To him, the floor is a good seat. It makes sense. Chairs are for humans, or living robots like Krok and the others. He sits with his legs folded under him, hands in his lap, neat and compact.

He tilts his head. Illness... is something else for human beings. He didn't know of any AI capable of being so. "Was it a virus?" he asks. That's all he can think of that might "infect" a robot.

But then there's the offer. He hesitates a little, mostly out of confusion. Very slowly, he unfolds himself, easing up next to Krok like a dog getting up on a sofa it knows damn well it's not supposed to be on. He still sits in that compact little position, though.

"I'm... all right," he admits. "I met Spinister. He's very kind. He said you were his captain."