Fool-headed?” Rutger countered. “Sally, you couldn’t add five plus five using your fingers.”

“So ya admit it, then?” Mothball said.

“What?” Rutger asked.

“That yer a sack of pork-and-beans? Only complained about the fool part, ya did.”

“Ten!” Sally shouted out.

Everyone looked at Sally, who held up his hands, fingers outstretched. “Five plus five is ten.”

“Well, I do apologize,” Rutger said. “I’ve vastly under-estimated your abilities to perform mathematical functions.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” Sally replied. “I ain’t never been able to reckon how much food you can stuff down that there gully a’yorn.”

Mothball snorted a laugh, then covered her face as her shoulders shook.

“All right,” Master George said with a huff. “That’s quite enough of this silly bickering. Rutger, I can only speak for myself when I say I had a bit of trouble following your analysis as well, and I’ve been working with you from the beginning. Please, tell us again, but this time don’t try to sound so smart.”

“Try? Master George, I—”

“Please, Rutger.”

Rutger shot a nasty look at Sally, then composed himself, taking a deep breath, which resembled a beach ball inflating and deflating on the chair. “In simpler terms, so all of you can understand it—Sato has nanotechs inside his body that can take control of his brain functions—and therefore his whole body. It’s a technologically created disease, a virus made completely of artificial materials. However, it spreads just like an airborne virus, and once the plague is inside you, the virus can be controlled from a centrally located command center, which happens to be inside the Fourth Reality.”

Sally threw his arms up in the air. “Well, you done cleared it up, han’t ya!”

“’Tis a robot germ,” Mothball said. “A wee little robot that makes ya do whatever that ruddy Chu tells ya. Spreads just like the flu, it does.”

Sally looked over at Rutger, raising his eyebrows. “Now why on mama’s grave couldn’t you a-said it that simple-like?”

“Because I’m not used to speaking down to your level,” Rutger replied, folding his short, fat arms.

Sally turned to Master George. “Why ain’t we caught the sucker if it’s liken the flu?”

“Because we’ve been extra careful,” Master George replied. “We’ve worn gloves when we’ve had to handle Sato. We’ve fumigated his cell room on a regular basis. We’ve worn masks when necessary. It’s a dangerous disease, dear Sally, but it’s not invincible. Not yet, anyway.”

“What about the antidote?” Mothball asked. “Methinks you’ve got news, ya do, or we wouldn’t be sittin’ ’ere tryin’ to decide which of these two knuckleheads gots the smaller brain.”