Rocket was fiddling with something when Peter came into the Milano's small kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning."

"Yeah, yeah." Only after he'd downed the first cup did it dawn on him that what Rocket was fixing looked . . . familiar. "What's that you got there?"

"Just somethin' I found down the disposal. Busted all to hell, but I can fix it."

Then Peter saw the logo with its two intertwined T's. "Oh, no, no, NO! Put it back, now!"

Groot, sitting on the table in his little pot, looked up and hooted in inquiry.

"What's wrong with it?" Rocket translated.

"Not the toaster! It was down in the garbage hole for a reason!"

"It's a toaster!"

"Not this one! It's psycho!"

This declaration made Rocket drop his screwdriver and stare up at the human as if he'd gone insane. "What? No, it's not! It has a basic AI, at best."

"Yeah, and that doesn't stand for Artificial Intelligence. It's Artificial Insanity!"

"Okay, are we still talking about a toaster here?"

Peter sighed and sat down. "Look, when I first bought it, the thing was kinda fun. I actually liked having a little breakfast companion. But after a while . . . it got really upset if I didn't want toast all the time. And I mean all the time. Like, twenty-six-eight.[1] Eventually it got so fed up with my lack of toast appreciation that it tapped into the ship's electrical systems and started shutting off nonessential systems. Like the ship's gravity. Luckily, I was able to shut it down before it disabled the life support. I smashed it with a rock hammer and shoved it down the garbage hole . . . which somehow never got emptied when they rebuilt the ship."

"Lucky for me, huh?" Rocket made the final connection and started powering up the device.

"NO! For stars' sake, don't turn it on!"

But it was too late. The toaster powered up with a series of lights and beeps that were meant to be cheerful but instead made Peter want to smash himself in the face with a brick. It was a conditioned response.

"Howdy doodily doo!" the toaster greeted them. "I'm Talkie Toaster, your chirpy breakfast companion! Would anyone like any toast?"

"No!" Peter shouted at the offending appliance. "We don't want any toast! No one around here wants any toast! Flark off!"

"How about you, buddy?" Talkie addressed Rocket. "Would you like some toast?"

"Zat all you do, is make toast?"

"Of course not! I can also grill to perfection muffins, bagels, Danishes, waffles, pancakes, buns, rolls, biscuits-"

"Sorry I asked," Rocket muttered. The toaster, oblivious, went on listing its cornucopia of baked delights.

"All right, all right!" Peter cut off the toaster's menu recital and looked around for something big and heavy enough to smash the thing again. "You see? You see what he's like? No reasoning with him!"

"No reasoning with who?" Gamora asked, walking in on this delightful little scene. "Oh, you have a Talkie Toaster."

"You know it?" asked Rocket.

"I had one of these once. Drove my sister crazy. It was fun for a while, but it quickly became annoying. I didn't know you had one."

"I didn't have one anymore, till he fixed it." Peter glared accusingly at Rocket, who tried to look innocent.

"Well, hello, there!" Talkie said. "I bet a pretty lady like you would just love some nice hot toast!"

"Think again. You can just turn yourself off now." Her tone was perfectly calm and even-too calm and even. It was exactly the tone of voice she used just before stabbing a victim through the eyeball.

But Talkie was oblivious to the potential dangers. "Oh, come on! Doesn't anybody want any toast?"

"NO!" they all shouted.

"What is the problem?" a deep voice rumbled. "I had just fallen asleep!"

"Sorry, Drax," Peter said. "I know you were on late watch last night. Hey, maybe you can smash this thing for us."

"What thing?"

"I resent that!" Talkie piped up. "I am not a thing! Now someone better order some toast, or I might get really mad!"

"Ooh, the wrath of a toaster. I'm really scared," Rocket drawled.

"Did you plug it in?" asked Gamora.

"Course I plugged it in! Had to, to get it up and running!"

"Unplug it! Now!"

There was a mad scramble as the four of them (Groot was still sitting there, watching them with something resembling amusement) rushed to pull the connection before Talkie could seize control of the ship's systems. Peter was the closest; as he yanked the cord out of its socket, the lights dimmed a bit, but then came back up again.

"Shit! Make sure he didn't get in there!" Peter did not want to have to crawl around reconnecting systems again. Once was enough.

"Running a diagnostic now." Rocket went to work scanning all the ship's computer systems, which he ultimately pronounced Talkie-free. "We're good."

"Good. Let him run on battery power till it dies, then chuck him back in the hole."

"No! Wait! I can be useful!"

"Sure you can." Gamora stalked off to her quarters to meditate.

"I am going back to bed," Drax announced. "If you have any further problems with the kitchen appliances, let me know."

"You hear that, coffee maker? Behave, or else," Peter quipped.[2] He finished his second cup, tossed the empty cup onto the mound of dirty dishes in the sink[3], and went to find his music player.

"Don't understand the big deal," Rocket muttered. "It's a fucking toaster, not a doomsday machine. Ah, well, think I'll go find something else to take apart and put back together again."

He got all the way to the hold before he realized he'd forgotten something-or rather, someone-vital. Groot was still on the table, and he was probably furious at being left behind.

"Sorry, buddy! Didn't mean to leave-" Rocket stopped dead in the doorway as a very strange sight met his eyes.

"For the love of cake," Talkie wailed, unable to defend himself against the whipping tendrils beating the spark out of him, "make him stop!"

"Groooooooo!" the sapling howled, smashing down on the hapless toaster again and again.

"Guess he doesn't like toast," said Rocket, hoping that when it was all over, the pieces would at least be big enough to use for something else.

Something that would be kept far, far away from the ship's electrical systems. Or anything else, for that matter.


[1] Referring, of course, to the Xandarian twenty-six-hour day and eight-day week.

[2] The coffee maker, not possessing Artificial Intelligence, did not reply.

[3] Which will come into play in the next chapter.