HALO: Nexus, a halo fanfic

Sutori-Artifex here with a preview of a potentially upcoming story HALO: NEXUS. I will have posted this along with prequels or first chapters of other stories I am thinking about continuing, and I by the time you read this I will have a POLL set up on my PROFILE which you can check out and vote on! The number one winner will be continued. The loser with the least votes will be deleted, and those in between will be left alone, marked as Complete without continuation for an indefinite period.

It is written before Halo 5: Guardians, and thus the amount of canon violation has yet to be determined. Be gentle please xD

So here is HALO NEXUS. A Halo fanfiction of the Adventure/Friendship genre intended to be humorous, somewhat like a crackfiction as some characters (original or otherwise) may be portrayed as slightly out of character. Obvious examples of an original character behaving unusually for their race are done for comedic effect or for the sake of the character's backstory/subplot, and should not be thought about too hard. I have done a great amount of research into the little details of the Haloverse to learn about history, cosmography (like geography but with stars and planets c:), and cultural quirks. Did you know that Unggoy (Grunts) apparently like to watch Human soap operas and sitcoms downloaded/streamed from the Black Market?

So, basically, if you see a courageous Grunt, or if you see an Elite with interest in aspects of human culture, or a Hunter with emotions, then don't freak out about it. I never claimed that this was intended to be Halo canon.

Note: The plot of this story exists under the assumption that the Swords of Sanghelios (Covenant Separatists) are ready and willing to start working for peace. Not everyone agrees obviously, thus setting up many minor conflicts throughout the story.

So the basis is this: A fictitious ship of my creation, the UNSC Nexus is built after the Human-Covenant War and repurposed to be the head of a new line of ships meant to be mobile military bases that support civilian communities. Somewhat like an American DoD overseas base like Osan Air Base and the American village of Ramstein, Germany. Only in a spaceship. When news of this gets out, the Arbiter (who I legitimately tried to write in character, PLEASE be polite and help me out if I got something wrong with dialogue or a reaction to another character's behavior) travels to discuss the possibility of a personnel exchange. Humans stationed on Separatist ships, and Separatists stationed on UNSC ships. The fictional ship in this story is a prime example of the kind of ship he wants to station his troops on. The reason for doing this, is because he wants to encourage cooperation between races and factions to foster peace.

However, ONI, ever wary of "Covenant" intentions and wishing to prevent complete peace so that the Covenant can continue to tear itself apart, has already injected an unidentified number of anonymous agents into the ranks of the Nexus Crew. Originally assigned to monitor crew activities, they have been sent reinforcements and a new objective: Prevent any ties from being made on board the ship. No alliance must be made.

There will be adventure, there will be laughter, there will be romance (of my staple interspecies/heteroracial variety, but I will journey into homoracial romance (such as human/human, elite/elite, etc. etc.))! There will be blood and tears, death, and treachery. And I sound like a cheesy 1980s superhero TV show announcer! (NEXT TIME, ON SUPERMAN! *cue stock heroic music*)

The character roster is still incomplete as of the completion of this prequel chapter and will feature a host of marines, ODSTs, SPARTAN-IVs, SPARTAN-IIIs, Elites, Jackals/Skirmishers, Grunts, Hunters, and others. This prequel starts just before the story's main setting, the UNSC Nexus, takes off, a week after Thanksgiving of 2558, and introduces nine of the potential ten to eleven main characters.

So without further ado, review, vote for this story's survival, and enjoy reading!

I do not own HALO or anything related to it. I only own the original characters of this story and the UNSC Nexus.

In 2554, construction of an improved Colony Ship design began, with the intention of replacing the Phoenix-Class Colony Ship while retaining its reliable model and recycling capability. In 2555, however, the UNSC, ever in need of new bases of operations with the loss of multiple colony planets during the Covenant War, repurposed the ship with the intention of creating a mobile, star-faring military fort. The UNSC then improved or replaced key features of the Phoenix-Class design.

The ship was completed in 2558 and christened the UNSC Nexus. With its completion, the Nexus-Class of "Community Cruiser" ships was produced. The Nexus is larger than the Phoenix-Class Colony Ships that its model was based on, with a length of about 4 kilometers and a width of about one kilometer. It boasts four primary decks connected by interior elevators and stairways. Utilizing a prototype translight engine of Forerunner design, it is also exponentially faster than the Phoenix-Class. Armed with ATAF Missile Turrets and a HAVOK Tactical Nuclear Weapon on top of the usual armament, it is also considered deadlier. It houses a crew of 20,000.

The four decks consist of a Command Deck, a War Deck, a Community Deck, and an Engineering Deck.

The Command Deck is composed of the Bridge, officer living quarters, and a diplomacy room with built-in communication hardware and software. Here, most of the administrative work on the Nexus is performed, and officers (and their families) have access to fully furnished suites in which they can rest when off-duty.

The War Deck is composed of facilities designated for multiple military complements such as offices and training campuses for SPARTAN-IVs, ODSTs, and the UNSC Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. There is also a particularly large armory dedicated to storing vehicles, weapons, ammunition, and armor. Accompanying the armory is an armor fabrications office for construction and repair of MJOLNIR GEN2 armor. Information & Technology specialists, Human Resources, and Business and Legal specialists operate from this deck. College degrees can be worked on via an Online Campus maintained on the War Deck's secure network.

The Community Deck is the largest of the four decks and boasts top-of-the-line facilities such as a commissary and a Ship Exchange (colloquially stylized as "NX" for "Nexus-Exchange" or "Nexchange") shopping center. One school that teaches grades K-12 was also established for the education of children of families stationed on the Nexus. Within the Ship Exchange, one could purchase such items as clothing, hygiene products, electronics, exercise and sports equipment, books (most are vintage hard-copy), and food from over seven ethnic restaurants built into the food court^. A hydroponics greenhouse produced most plant-based food, though meat-based food had to either be replicated or imported during docking periods with Earth or colony planets. A Residential Quarter was set aside for crew members of Non-Commissioned Officer rank or lower, as well as for families of crew. Each family lived in an apartment, the size of which varied depending on family size (the limit no greater than four children), in which they could live comfortably. Each apartment is provided with standard kitchen equipment and living room furniture, as well as, for bedrooms, beds and cryo-pods. The former is to be used on shorter flights, and the latter is to be used on long-distance slipspace jumps. Healthcare specialists such as dentists, doctors/surgeons, therapists, psychologists/psychiatrists, and nurses operate from here, as do competent military chaplains of all faiths*.

The Engineering Deck houses the engines, translight engine, and the AI Bluebox. DaVinci, the ship's onboard AI, operates and oversees the shipboard functions of the Nexus. Named for the Renaissance… Renaissance man, Leonardo da Vinci, DaVinci as an AI is extremely creative and is an efficient problem-solver. He has been known to constantly calibrate and recalibrate aiming algorithms and shipboard functions, updating them and improving upon their capabilities and functions. He "has it down to an art form."

Considered controversial by both the United Earth Government and a fraction of UNSC officers, the Nexus had received negative attention as an "expensive deathtrap. The Next RMS TITANIC. We are allowing civilians - children, - to board and live on a high profile mobile military stronghold while we're still bothering with alien terrorists and pirates in deep space and on our own homeworld!" as one UEG representative eloquently put it. Despite the backlash, the Nexus is to be put into active service on November 30th, 2558, taking off from a shipyard outside Barrow, Alaska. The ship is expected to make a five year tour on a mission dedicated to scientific exploration, disaster relief, and foreign diplomacy. Future tours to be arranged at a later date.

^The Nexus Food Court serves seven varieties of ethnic cuisine including: East Asian, North American, Latin American, Western European, Eastern European, Middle Eastern, all prepared by well-trained cooks of respective nationalities within the region of cuisine they prepare (Actual Arab prepares Middle Eastern Food. Actual Italian prepares West European food).

*The UNSC no longer supports the religion of the Triad after events in 2556 revealed the fraudulence of Dasc Gevadim. The UNSC also does not support the Covenant Religion for obvious reasons.

Tundra Meditation

Barrow, Alaska, Earth ~ 2558

The frigid tempest roared through the eternal night as the Überchassis drove off. Jean-Paul Barrault stood ankle deep in the snow with a data-pad in hand, looking out from over a hill to behold the ship he would come to captain in little more than a week's time. He took a deep breath of the frosty air and let his thoughts flow freely. Much of Alaska had recently entered its period without sunlight, cloaking the land in darkness only broken by electric lighting far, far behind Captain Barrault. At his request he had been driven out of the town of Barrow so that he could see his ship, and to clear his head under the flawless sky. He could not only see the brilliantly glowing Aurora Borealis, but he could also see the sparkling expanse of the galaxy. The galaxy he fought and almost died for.

A faint frown appeared on his face as he recalled the reason for his promotion. He slipped the data-pad into his coat and laid the tips of his fingers on the long scar that ran diagonally from the left corner of his forehead to the right corner of his chin. He wasn't proud of what he did. In fact, he felt exceptionally guilty over it now that the war was over. He did what he must because lives were at stake. It was either theirs or the enemies'. Now that the "enemy" wasn't the enemy anymore, recollection of that fateful battle added to diplomatic conversation and a curious questioning of the origin of his scar was all it took to ruin Captain Barrault's morning, afternoon, or evening, depending on when he had to discuss the matter. In fact, it was part of the reason he was out here in these subzero plains; he needed to convince himself that he deserved this rank, this ship.

