Stern sighed for the umpteenth time and rubbed at his face. He didn't say anything as he looked through his hands, but he was turning gears in his head. Maybe Thrace was right -- maybe they were asking the wrong questions. Sadly, it was late and nothing was coming to mind aside from the obvious.

Foster piped in: "Are you a citizen of the United States of America?" That was pointed enough, was it not? The doughy man had lost a lot of his edge thanks to Kara, but the way he was looking between the two interviewees, he almost appeared shark-like.

Al rolled his eyes. Back here again. He felt like this was an utter waste of time, but Stern kicked him under the table and he forced himself not to speak up.

Perceiving the young lieutenant's movements as a form of anxiousness, he leaned forward and added, "Please, tell me for which 'colony' you pilot your aircraft. Certainly not for the United States, or my Air Force. We haven't been colonies in hundreds of years."

"Oh, come on, can't we just stick to questions?" Bingo implored, mostly to Stern (who looked wearier by the second.) "Why's he gotta give this two-bit education with every ques--"

"That enough, lieutenant." The Commander was on his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He didn't seem to care how surprised Bingo looked because he'd had enough. Grabbing Calavicci by a fist full of shirt, he pulled and growled to Foster, "Stick to the basics." It was as much a command as any, but Foster seemed to take it.

Al complied before he was taken all the way to the doorway, tugging himself out of Stern's grip and shrugging his shirt back into place. On his way out, he nodded to Kara, mouthing "I'll be back." The door slapped closed behind them leaving the other two alone.

Foster leaned back. "Please answer the questions."