“We’re off the clock now, yeah?” Lambert asked.
“Since we’re on the shuttle back up to the Tubingen, I would say yes,” Salcido said.
“Then let me question the usefulness of that last stunt of ours.”
“I don’t know,” Powell said. “The declaration of independence was unanimously defeated, the entire planet of Franklin got to see its legislators revealed as cowards looking after their own skin, and we didn’t die. I thought it was pretty successful.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t successful,” Lambert said. “I said I question its usefulness.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Salcido said.
“The success of the mission depends on whether we achieve our mission goals. We did that—like Ilse said we killed the vote, embarrassed the politicians, didn’t get killed, and reminded the entire planet that the Colonial Union can come along and stomp them anytime it wants, so don’t screw with us. Which wasn’t explicitly in our mission parameters but was the subtext of the mission.”
“Wow, ‘subtext,’” Powell said. “For a former janitor you’re using big words there, Terrell.”
“This former janitor has a rhetoric degree, asshole,” Lambert said, and Powell smiled at this. “He just learned he could make more money as a janitor than as an adjunct professor. So yes. Successful. Great. But did it address the root causes? Did it address the underlying issues that required us to have to take the mission in the first place?”
“One, probably not, and two, do we care?” Powell asked.
“We should care,” Lambert said. “We should care because if we didn’t, then one day we’ll be back here dealing with this problem again.”
“I don’t know about that,” Salcido said. “We stomped on that vote pretty hard.”
“And we did it with a single fireteam,” Powell said, and then pointed at me. “Plus the fact that the Colonial Union sent a mere lieutenant to deal with a vote of global consequence probably said something. No offense, Lieutenant.”
“None taken,” I said.
“The whole point of the mission was to shake their confidence and make them consider their action,” Powell continued. “The Colonial Union was saying ‘Look what we can do with four common soldiers, so think about what we could do with more—and think about what we’re protecting you from.’”
“But it doesn’t address root causes,” Lambert said, again. “Look, the global legislature of an entire planet doesn’t wake up one morning and decide to vote for independence just for the fun of it. There was a lot going on before that point. Things we don’t know about because while it was all brewing, we were off doing other things.”
“Right,” Powell said. “And when the aftermath of this comes down, we’ll also be off again, doing other things, so why are you worked up about it?”
“I’m not worked up about it,” Lambert said. “I’m just asking if our so-called ‘successful’ mission actually helped.”
“It helped the Franklins,” Salcido said. “The ones who didn’t want independence, anyway.”
“Also the ones who didn’t want to get shot for treason,” Powell interjected.
“Them too,” Salcido agreed.
“Right, but I’m not convinced it helped the Colonial Union,” Lambert said. “The reasons the Franklins wanted independence, whatever they are, are still there. They haven’t been addressed.”
“Not our job,” Powell said.
“No, it’s not. I just wish whosever job it was had done it before we got there.”
“If they had then we wouldn’t have been there,” Powell said. “We would have been somewhere else and you would be trying to find deeper meaning about that.”
“So you’re saying the real problem is me,” Lambert said.
“I’m not saying the real problem isn’t you,” Powell said. “Me, I’m just glad to get through the thing alive. Call me uncomplicated.”
“Uncomplicated.”
“Thank you. And you, Terrence, should stop overthinking the mission. Do it, get it done, go home. You’ll be happier.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lambert said.
“Fine, then I’ll be happier, because I won’t have to listen to you go on.”
“You’ll miss it when I’m gone.”
“Maybe,” Powell said. “I’m willing to find out.”
“Found it!” Salcido said.
“Found what?” Lambert asked.
“That song. The song you said didn’t exist.”
“The pizza moon song?” Powell asked.
“Bullshit,” Lambert said.
“Not bullshit!” Salcido exclaimed, triumphantly. “I’m putting it through the shuttle speakers now.”
The cabin of the shuttle was filled a song about moons, pizza, drool, and pasta.
“This is a terrible song,” Powell said, after a minute.
“It makes me hungry,” Lambert said.
Salcido smiled. “The good news is, we’ll be back in time for lunch.”
PART TWO