Cortana can't (or doesn't, at least) suppress a snicker as America caroms off the shield. "Yeah, sorry, I'm doing about fifty things at once, here."

She's still dicing puppets as she speaks, hard light constructs flickering into and out of existence as needed. "Roboticans are digital sentients, not machines running on solely algorithms. They're roughly as fast as I am. Not nearly as good in a fight, though. This one just smashed the controls and ran out before I could grab him, so to speak."

At America's second question, she takes a quick peek into the fire suppression subsystem. "Fire control looks thorough--oh, hey, I could pump the stage down to vacuum." Too bad America needs to breathe. She'll call that Plan...D. That leaves some wiggle room. "Less drastically, there are foam sprayers."

Let's see...oh. Huh. That's a very long MSDS. "Uh, if you ingest any, go to Medbay after this is all over."