Thanksgiving was in two days, an opportunity to reinforce his gratitude for his continued life and for the love and support of his friends, and his future crew. The entire crew of the Nexus was staying in Barrow to get to know each other and establish their roles aboard the Nexus. This included every Marine, every Sailor, every Soldier, every ODST, and every SPARTAN. Their families would arrive in a week's time, a day before the ship would depart. Barrault, a well-aged man, hadn't much family to speak of, himself. He didn't resent the fact, but it did cause him slight discomfort when the holiday season rolled around. He had nobody to spend it with. Another thing he needed to get off of his chest before the Nexus left.

The final issue on his mind, he cogitated, was the "Covenant." More precisely the Separatists. On his hands was the blood of countless lives on both sides of the war. On the left hand, the scarlet essence of those he sent to their deaths in the name of humanity. On the right hand, the multicolored gore of the enemy whom he had personally killed or had killed. Throughout the war – and he lived through the entire war – he had changed through two philosophies. When Harvest was taken, he convinced himself that it was a senseless war of aggression. When the Halo Array came into play, and their true purpose sparked the Great Schism, he realized what should have been obvious all along; they were simply following orders from a leader they both feared and respected.

Much like the men and women he himself ordered into the fray, only to watch them die.

He gained great wisdom on that day, and vowed to make things right when the war ended. His contempt for his fellow officers was impossible to accurately convey, whenever they spoke ill of the Separatists and their sympathizers.

"In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him," Barrault quoted from under his breath, staring up into the stars. His short salt-&-pepper beard kept a good majority of his face warm, yet the cold winds still nipped at his soon-to-be-runny nose and ever-blinking eyes as snow kicked up by the wind blew gracefully into his eyelashes or past his mostly covered head. The light of the aurora and galactic band gently kissed his skin as he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath of brisk, Alaskan night air. He did in fact love his enemy, and while he knew that total peace was not entirely feasible given current affairs with the UNSC Infinity and the Covenant Remnant (not to mention the terrorists on Earth and Her Colonies), his greatest wish was to one day live to see peace between the races of the galaxy.

He smiled. He didn't always feel this way. He marveled to himself at how this war changed him, matured him, emboldened him to rise and become a wise, brilliant, respected Captain. He chuckled at the memory of the fact that he had started his career as an impetuous racist of a Crewman who wanted nothing more than to fill the enemy with bullets. It was this meditation and realization of his development over the years that spoke entire volumes to him, saying that, yes, he did indeed deserve his position. A nexus by definition means a connection or link. That's exactly what the UNSC Nexus is; a ship built for the purpose of providing a connection/link with the military and their families by bringing them closer together to create a united community with the intention of increasing morale radically.

Amidst the howling of the gale, Barrault heard the rumbling of a Warthog's engine. His tilted his head back down and opened his eyes, turning and raising his arm over his eyes to shield them from the headlights. The Warthog rolled up a few meters from Barrault. Two armored soldiers, a SPARTAN-IV in full white, Recruit Armor with a blue visor and an ODST in standard black hopped out of the vehicle and the SPARTAN co-pilot climbed on back and manned the turret. "Captain? Are you okay? You've been here for an hour and thirty minutes!" said the soft, soprano voice of the ODST. She approached the motionless officer.

That long? It certainly did not feel that long, Barrault thought as he suddenly turned to the ODST. She snapped to attention and Barrault immediately said, "At ease, soldier."

"Uh, there's something back in Barrow we really need you to see," the ODST said after dropping her arms from her At Attention stance.

"Just tell me what happened…" Barrault sighed.

Another sound was heard far in the distance, through the chorus of wind, purring engines, and snow being blasted across the plains and hills. "Is that… a Revenant?" the SPARTAN-IV asked. Sure enough, across the snowy plains, the iconic, dusty rose Covenant vehicle zoomed, bound for Barrow. "…piloted by a Grunt and a Skirmisher?"

"Skirmisher? Shit, haven't seen those since Reach," the ODST remarked.

Barrault shook his head and immediately got into the Warthog. The ODST climbed into the driver's seat and put the 'hog in reverse, swerving around. Upon switching the gear back, she floored the gas pedal and sent the Warthog flying across the Alaskan tundra. "What's the Covenant doing on Earth for God's sake?" Barrault asked his driver.

She stared straight ahead, unable to give an answer. "Why they're on Earth? They wouldn't say, but there's a ton of them in Barrow. UNSC's got the civilians on lockdown while they're there… don't want a riot it seems," she finally replied after a straight seven seconds of silence. "Personally I'm in full support of that move, because the last thing we need is for some civvies to start another war when they've come here in peace… we think."

"Anyone special there?" asked Barrault, who popped open the dashboard compartment and searched around for anything he could use to get a visual on the Revenant. He found a set of thermal binoculars and peered through them. Sure enough he could see the Grunt at the steering wheel acting rather boldly, pumping his fist in the air and "dancing" in the driver's seat, with the Skirmisher curled up into a ball in the passenger seat. Barrault perked a brow, unsure of what to make of this display.

"…we think the Arbiter is there," the SPARTAN-IV on the turret said. He spun the turret around to check the Warthog's six. No other Covenant vehicles or personnel to speak of.

"Thel 'Vadam? In the arse-end of nowhere – no offense – on the human homeworld?" Barrault responded, eyes wide and mouth agape. He couldn't believe that for a second. "SPARTAN, I don't take too kindly to being toyed with!"

"Sir, I'm not lying, sir!" the SPARTAN shouted, snapping to a salute, keeping his left hand on the turret handle.

"…at ease, smart-aleck."

The ODST only barely managed to stifle the snigger that followed. "Forgive my brother. He gets on my nerves too," she said. Soon enough, the lights of Barrow came into view, and the light pollution resulted in the majestic, cosmic view to fade away into pitch blackness. Barrault viewed through the binoculars again and flicked off the thermal setting. He beheld a variety of Covenant starships and dropships parked just over the glacial waters north of the town, on the border between land and sea.

"This is going to be an interstellar political drama isn't it?" the SPARTAN whined.

"Not if I can help it," Barrault muttered. He picked up his voice, turning his head to the ODST at the wheel. "Get me to another vehicle. Tail the Revenant, and I'll go find the Arbiter."

"As you wish, sir," the ODST said. They drove further into town, where they found a pair of Mongooses being handled by a group of marines. The Warthog slowed enough so that Barrault could hop out, and then it sped off after the Revenant. Barrault dusted off his thick coat and walked over to the Mongooses.

"If one of you could give me a lift, I believe there is someone who requires my presence," Barrault requested, looking around at the Separatist Grunts wandering the town with varying degrees of enthusiasm or boredom.

"Aye, Captain! Hop on back!" cried one marine, who threw himself onto his Mongoose and started the engine. Barrault politely walked over and sat himself down on the rear seat and strapped himself in. Another marine handed him a Magnum pistol.

"Just in case, sir," she said. She sounded like she genuinely cared, but the Captain, not wanting to carry a weapon into a diplomatic environment, only begrudgingly accepted the pistol and holstered it inside of his interior coat pocket.

"Wherever they're meeting with us, take me to them please," asked Barrault. The Mongoose sped forward, en route to the intended destination at the town hall.

An Unusual Duo

"Okay I'm really getting curious as to where these guys are going," the SPARTAN-IV said. He had leapt into the passenger seat after Barrault had jumped off, settling into the cushioning and leaning back, legs and arms crossed. His HUD maintained a lock-on to the Revenant and its passengers as the vehicle zoomed through the town.

"I'm about to shout at them to pull the hell over," the ODST grumbled, making a sharp, sudden turn to the right, in hot pursuit of the Revenant. She had to admit though, this GRUNT was a pretty exceptional driver. For a Grunt.

"Don't. I got this," the SPARTAN said, standing up in his seat. He placed his hands around his mouth to try and amplify the sound, or at least give the impression of doing so from the gesture. "UNSC, halt the vehicle!" he boomed. Almost immediately the Revenant pulled over, driving off the side of the road (rather courteously) to accommodate other vehicles. The Grunt bounced out of the Revenant, and the Skirmisher just… flopped out, still curled up in fear, diving right shoulder first into the snow bank. The Warthog parked adjacent from it, and the SPARTAN dismounted, holding a wary hand over his pistol. The ODST followed, hands gripping a battle rifle as she approached.

The Grunt stared the SPARTAN in the eyes and said, "Hey, we're lost and we're late for an important meeting! I don't know what stupid laws keep me from trying to make it on time, and I am not in the mood to be pulled over like this! What do you think I am, driving under the influence?! I gave up the gas three years ago! THREE. YEARS. AGO!" he squealed, voice high-pitched from the methane, though, not as much as the voices of most Grunts.

The SPARTAN stared in awe at the Grunt for ten seconds straight, observing his appearance. Black Special Operations armor was suggestive of rank, and it covered much of his body, which was a steel-grey coloration, before turning that gaze to his ODST sister. "Can we keep him?"

"No," was the inevitable response, said in unison by both the Grunt and the ODST.

"Damn."

