Broil sat across from Atlas, and God sat hunched over a table with a sandwich in hand. He was getting lettuce and sauce everywhere.
"Pass me a napkin?" he asked. Broil obliged. "Thanks. So, the newest conscript needs more time to cook?"
"Yes sir."
Atlas dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Shit. Safe estimate...250 years maximum. When was the last time we brought in a loose Trooper?"
"Before we seeded Lambent-7."
God snorted. "Fuck, alright, sure, that was...four thousand years ago?"
"Five thousand, six hundred and nine."
"Sure. 250 years? Fine. Whatever he knows is going to be recent enough even with that much of a time stamp on it." Atlas shook his head. "I don't know why I thought he'd just crack from eight months with you. My sense of scale is so fucked at this point, y'know? Don't get old, Broil."
God smiled slightly and Broil chuckled. Broil was an early convert to the Angels; the person they had been was one of the original uploads.
"How's the lady, sir?"
"Good. She didn't do a lot but she had a good time down there. She thinks they're going to be a good addition if they want in."
"Really?"
"Yep. We may have to get in there and shut down that Primaria instance, but...she says they've got the right sort of spirit, you know?"
"Yes sir. Good to hear."
"Sometimes things work out without needing to touch them." He wiped his lips again. "So."
"So?"
"Successful reconnection to a lost colony. New source of intel in the interrogation chair. Didn't have to back my wife up from a past scan. And they're willing to let us fly in and talk to their world nations, make our case. I'd call that a win."
Broil paused, pursed their lips, thought and nodded. "Yes sir."
"Hey, whoa, if you disagree..." Atlas began. He paused as a splash of sauce ended up on his lapel and sighed. "Shit. Anyway."
"No, you're right sir. Just feels a little silly to put it...succinctly."
Atlas shrugged and ran his finger over the stain, wiping it out immediately. "Well. A win is a win, no matter how small."
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