[Though grateful Qubit doesn't seem to judge him too harshly (he's doing that plenty for himself as he crosses his arms, fiddling with a wrinkle in his rad suit), Carlisle is less appreciative of the fruits of their labor. His glowing eyes scan the pallets, reading the cans.]

Beer. All this for beer.

[His gaze moves over to the skeletons.]

And more dead. It's as though these have been trapped for far longer than this vehicle has been here.