The ODST continued, saying, "That 'stupid law' is called a speed limit, which you surpassed greatly and I'm surprised nobody else got onto you for it."

The SPARTAN shrugged. "Eh, maybe they're too busy containing the locals?"

The two humans studied the two Separatists. The Skirmisher Murmillo had finally dug himself out of the snow and shivered violently before climbing back into the Revenant. From the look of the Grunt's armor he was Special Operations. The SPARTAN was particularly surprised by the inconsistent audacity this one Grunt had compared to the cowards that usually represented the race. He spoke up. "Well if you're going to hinder us now you might as well give us some long-term help. Where, oh where, is the political center of this settlement? Palace, temple, castle, mansion, grand hall, whatever you humans use up here," he asked, tapping his foot and leaning back on the Revenant, methane pack bumping into the vehicle.

"This Grunt's got some balls, man, I love it!" the SPARTAN remarked, smiling wide under the helmet and trying to contain his laughter.

"Yes, I have some balls. They're bright, blue, they glow, and they have your name written all over them. Juuust for you if you don't help my friend and I out," the Grunt quipped. The SPARTAN's expression, though one couldn't immediately tell, twisted into a horrified grimace as he stepped back and shuddered. "Not those kind," he continued, "but I like the way you think."

The ODST then stepped up to bat, this time though, she decided to help the Grunt. "You took a wrong right turn on North Star Street. The Finance Director Government office house was straight, then left down Laura Madison Street. Turn left again at the Commercial Value Center down Ahkovak Street. Across the isthmus lay the rest of Barrow. Follow Ahkovak until you find the office building. It's right next to the old High School."

"Thanks, lady," the Grunt said, hopping into the Revenant.

"Name's Eve, first of all. The wise-ass SPARTAN is Aidan," the ODST replied, crossing her arms as a response born from ire towards the Grunt's impetuosity.

"Kilil. Since you've been so helpful. The poor T'vaoan trying to hold in his lunch is Tex," the Grunt said as Aidan snickered. Kilil eyed him for a brief moment but let it slide as he continued his thought, "At lease the lucky bastard gets to eat actual food… I'm still stuck with The Nipple."

More Aidan snickers.

"Just so happens our superior officer is headed there as we speak if he's not already there. Mind if we tag along?" Eve asked, letting her arms drop to her sides as she went to get back into the Warthog.

"Sure, but you're our alibi if they get mad at us for tardiness!" Kilil shouted, lunging into the Revenant and starting it up, turning 180 degrees and riding down the street. Eve and Aidan quickly did the same and caught up to the Revenant, eventually passing it.

"Just follow us, we'll get you there. And, you also have your alibi if you need it," Aidan promised, waving politely to Kilil as the Warthog passed the Revenant.

Diplomacy

Captain Barrault entered the office building and discarded his coat, slipping the data-pad out of the interior pocket but leaving the pistol. Under the casual, red and yellow snow coat he wore an arctic camouflaged and insulated UNSC Officer uniform. He removed his cap and held it with the data-pad as the marine who drove him cut in front of him and gestured to follow him. Said marine would then lead Barrault to the conference room where the meeting was intended to take place.

Upon entry, Barrault beheld the Arbiter in all his glory. Archaic and ornamental, but highly effective golden armor adorned his tall, toned figure from head to toe. A thick, hooded, silvery fur cloak (presumably belonging to a creature native to Sanghelios) was draped over his shoulder, shielding him from the cold outside, though it seems he had not bothered to remove it. "Captain Jean-Paul Barrault I presume?" Thel 'Vadam asked rhetorically, knowing full well who stood before him.

Barrault nodded and took his place at the conference table, sliding the data-pad across the board to the Arbiter and setting his cap down on the table. "Aye. I heard snippets of the story of your victory at Sunaion. Allow me to congratulate you," he replied, holding his hands behind his back, keeping a straight, respectful posture.

Thel managed a minute smile and nodded in return as he picked up the data-pad and proceeded to look it over. "I thank you. The human forces who assisted in the battle were invaluable," he said.

"Now that I am here," Barrault said, scanning the room. Also present were various Elites and a handful of UNSC junior and senior officers, as well as some SPARTAN-IVs, Jackals, and Grunts. He continued, "I must ask why I need to be here. With the departure of the UNSC Nexus in about a week's time…"

"Precisely why I have come. I do not have much time to stay for I have business to attend to on Sanghelios," replied Thel, "However, it is with my authority that the business I have here shall be effectively resolved. I have thought this day through long enough. And I will be honest, I am… wary, of your peoples' intention in this Galaxy, which is why I start here. To get to the point, I wish to use the 'Nexus' to encourage cooperation between our races." He said, laying the data-pad down on the board.

Chatter spread through the room like wildfire. It was efficiently quelled by the combined throat-clearing of Thel and Barrault. Barrault responded. "Does the rest of the UNSC know about this?"

"I would not be here if your superiors did not know. They told me to ask you. It is your ship is it not?"

He had a point, and Barrault conceded to it. "Elaborate on this plan if you'd please?" he entreated. The SPARTAN and ODST from earlier had found his location and entered the conference room, with the Revenant riding Grunt and Skirmisher in tow. He grew puzzled when he noted the unique, gung-ho swagger in the Grunt's step, though he didn't let anybody notice, namely Thel.

"An exchange of personnel is what I am asking for. In a peaceful environment, I am requesting an indefinite stationing of my troops on the Nexus in return for UNSC soldiers on board several of our ships. Other officers have acquiesced, some more reluctant than others but the point was made and accepted."

"Why the Nexus though?"

"It is the perfect ship for this," came Thel's simple reply. "I would never ask for this, in usual circumstances. Our increased cooperation, however, has persuaded me that, peace between our people, and our mutual recovery from the war is not possible if one does not make an effort. The Nexus is physically designed to accommodate a large population of military and civilians. If you do not mind the presence of a few Sangheili diplomats and soldiers with a complement of Kig-Yar and Unggoy. Perhaps a handful of Mgalekgolo and a Huragok to assist your engineers," he explained. "This is my effort."

Barrault stroked his beard as he thought his decision over. The opportunity to foster peace and compassion between the races? His ultimate dream? It was falling right into his lap! But, on the other hand, he knew his men would never approve of this, and he didn't want to worsen the situation with such close contact. Surely the human exchange on Covenant ships were all volunteers – most of them anyway –. Here? One arbitrary decision was all it took, and Barrault wasn't sure if it was truly worth it.

"This is a… difficult decision, and either choice sits well with me," Barrault replied, after a full minute of silent thought, which he was most grateful that Thel had allowed.

Thel bowed his head to acknowledge the Captain. "I understand if it is difficult for you, as this was difficult for myself when I conceived the initial idea."

"There's a holiday the Americans tend to celebrate. As I am a Frenchman myself… Never mind, I digress, but the holiday is referred to as 'Thanksgiving,'" Barrault continued.

"The relevance?"

Barrault smiled. "A feast dedicated to life's blessings. Good harvest, good health, family, friends. Food, shelter… anything anybody can be grateful for, they can celebrate and express it outwardly on this day. It's a remarkably social occurrence and I feel that my decision will be better influenced by first-hand experience with your exchange troops."

Thel gave it no hesitation. He understood the purpose immediately. "Very well. When is it?"

"Two days from now, which gives my crew and me plenty of time to converse with your crew in the meantime. At Thanksgiving evening we'll gather for the feast and I'll make my final decision. The Nexus takes off in an exact week from that day. I'll spread the word. I assume that every human in this room is in accord with my decision?"

The two leaders soaked in the silence of the conference room, but noticed a few affirmative salutes, nods, and uncertain shrugs. Thel walked around the table, ambling at a deliberate pace over to the much shorter human. He offered his massive, two-thumbed hand to the Captain; a gesture he had picked up from his experience with humans through the years. Barrault firmly grasped it and shook it.

Aidan, the SPARTAN, gently nudged his sister Eve. "So… we're sharing quarters with the Covies?" he whispered. He was promptly punched in the shin by Kilil the Grunt, though it did little more than simply get the point across. Tex flashed a rude gesture to Aidan, consisting of an exposed tongue and an eyelid being pulled down. A human gesture he picked up over the years.

"Appears so," said Eve. "I wouldn't judge them too much. Just… let's wait until Thanksgiving to see if we like any of them."

"Alright, but 'fraternize' with an Elite and I am so done. We're already losing a couple dozen women to their men…"

"Shut up."

"How do you even make out with a Split Lip? Do you like, make them connect their mandibles and smooch or do you suck on an individual mandible?"

"Your mic is hot, dumbass," a SPARTAN-IV in full FOTUS armor, on the opposite side of the room, warned. Collective snickering and chuckling ran rampant through the conference room as Aidan felt about as big as the period on the end of this sentence.

"Told you," Eve sighed, punching her brother in the shoulder.

"Enough! Both of you!" shouted Barrault. "No fraternization of any kind with any race, gender, or orientation while on duty!"

The FOTUS SPARTAN sniggered. "Well, I'll see the honies when I'm off-duty then," he jibed. An Elite in the corner of the room laughed a bit louder than he should have.

Barrault noted that someone had slapped him in the back of the head, though he didn't see who. The Captain then glared at the FOTUS SPARTAN, though he knew well that he couldn't interfere with off-duty business that didn't fit under "illegal." He let it be for the time being and returned his attention to the Arbiter. "I apologize thoroughly for their actions and I assure you they all will be dealt with after this meeting is over," he said. And as he finished his sentence, a wave of oohs and aahs swept through the crowd.

Thel glanced over at Aidan, and managed the Sangheili equivalent of a sly smirk as he saw the SPARTAN hold a hand to his visor in shame. "Were it so easy," he remarked. Turning his head back to Captain Barrault, he said, "Your men weren't the only ones acting up." His death gaze fell on Kilil and Tex the Skirmisher, then roved over to a Sangheili Minor and halted on him.

What did I do?! He thought as the crowd shifted away from him, isolating him as the one Sangheili who had been silently singled out by the Arbiter himself. "Adas 'Kasam," Thel began, eyes falling for the slightest moment on the FOTUS SPARTAN who provoked Adas's laughter, "I expected more composure from you, especially in the event of such… crude… humor."

Adas bowed his head in shame, though otherwise was standing at attention awaiting his sentencing.

Barrault felt a twinge of pity. He leaned closer to Thel and whispered, "I've heard about your people's tendency to… punish in extremity. That won't be necessary, just… send him to me with anybody else you may have been referring to and I'll handle them along with the other three. I know you're in a hurry, so please allow me to take them off your hands."

Thel blinked at the Captain and, with no small amount of hesitation, relented.

Barrault bowed slightly in respect and spun on his heels to face the crowd. "Dismissed, all of you, except for you two. You too, Unicorn," he teased, waving a flat, vertical hand up and down through the air over his head, stroking the imaginary horn. "I want to see you three outside."

Thel was quick to add his input. "Kilil. Tex. Adas. Go with the human officer. Does any one being in this room object to being stationed with the humans on board their ship?"

Not a word was spoken as Thel marched out of the conference room. "Dismissed," he called as he made his exit. Barrault then watched as the vast majority of the crowd moved to follow Thel through the door. He then made the assumption that, since nobody had anything important to say during this two-man meeting, that they were all simply guards in a stiff, soundless standoff.

His eyes widened and he jolted forward, arm raised to catch the attention of the exiting troops. "Ah, all Separatists, there is room for you in the barracks we have set up at Point Barrow. Speak with Ensign Lewis and he'll point the way!" he cried. As soon as he was certain that the message was received, he calmed down and backtracked to his original position at the head of the conference board.

Soon, only the three humans and three Separatists remained with him. "So… outside?" Aidan inquired. He gestured with a thumb to the door and waited for the Captain's reply. Eve shuffled a foot nervously in place, while "Unicorn" indignantly reclined against the wall with his arms behind his head for support. Adas stole an unused chair from the corner of the room and sat down in it while Kilil climbed up onto the table. Tex sat on the floor and appeared content with that.

"Here's fine, since everyone's cleared the room, we have the table to ourselves," Barrault replied. He leaned on the table, using his arms for support as his exhaled for a good, long, moment. To say he was stressed was an understatement. He clapped his hands together and tried to clear his mind. No sense in getting all worked up over something like this. As soon as he felt that he had sufficiently calmed down, he stood at ease.

Eve spoke up, "Sir, with all due respect to you, I don't feel that I should be here. Neither should the Grunt, especially not the Skirmisher and the Elite."

Kilil, Tex, and Adas looked over at the ODST inquisitively. Was she trying to bail them out?

"You took it to the physical. Can I ask for your names and ranks, please? I can't quite see your tags from here…" Barrault asked, squinting and leaning forward.

Aidan stood tall and saluted, by force of reflex, "Aidan Perez, sir!"

"Sergeant Major Eve Perez. ODST."

The FOTUS SPARTAN grunted. "Raymond Santiago."

Aidan only barely managed to save his skin and withhold the laughter that almost bubbled up and burst from his lungs. The most thug-life name I have ever heard, he derisively mused. Raymond.

Barrault cleared his throat, straightened the collar of his uniform, and spoke. "I've held you six back because of misconduct during what was a serious diplomatic discussion between myself and the Sangheili Arbiter. As you know he wishes to station his men, and possibly members of their families, on board our ship. He has already negotiated the possibility with other officers and came to confirm it with me. Just in case you missed the conversation while you were horsing around, to use a human expression," he explained to his small audience, holding up a hand towards the Separatists as he finished the last sentence, intending to clarify his figure of speech. He looked back over to the humans in the room and continued talking. "I might be overreacting. It's not like you started a fistfight in here."

"Then are you going to let us go?" Raymond asked.

"No. You still were disruptive and… crude, might I add, in a professional environment. I mean, you didn't even input anything valuable – why the hell were you all even here besides protection?" Barrault answered.

"So… what's our punishment?" Tex, who had been completely silent up until this point, said, his raspy voice penetrating the silence that followed Barrault's reply to Raymond.

Barrault gave a wide, toothy grin. "Oh, nothing severe…"

Bonding Over Punishment

"I hate all of you equally," groaned Raymond as he continued to scrub the white tiled floors.

"Well think of it this way," Aidan, ever the optimist, replied, "This is the North Pole Tavern. We help out in here and we will have made Thanksgiving all the better for those preparing the feast and those eating said feast." He then proceeded to effortlessly lift up a crate of canned foodstuffs and take it into the storage room.

"I heard 'food,'" Kilil and Tex said in unison, with the former looking out from over the counter and the latter sliding out from under the sink.

The entire kitchen smelled of assorted chemicals, most prominently bleach. Normally a cleaning crew would do the jobs these six had been ordered to do, however they were given time off after hearing that the UNSC temporarily stationed in Barrow were actually going to do something productive. Punishment was swift, and the six had to clean an entire half of the building as well as shift furniture, handle deliveries, repair anything that might be broken (or augment anything that wasn't broken, as Tex quickly set out to do, frustrated by the primitive engineering and plumbing. Though, lacking Covenant technology, he was forced to work with less-than-optimal materials and tools), and deal with various forms of refuse.

"I don't give a shit," Raymond spat, "You get me into trouble like this one more time and I'll run this horn up your ass!"

Way to get into the holiday spirit, Eve thought, as she scraped the dried, charred grease off of the stove. "Coming from the bastard with plans to meet with various women on the Nexus, most of whom I guarantee you are not single…" she muttered.

"What was that?"

"You know what I said, Raymond."

"You single?"

"Ram that horn up yours, Unicorn."

Aidan stepped out of the storage room and laughed raucously at the expense of Raymond. "Love you, sis!" he managed to say in between bouts of laughter as he left the kitchen.

"So… where's Adas?" Eve asked, accidentally mispronouncing the name.

"I think it is 'Ah-dahss,' not 'Aey-dahss.' Soft 'A' I believe," Tex commented, finishing a quick adjustment to the sink. "Anyway, I ixed the low-pressure on the sink!" He seemed to have trouble pronouncing his 'F's. This was common, but he did well enough.

"Good for you," said Kilil, who, without looking at Eve, replied to her, saying, "He's out at the bar, wiping down the counter. Bet you 500 credits he gets wasted at some point." He was currently polishing the faucet of the sink.

Tex climbed out, closed the cabinet doors, and tried to turn on the sink. Kilil made a hissing noise and batted Tex's talons away from the sink. "What?!" he cried.

"No touch! Just polished that!"

Eve snickered, though it sounded more like a quick sneeze. She shook her head and rolled her eyes under her helmet and brushed the scraped grease into a short, bagless trash bin. "Kitchen's really coming together, guys," she said, looking around at the now spotless walls, brighter lighting fixtures, chrome-polished sink, stove fans, pots, pans, and various knobs and handles. Raymond was just about finished with the floor. Kilil took his cloth, wrapped it around his hand, and slowly turned the cold water knob left. A clean, straight stream of white water rushed out into the sink. Quickly shutting the valve he dried the sink with the same cloth and hopped off the counter. "Great job, Tex," Eve remarked, nodding appreciatively.

Tex seemed to be beaming with pride as Kilil slung the cloth over his black-armored shoulder and patted him on the shoulder. "So, Grunt," Raymond asked, "The hell do you get your balls from, you born with them or you have to grow them over time?"

"What's with you humans and the connection of testicles and bravery?" Kilil replied.

"…no idea," Eve, the exceptionally brave woman, sighed. She saw no more chores to handle in the kitchen, and so she sat herself down on the counter adjacent to the stove to finish the conversation.

"To answer your question though, it took time. It landed me this Special Operations job. Believe me, I'm still one to flee if I obviously can't handle a fight. Retreat isn't cowardice though, it's just intelligence," the Grunt explained.

"Oh so what, you do self-help therapy or something?" asked Raymond, scratching his horned helmet inquisitively as he wiped the muck out of the last corner of the room. He dunked the balled up rag into his bucket of water and stood up to dump out the filth.

"Ach! No, no, no!" Kilil cried, drawing out his plasma pistol and aiming it at Raymond. "Dump it in the snow out back I guarantee you it'll just freeze!"

"Sounds cool enough to me," Raymond said with a mild shrug, taking the bucket and leaving to splash it outside.

"And yes, something like 'self-help.'"

Eve smiled under her helmet. "You guys are alright," she said. "Don't know about Adas yet. Seemed a bit cold, though."

"That's just him trying to tough-guy. I know him well, we fought in Rio together after the Schism," Kilil replied. "Real nice guy. Young, not very experienced, still skilled. Human sympathizer."

Human sympathizer? In the Elites? Those are a thing? Eve thought. "That last part. What do you mean by that?"

"He respects humans. Quite a lot, actually. Sees them as able warriors, and after the war ended his library records piled up with stuff on human culture and history. I know because he asked Tex and I to mask and delete various search history items."

Eve blushed hard. Guess even aliens have those alternate lifestyles. "…so he's that kind of guy."

It took Kilil three seconds to register and his eyes widened, "What?! No! Not that, as far as I'm aware! I'd keep that for blackmail! He looks up dumb things like flip music and food!"

Tex promptly beak-clawed and left to go help Adas with anything he may need. Kilil gave a brief laugh and followed his T'vaoan friend. Raymond came back just in time to hear the exchange, looked over at Eve, and shook his head. "I actually have a search history like that, and that was just bad, Perez," he said. "C'mon, let's get out of here and help them clean the rest of the club. Oh, and uh, sorry about earlier," he added, reaching out to offer his hand. When the humiliated Eve left him hanging, he sighed and walked out of the kitchen. "Hey! Kilil! That water didn't instantly freeze!"

It took Eve ten minutes to want to show her face (visor, more appropriately) to her newfound comrades after she had been left alone. She refused to speak to Adas.

They managed to finish cleaning the club by the morning.

So there's that…

Thanksgiving Evening

When it came to humans, food was an art form. Like a sculpture or landscape painting, the perfect meal required patience. For the some hundred UNSC cramped in Barrow, Alaska, however, dinner could not come soon enough on a certain day of the month of November.

"Ah! Just another hour until the feast!" Aidan said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He, along with the rest of those attending the feast, would finally have the opportunity to come out of their shells (literally speaking; their armor) and share a meal over counting their blessings. Aidan was dressed in a leather jacket with white sleeves and shoulders, and dark blue jeans. On his feet were the combat boots from his fatigues, which he said were "stylish." He ran a light-skinned hand through his dirty-blonde, medium-length, wavy hair and smiled, blinking his emerald eyes.

"Yes, another hour. Meanwhile you could've stayed back at the barracks instead of being the first SPARTAN to the party," Eve taunted, kicking her feet onto the bar counter, pointing the toes of her brown leather shoes at her brother, who stood on the opposite side of the counter. She too decided on a casual look, wearing a thick, black, wool hoody, white undershirt, and the urban camo cargo pants from her set of fatigues. She crossed her tan skinned arms and blew a lock of chestnut-cinnamon brown hair out of her flawless face and away from her sapphire eyes.

"Where's Unicorn? He comin'?" Aidan asked, standing on his toes and looking out over the club to see if he could spot their friend. Their relationship started tentatively. After all, he was exceptionally rude at first. However, after earning his trust and respect during their cleaning spree, they became allies. The Perezes had even messaged Raymond, asking him to join them for a few drinks before the party began.

He saw a small sea of granite tabletops and black leather stools and chairs in the center of the club, resting on rust-red tile flooring. A massive, flat TV screen dominated the wall behind him, in between six smaller screens that would display different channels when toggled on. All the screens were located directly above the long row of beer taps and glass cabinets with various types of liquor, wines, cocktail syrups, and ornate mugs and glasses. On the west wall of the room were entrances to the kitchen that he had spent the entire other night cleaning. One was on the bottom left corner directly next to the bar, and the other in between one of three sets of booths and the four short steps to the elevated platform that the primary location for eating was located at. This, not the granite tables in the center of the club, would be where the feast would be sprawled out in thirty minutes as people started to arrive. He looked up to the entresol, supported by four columns, two on each side. On the edges of each side were armchairs facing out towards the giant screen to better view whatever would be playing on it. On the left side, the armchairs were accompanied with tray stands on which ashtrays were placed. Seeing that Raymond wasn't up there smoking, he assumed that Raymond may be in the center of the entresol, where the dance floor and DJ booth was.

This building had to be one of the most advanced sites in Barrow. Through the centuries Barrow had remained relatively the same, keeping many historic buildings, roads, and neighborhoods, though some had been updated and the town's size had nearly tripled. Because of the club's size, services, and technological superiority over other venues, the UNSC had this tied with the Piuraagvik recreation center, but the North Pole Tavern won out in the end.

"Hey. Sunshine. Wake up," Eve said, snapping her fingers in front of Aidan's face. He blinked and shook his head vigorously, pretending to have been in a trance.

"I'm back, what did I miss?" he replied, completely joking, of course.

"You missed me by miles, bro," called Raymond. "Just got here. Had you thinking I was hiding huh?"

Aidan's eyes bulged and he kept them glued to Raymond, dressed in a bright blue and dark blue, checker-patterned, long sleeve button-up shirt with black jeans and shoes. He appeared to be of Hispanic descent and of average height, with short black hair styled in a Caesar cut, with a short soul patch under his lip. Joyful, amber eyes greeted Aidan's own emerald eyes. "Wait, you're not black?!" he stammered. Eve was prepared to slap him in the back of the head when Raymond just laughed it off.

"Nah, man, totally Hispanic. Mexican, got a little Cuban on mom's side. I get it though, it's the way I carry myself, way I speak. Plus I do got armor on all the time," he said. "It's all good, Eve can ease up on that. You two a bit Hispanic yourselves? 'Perez?'"

Eve spoke before Aidan could run his mouth and dig the grave deeper. "No, actually. We're white, with some Semitic on our father's side of the family," she said, glaring at Aidan, who held his hands up in surrender and backed away. "Though come to think of it, you did sound Hispanic when we first met."

Raymond joined the two at the bar. "Where is everybody?"

"Still getting ready. We're early," Aidan replied. He looked up and jolted in surprise, almost elbowing a glass liquor cabinet behind him. When Raymond and Eve turned around to investigate, they saw Captain Barrault standing over the railing on the entresol.

"You six did a fine job with the place," he called out. "Where's the other half?"

Right. The Separatists. "Hell if I know, Sir!" Aidan called back.

Barrault chuckled. Despite his own order to show up in casual or formal gear, he had chosen to wear the black variant of his dress uniform. "The entire Separatist exchange is going to be here tonight. I don't think we have enough seats!"

The three downstairs shared a brief laugh with their commanding officer. "Eh, the turkey should be arriving any minute," Raymond remarked, watching the entrance to see if it would open. "Called those three up myself and asked them to come with me. They're late for being early!"

Without any sign of activity, the three humans just started a miscellaneous conversation for about seven minutes before the entrance swung open. Kilil was the first to walk in, equipped with his usual obsidian colored armor, minus the helmet that usually covered his golden eyes. Not that he could be blamed; his need for his methane pack overruled the want of fashion. Tex followed close behind, also in orange armor, though he had ditched his helmet, revealing his ruby red eyes and scarlet-to-black feathers. Adas entered after a moment's hesitation, also dressed fully in cobalt armor that covered a black skinsuit, much like Aidan and Raymond's SPARTAN skinsuit. He, however, wore his helmet, although it didn't hide his bright orange eyes, which darted cautiously around the tavern. Aidan leaned in to whisper to Raymond. "Because they didn't bring any fatigues."

The Hispanic SPARTAN sniggered as he watched the Separatists file in. "Nobody's here, what gives?" questioned Kilil, quite disappointed by the lack of music and… people in general.

"You're early. The Perezes called me up, so I extended the invitation. We clean together, we host together," explained Raymond, who jabbed a thumb towards Eve.

"The bar's mine," said Tex.

Barrault cleared his throat. "Actually, they have a bartender of their own, here. He's in the kitchen. I just checked with him."

"Damn."

Kilil laughed at his friend's misfortune as Adas took a seat by Raymond. "You three aren't so bad. You've earned my respect, at least," he said, though refusing to make eye contact. His pride took a hit and he had been the subject of ridicule the entire day yesterday with the other Sangheili in his unit. Luckily, as it had not gotten to the point of being taunted by the Kig-Yar and Unggoy, he could still keep his life.

"Dude, lighten up. We're about to party!" Raymond said, slugging him on the shoulder plate.

"Know what you need? Rrrrrrrum!" Aidan said, rolling the R, dragging it out for emphasis.

"I know not of what that is?" Adas replied. He was promptly greeted by the collective, exaggerated gasp of Aidan, Raymond, and oddly, Tex.

"Get this man… Elite… a New Carthaginian Barcadi*!" Eve cried, good-humoredly slapping Adas on the back and pointing to Aidan, who whirled on his heels to open the cabinet he almost smashed to retrieve a bottle of dark liquid. A black label with a red circle on the top of the paper that wrapped around the bottle was prominent. Within the circle the head of an elephant, at least the silhouette of one, was shown, trunk raised as though the beast were bellowing out for all to hear. Aidan dropped down to grab a tiny glass and fill it with the dark liquid.

"Black rum. Slam it," Aidan said, gesturing to Adas with an air-glass to demonstrate. The Sangheili Minor learned quickly and picked up the glass which, in his huge hands was pathetically petite. He managed to splash the liquid past his open mandibles and ingest it. Nigh-instantly, he began coughing, covering his mandibles with his arm.

"Oh that's alcohol. I've had that…" he said, in between bouts of coughing "but I didn't expect… that."

"Welcome to Earth, brother," Raymond said. "You leave in a week, but you leave with the humans. Might as well get used to our cuisine and culture."

"Delightful," Adas sardonically replied, reaching out for a cloth napkin that Aidan happily provided. He wiped his mandibles on it and set the cloth to the side.

"Might as well stick with us, then," said Eve, smiling in his direction. Adas caught it and cracked a grin himself.

"That does sound reasonable."

Captain Barrault had been listening in, and he too couldn't help but smile. "Good!" he called, "Because the whole point of our tour is to make nice!" After that he would remain quiet, seating himself in one of the cushioned armchairs with the ashtray stands. He drew a pack of cigars from an interior pocket of his uniform jacket and tapped the edge, igniting it and putting it between his lips.

The six stayed at the bar and conversed, swapping stories and sharing pieces of each other's histories. Aidan, ever the braggart, had the most stories to tell, and even managed to regale Adas with a tale about how, before he became a SPARTAN-IV, once killed an entire pack of Brutes single-handedly, and that it was how he got his invitation to the SPARTAN Corps. Raymond, of course, claimed that it was a "crock of shit," but Aidan stood by the account with the support of his sister.

Within minutes after Aidan told his story, the club's staff burst out of the kitchen, noticeably rushing to set the tables with food and utensils. "We are late! All of you! The opening ceremony is set to start in 35 minutes, people!" the manager cried, directing the traffic of cooks, barmaids, waiters, and other culinary staff. From the kitchen door adjacent to the bar, the Bartender himself arrived on the scene, followed by a group of barmaids and technicians, the latter folk running upstairs to set up the music equipment. Aidan was quickly shooed over the bar counter as the Bartender began shouting in Canadian French for him to get out of his workspace. Aidan understood nothing, but the shouting and flailing arms were sufficient to spook him out from behind the bar.

The three humans watched with eager eyes and watering mouths as massive roast turkeys, various preparations of potatoes, several steaming soup pots, and bowls of gravy and cranberry sauce were rolled out and set on the tables, in the style of a buffet. For the ethnic twist, Asian dumplings and noodles had been spotted in a few soup pots. Green beans, corn, carrots, cornbread, and stuffing was placed on a separate table, presumably reserved for side dishes. Tall, wide pitchers of various virgin beverages were set out.

"They got the whole neo-American set-up goin'!" Raymond cheered.

Eve had a thought at that moment, and had no trouble voicing it: "You know, we're on Earth. You think they're going to show any American football?"

Aidan gave a hearty laugh. "Should be good!" he said, "I heard Baltimore's facing off with Quebec this year."

A sigh was heard from Adas as the Sangheili shook his head. "I don't have many 'friends,' and I appreciate the effort to become my friends, but I am completely and utterly lost by all of this," he expounded, waving an outstretched arm across the room, towards the feast that was being amassed on the banquet tables, then up to the giant screen.

"I can't exactly say I know how that feels so I'm just going to nod and say you'll get used to it," Raymond replied, grabbing the bottle of Barcadi and holding it close as the Bartender tried to reach for it. The SPARTAN eyed the man up and down, saying, "We paid for this, foo', it's on this dude's tab," while pointing his thumb at Aidan. He lifted the bottle up and took a minute "waterfall sip" before setting the bottle down and whooping boisterously, to the horror of Adas and the amusement of Kilil.

"What if we are attacked? Are you just going to be intoxicated?!" the Minor complained.

"Why would we be attacked, on Earth, in the ass-end of nowhere, compadre?" Raymond answered, with another question.

"I continue to hear complaints from my brothers in arms at the barracks. Nobody dared challenge the Arbiter. Apparently they'd all rather send assassins to challenge his authority. It's why they had those stupid interviews yesterday evening," Adas elucidated.

"Odd. I thought everyone was on board with this whole thing."

"Oh they're outnumbered by those who agree. I'm only saying that they're still prominent nonetheless."

Raymond silently replied with a thoughtful sturgeon face and a shrug. "Fair enough. To be honest I hear more complaining from the marines and ODSTs than I do praise for Barrault's decision. Most of the SPARTAN Corps attached to the Nexus is supportive, though, if that helps."

"The irony, that the demons would show more compassion to us than anyone else."

A quiet, somber pause was felt between the six. It was broken by the opening of the entrance. A wave of marines, ODSTs, and SPARTAN-IVs, either in armor, in winter fatigues, or in winter casuals, poured into the club. A tiny fraction of the UNSC posted at Barrow, with the majority being SPARTANS as recognized by Aidan and Raymond.

"Someone got to the party early!" cried one ODST, pointing to Eve and her brother. "Sup Unicorn?" he added, nodding to Raymond.

Adas only patted the fuming Raymond on the shoulder and returned to staring into space. Minutes after the arrival of the first wave, the Nexus officers opened the doors to join the party. The first to enter was a peculiar sight to the three humans, but the three Separatists of the six knew immediately who it was. A human male, dressed in a black suit and shoes, was seated in an electric wheelchair. His left hand, presumably his entire arm, was a mechanical prosthetic that operated the controls of his wheelchair. His entire face was heavily scarred though his mocha brown eyes were relatively unharmed. His skin was a deep, warm, light brown, almost very-light-black skin tone, and his short, thin, blonde hair suggested multiracial descent.

"That would be the one who interviewed us," said Adas, trying not to make eye contact with the crippled man.

"Oh, him!" Aidan exclaimed, "He's supposed to work in the ONI office on the Nexus, don't worry about him."

Raymond tugged on his shirt's collar and swallowed nervously. "Eh, I think that won't be an issue. I'm too worried about myself around him to care much about his well-being."

"What's so scary about him?" Eve asked, "The scars?"

"His attitude," Tex interjected.

Unfortunately for the six, the Separatist half of their group stuck out like a sore thumb, and Philip spotted them without much trouble. He rolled himself over to the bar as his fellow officers and subordinates spread out to find tables and prepare for any ceremonies and speeches they wished to deliver. "You're here early," he said, his face and voice expressing nothing. One could describe his voice as smooth, but lacking the full youth of which only a portion could be perceived. His flat tone and emotionless face was a great source of intimidation for everyone at the bar. Even the Bartender backed away to service a couple of marines on the far left side of the counter.

"Yes, we are. Is that an issue?" said Eve, unwilling to let this man get under her skin.

"No, I don't see any problem. The name is Philip," the crippled man said, holding out his mechanical hand to Eve, who promptly shook it. "Keep an eye on these three for me, will you?"

"Sounds easy. I feel like we're going to be pretty good friends on this tour if all goes well tonight anyways," she replied, releasing the prosthetic hand.

Philip swiveled his wheelchair around to face Adas. "How is your sister?" he inquired.

"Why do you wish to know?" came the understandable reply.

"Not much reason. I hardly ever see her with you."

"She's coming. Speak with her yourself when she arrives."

Philip didn't say another word, putting his wheelchair in reverse and rolling away from the bar to speak with his officers. "Talk about creepy," Aidan remarked.

"You and I both know just from looking at him that he's been through a lot. I don't think he's as creepy as he is jaded and task oriented," came Eve's retort. With Philip no longer there to intimidate the six, they resumed their conversation until the sound of blaring feedback was heard from on the mezzanine. Captain Barrault stood with a microphone at the center railing of the entresol, testing the volume of the speakers. Not too loud, not too quiet. With that, he began his speech.

He started by thanking those few who showed up for the event. Looking around, not many people actually came. A handful of SPARTAN-IVs and a sprinkling of marines and ODSTs accompanied by the Nexus officers and administration. All in all, there were probably about 30+ people present.

"Where are the others?" Kilil whispered. Tex could only shrug in silence. As Barrault drew in a breath to continue, the entrance swung open once again. This time, a group comprised mostly of low to mid ranking Elites, Jackals and Grunts of all ranks, and, to the horror of more than a few soldiers in the room, a Hunter. "And here they are!"

Aidan was frozen in place, staring at the massive Mgalekgolo. "You people brought a Hunter with you?!" he cried, suppressing his volume as much as he could, to the point where his question came out as something akin to a hiss. His question went unanswered by any of his friends, though the response, he decided, would have been an obvious yes. Said Hunter moseyed into the far right corner of the room and sat down, monitoring the entire lower story of the club.

Captain Barrault flashed a joyful smile as he restarted his speech. Nobody could blame him; he hadn't gotten that far the first time. An officer, likely an ensign, nudged him on the shoulder and whispered to him asking if he needed a translator. Knowing full well that everyone down below spoke English (or used a translation device of their own), he declined, and got past the initial welcoming spiel as quickly as he could.

He followed up by explaining the importance of the holiday that the Separatists were helping to celebrate (whether they actually knew about it or not for not all were present when the Arbiter let this be arranged). He spoke, proudly, of the long, time-honored tradition of Thanksgiving, and how the day was one of gratitude. A time to count one's blessings and thank whatever power that be (be it a God, ancestor, spirit, or just simply Lady Luck) for one's life up to this point. He made room to jest at himself, claiming he was ready to shut up and let everyone hit the banquet in a minute. Though, first, he introduced none other than the Nexus's Chaplain.

Janice Sabina was her name. Lieutenant was her rank. She wore the standard uniform for officers, though on the right cuff was a symbol of Unitarian Universalism – presumably meant to represent the number of faiths that she actually covered as a Chaplain. A circle with a flame inside of it. The circle is surrounded by curved rectangles each with the symbol of a religion inside of it. One could see a cross, a Star of David, the Islamic Crescent-&-Star, the Wheel of Dharma, the syllable Om, a Celtic Triquetra, and a Yin Yang. She was handed the microphone and she politely accepted it, speaking into it with a compassionate smile.

"Hi, my name is Lieutenant Janice Sabina. I am Chaplain of the UNSC Nexus and I am beyond thrilled to be here with you all on such a blessed occasion!" she said, curtsying before her audience respectfully. "I've devoted much of my life to the study of religion and spirituality, and I wished to apply my knowledge as a multifaith Chaplain. And I must say, what better assignment than the Nexus, the ship whose name means 'connection?' I am well-versed in a wide array of faiths that grows larger every day and with every person I meet. That being said, I want to make something clear."

Aidan fidgeted nervously on the bar stool, looking around at the Separatists who did not seem very amused by this human chaplain. "Just hope she can recover…" he whispered to himself. Adas's attention was glued to the Chaplain out of sheer curiosity as she continued speaking.

"I was made aware of our special guests only yesterday," she said, her voice growing stern. "Now, while this is definitely a surprise, I couldn't be happier to have you all. My staff and I have been scrambling to figure out what we could about the different ancient and contemporary philosophies and faiths. I want to put an invitation out for anyone of faith who wishes to teach us. You can approach me or my Program Specialists during the banquet. We are not here to push beliefs on other people, but to counsel those in need of guidance according to their faith systems," Chaplain Sabina elucidated, quite clearly, and with a tenderhearted grin.

"And here comes the prayer…" Raymond said, rolling his wrist, predicting the Chaplain's next move.

"Lt. Sabina, if you would like to lead us in Prayer?" Captain Barrault suggested.

"Is that going to be okay?" Chaplain Sabina asked, looking out over the audience from the entresol for any dissenting faces or gestures. The club was completely silent. The Grunts were all confused, the Jackals genuinely did not care, and the Elites…? Likely all disillusioned to their old religion. No honor harmed in letting the humans have their moment. They're all a product of the Forerunners anyway… "Then I ask that we may join hands in prayer."

With that, the humans reached for each other's hands and bowed their heads. "What are they doing?" Tex asked as he saw Aidan, Eve, and Ray clasp their hands together. Ray offered his free hand to the Skirmisher and gestured with his eyes and shoulder up to Chaplain Sabina.

"Precisely speaking? Generating spiritual energy or something, to make the prayer more 'potent.' I mean… tradition, y'know?" he whispered. Tex grimaced at Raymond's (clean) hand, unfamiliar with the tradition. Eventually he gave in, and Kilil added himself to the chain. Adas remained separate from it, though he still bowed his head in grudging respect.

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred ... let me sow the seeds of love. Where there is injury ... heal. Where there is doubt ... bring faith. Where there is despair ... inspire hope." And in this moment, Adas, experiencing a most foreign feeling deep within him, reached for Kill's free hand. "Where there is darkness … shine thy holiest light. Where there is sadness … create joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek. To be consoled … as to console others. To be understood ... as to understand. To be loved ... as to love my neighbor." Despite the rumblings of objection that Adas could hear from his kin at the opposite side of the club, he kept a steadfast grip on the Unggoy beside him. "For it is in giving ... that we receive. It is in pardoning ... that we are pardoned. It is in dying ... that we are born to eternal life."

"Amen," murmured those who prayed. Some said it later than others, creating a wave of quiet, melodic, almost ethereal "amens" throughout the club.

"Amen," Adas quickly grumbled, not wishing to be heard by his companions beside him. Besides a sideways glance from Eve, nobody else seemed to notice. Why did I just do that? He thought to himself.

"Okay!" Chaplain Sabina chirped in excitement, "Let's eat!"

Don't underestimate the speed and agility of the average UNSC marine.

In the ensuing chaos, Adas spotted a figure at the entrance of the club, the sight of whom sent a spark of fear through his body. His sister. Who very likely saw him praying with a bunch of humans like the heretic he is.

She stood a full foot shorter than he did, at about 6'10" (186 cm), leaning against the door frame. Adas took a brief glance at the feast, then back to his sister. It's so… messy, he thought, as he noted that his sister was wearing a favored ceremonial dress. The blue one, of silk-like material that accentuated her chocolate brown skin. She spotted him and, scowling in his direction, began walking towards him, the train of her dress – reaching the floor though nowhere near as long as some dresses Adas had seen human women wear – giving the illusion of gliding across the floor.

Aidan and Raymond had just poured themselves another shot of the otherwise neglected Barcadi rum, and both had just taken the shot when their eyes landed on the female Sangheili. Both punctually went slack jawed, staring at the female's body. Raymond swore within his mind that he could see cleavage, though whether that was the alcohol talking or if this female actually had breasts was anyone's guess. The dress's train did not appear to be too restricting; she walked upright in a straight postured, dignified manner. The silken fabric was simple, with little to no decorations save for the lacey hemline. This was the sort of outfit that diplomats, maybe even priestesses would don. She wore a blue, metal headdress covering the top of her head, connected to plating on her mandibles. A bright red flower, almost akin to an orchid, was stuck to the left side of the headdress. A chain of diamond-like jewels fell behind the headdress, down her neck and over her hair. Wait, hair? Light brown, and heavily braided locks of hair cascaded down over both sides of her shoulders. It called to the humans' minds the wigs of Ancient Egyptian princesses and Pharoahs, notably Cleopatra. It had to be a wig, itself, then… at least Eve thought that.

She would occasionally lose eye contact with her brother to scope out her surroundings, grimacing in slight disgust at the humans who ate like animals and laughed riotously at conversations she didn't bother to pick up on. To avoid having to look at it for too long, her citrine orbs rolled right back to Adas and stayed on Adas. Oh she was definitely not used to such barbaric mannerisms, definitely not used to going out in public, and definitely fuming.

"Dude," Aidan said, finally recovering his wits and nudging Adas's shoulder, "Your sister's kind of hot." Needless to say, that got attention. Gradually, Adas, Eve, Tex, and Kilil rotated their heads to glare at Aidan.

"And about to smack a bitch up, amigo," Raymond added, watching the female's hasty approach with a horrified expression.

The female reached her destination and, worrying for Adas's life, Aidan dove over to come between them. "Hi, name's Aidan. I gotta say you look amazing. Gorgeous dress, you think I can get one?" he said, blushing hard when he stopped the exact moment he shouldn't have, and the female was eyeing him as though he had lost his mind. "I-I-I meant, obviously, one for my sister, Eve… over there with the… the…" he stammered. "You know what, fuck it, he's all yours. I tried, by the way, Adas."

For a fleeting moment, Aidan heard a soft chuckle from the female, who mustered a smile (or the equivalent thereof). "My name is Ivjūna 'Kasam. Juna works," she said. "You're standing up for my brother. That is bold of you."

"I'm sure whatever he did wrong was of little importance," Eve commented.

"He left Point Barrow early. We were supposed to go together so he could get me to your Captain. A marine in a Puma drove me here," she explained.

"The hell's a Puma?" asked Raymond.

"Isn't that what it reads on the wheels of your Force Application Vehicles?"

It took him a moment, but he lightbulbed, smiling wide. "Aaaahhh," he said, "you meant 'Warthog!'"

"Looks more like a feline than swine in my opinion."

"Let's not argue this okay?" Adas cried. He stood up to own his mistake. "These humans invited me to socialize before the festivities began. I aided them in cleaning this facility and befriended them in the process, so I accepted their invitation. They are not that bad," he explained, remaining as calm as could be. He whispered, "For humans…"

Juna nodded slowly, letting it come together in her head. She was able to forgive her brother. She then looked around at the establishment. The Separatists were keeping to their own corner of the tavern, sending Kig-Yar to fetch their food rather than getting it themselves and risking potentially negative interaction with the humans. She herself seemed rather uncomfortable, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands over her shoulders. She unquestionably felt cold, outside from the freezing night, and inside from the abundant human presence. She looked down at Tex and Kilil, who were whispering to each other in Sangheili. "You still socialize with the Unggoy and T'vaoan?" she inquired, pointing down to the pair.

"…that's never been a problem with you."

She sighed. "Adas, that's because nobody else sees you with them!"

Raymond interjected, "Hey, what's the matter with them? They cool, right? Sure I mighta been a bit pissy at first… probably said shit, but they grew on me. I sure as hell grew on them."

"They are… lesser. Lesser than the Sangheili. Hardly as brave, no honor. It's bad enough that humans allow their women to join their military, the Kig-Yar let their women rule them," Juna said, grimacing.

Eve regarded the female coldly, giving her a solid evil eye. "Your men could learn a thing or two from women. You should speak up," she remarked. She leaned forward, keeping her eyes glued to Juna, smirking slyly as the female's eyes widened in shock and awe.

"What?! No, by the rings no! I am a diplomat, but only to negotiate between states. I speak only on the behalf of my people, I am not to speak against them," Juna replied, appalled.

"Never said you had to rebel. Be creative. Do they ever listen to your opinions?" Eve continued. Adas exhaled, not about to get in between two women in a soon-to-be-actualized catfight.

Juna shuffled uncomfortably in place. "N-no, they don't usually…" she admitted.

"See? It's sick, really."

Raymond chortled and poured yet another goddamn shot. "You ever had a... ever had a boyfriend?" he asked, now clearly losing himself to the alcohol.

"What's that?" she asked in response, confused.

"Mate. Lover. Ever been courted, he's asking," Adas whispered to her.

She narrowed her eyes and gave her brother a once-over. "Only you would know that information…"

He chuckled and answered for her saying, "No. And while I'm alive she shall not, until someone worthy of her takes her hand in marriage."

"Oh shit bro, going shtraight to the wedding? Love at Never-Even-Sheen-Her-In-My-Life?" Raymond slurred.

"You are intoxicated," Juna said, bluntly stating the obvious.

"Let's all get… hammered, together," Raymond replied.

"…Carpe Diem," Eve bantered with a nonchalant shrug, swiping the bottle out of Raymond's hand as he was pouring another shot. He stared at the empty shot glass blankly, a bit spaced out as he processed that there was no longer a bottle in his motionless hand, still poised to tilt that air-bottle and pour a nonexistant liquor into the glass.

"You shuck," he said.

"Corn? No. Haven't been on a farm since I was a little girl," Eve remarked, taunting his slurred syllable. She hailed the bartender to receive her own shot glass and poured herself one. "Really need to pace myself though, unlike Ray here. Only reason he's this far is because he's a goddamn super-human."

Epilogue

The entire rest of the night went swimmingly, the music was turned on, the humans who didn't stuff themselves to the point of tempting the failure of their next P.T. test danced, as did a few brave Separatists willing to try and blend in with their hosts. None were as enthusiastic as the absolutely hammered Raymond, however. He knew he'd feel it in the morning when he 'created' a Tecktonik rave. Eve and Aidan had a healthy practice of temperance and thus were still functional by the time the dance floor had become an entire Circle of Hell on its own, with wasted marines flailing their arms like they were infected by the Flood. Tex even joined their ranks at some point, causing Kilil to have to brave the dangers of the floor to rescue his friend, which of course was extremely entertaining for those who hadn't yet blacked out.

Juna kept to herself, occasionally chatting with the six whenever they passed by. Heeding the advice of Aidan, she devoted a considerable portion of her attention-span to looking for Philip, just so she could stay away from him. After a while, she grew hungry and gave the food a try, with the encouragement of Eve. Though she found that she quite liked human food, she didn't actually eat that much (and thus, as Aidan remarked, ruined the good spirit of Thanksgiving).

Seeing the developing brotherhood between the UNSC and Separatists, Captain Barrault, in his final words for the evening, declared that he would indeed accept the Swords of Sanghelios on the Nexus when the first tour began next week. And for that next week, the party was the talk of the town. Those many UNSC who did not attend in spite of the Covenant found themselves rather jealous of their more open-minded comrades. The Separatists who attended would constantly speak of it being a unique and (depending on who told the tale) exhilarating experience. Those who did not attend just simply didn't care. Regardless, everybody would give Adas a hard time for participating in the prayer before the banquet started.

And after a week, at last, the Nexus was ready to lift off. The UNSC and the Separatists joined together in a mass-exodus from Barrow, Alaska, and traveled south in their respective vehicles to the hulking starship, which was nestled perfectly in its temporary dry-dock.

Eve and Aidan stood side by side, gazing at the hulking starship that would be their home for the next five years. "It's magnificent, isn't it?" Eve asked, back in her ODST battle dress uniform.

"Bit of an understatement, in my honest opinion," her brother replied, sealed tight in his MJOLNIR GEN2 Recruit armor. He watched on as the UNSC and Separatists flew or drove their vehicles into the Hangar of the ship, located up on the War Deck. Two lines had formed at the bow and stern. At the bow, soldiers waited to be cleared for entry. At the stern, civilians did the same, and the plan was that they would all meet in the middle on the Crew Deck for the send-off ceremony. They lingered where they stood for a minute more, and began the trek down the plains to join the line. When they took their place, Aidan noticed from his peripheral that a familiar Grunt and Skirmisher were running towards them. "We got company," he said.

"Hey! How have you been?" Tex asked, stopping dead in his tracks in front of Eve. Kilil was still struggling to catch up with the much more nimble Tex, but he arrived soon enough and faceplanted into the cold snow.

"…reminds me of Balaho," he remarked, picking himself up, drawing in deep breaths of methane from his pack. "Stop going so fast Tex!"

"I'm not that fast, you're just too slow."

Eve smirked under her helmet. A question came to mind. "Where's Adas?" she inquired.

"Still trying to park a Phantom," answered Tex, who jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. High up behind the stern of the ship, there was an open platform connected to the drydock's ramps. A Phantom was floating less-than-gracefully next to the hangar, occasionally bumping gently into the Nexus or the Pelican that was trying to get past it.

"Not the piloting type?" Aidan asked, zooming in on the action via his visor's HUD.

"The good pilot would be myself," Tex said. "I offered to help him, but he still has this stupid pride thing going on from last week."

Raymond, who was just slightly ahead of the group in the steadily advancing line, turned to look over his shoulder and, upon seeing his allies, allowed the man behind him to take his place in line. He jogged over to the four and made it five. "I thought I heard something familiar!" he said excitedly. "Where's Jaws at?"

"Poorly parking a Phantom, Unicorn. Why do you ask?" Eve retorted, smirking and crossing her arms.

"Damn girl, you really gotta be that salty about a simple nickname?"

"Do you?"

"…Touché."

The line was keeping a good pace, moving quickly, so the five walked and talked, observing the Phantom as it finally made a clean entrance into the hangar. Within ten minutes Adas, clearly irritated, arrived. Eve flagged him down and beckoned him over. "Not one word, T'vaoan," he spat, walking next to Eve.

"This is it, isn't it?" Raymond asked, "We're all gonna go our separate ways when we're on board? Kilil's goin' to some methane pit, the Swords get their own quarter, and we're only going to see each other on chance occasion?"

Eve's expression soured, and she shook her head vigorously. "No," she said.

"Hm?"

"We're sticking together. Period. Bottom line. I want us to be 'that group' that's inseparable, you know?"

"Given our individual duties, that's a mere fantasy, human," Adas replied.

"Exactly, though. We're all from different paths. I'm the 'Helljumper', my brother and Raymond are the SPARTAN-IVs, Tex is the Skirmisher Pilot, Kilil is the brave yet comic warrior, and you're the…"

"I have yet to find my true calling," Adas said to fill the void left by Eve's pause.

"The soul-searcher."

Aidan smiled and laughed, "She's right, we've got all the makings of one kickass Wolfpack!"

"…explain?"

"A group of friends who consider themselves different from the norm but are bound to each other because of their unique qualities. Almost as if by fate. Wolfpack can also be a military term for us humans," came Aidan's definition.

"Sounds completely loco… but I can get behind it, homie," Raymond remarked, slugging Aidan on the shoulder.

"All in favor of forming the wolfpack?" Eve asked, putting her hand out. Her brother caught on and stacked his hand, and Raymond added his hand in. With a nod of Eve's head towards the stacked hands, Tex and Kilil figured out the gesture and stuck their hands out. Hesitantly, Adas threw his hand on top of the pile. The sight was awfully curious to those soldiers behind the group in the quickly progressing line of men and women; a small cluster of randoms with their hands in a bunch as they marched.

"Bound together by our mutual respect…" Aidan commented.

"Old wounds heal with time," Raymond added.

"Let us be the spark of a new dawn, and journey forward unto it," said Tex.

Adas was quiet until then, but he spoke the most passionately of them all, "May that spark ignite a roaring flame. One of trust, compassion, and unity."

Eve, whose hand was on the bottom, bobbed the pile up and down, counting down from three. At one, she threw her hand up and took the hands of her newfound comrades with her. They all released their grips and cheered exuberantly, clapping each other's hands high in the air (Tex and Kilil soon received "low-fives" from Aidan and Raymond in compensation).

As they reached the ramp that led to the entrance of the Crew Deck, Eve looked over her shoulder, back towards Barrow, and smiled; she knew that these next five years marked the end of an era in her life. Things would never be the same for her or her brother. She was confident that the same applied to the rest of her new pack.

And it was time, now, to turn an upside-down galaxy back right-side-up.

Sutori-Artifex with another Author's Note. Let me know which character is your favorite, everybody, and why. I'm definitely adding more, if this story survives the voting. I'm thinking of making contact with a few more canon characters like Sarah Palmer and the Infinity SPARTAN-IVs. And, if you guys want me to, I miiiiight even find a way to bring back a certain Sergeant Major who knows what the ladies like.

There is a rant below, and some cut content. I'm warning you now. Read at your own risk :P

*New Carthage is a UNSC Colony. Carthage, on Earth, is famous for the Punic Wars with Rome in which their leader, Hannibal Barca led the charge over the Alps with their War Elephants. Bacardi is a real life rum brand. