“Ah, is good fuel,” Tasha said in her thick accent that I was by now convinced was about 75% put-on. “We are havink better quality source these days. Decadent American obesity epidemic is at least good for somethink.“

Huh? I tried to follow her, then gave it up. Sometimes it felt like half the things she said didn’t make any sense. I got into the driver’s seat, and sighed as I closed the door. “No sign of Phil. No sign of anybody at all. I wonder where they all are?”

Tasha was oddly silent for a moment. “You mean, you are not knowink?”

“Knowink—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, knowing what?”

Her voice assumed a false-sounding air of breezy joviality. “Ah—where they are transferrink him after capture, of course!” Sometimes I wondered how an entirely computerized being could be such a terrible liar.

I stared at the dashboard. “Taaaasha?“

She was silent a moment longer, then spoke again—quietly, her accent strangely faint. “I misspoke. Pay it no mind. Some things, you are better off not knowing.”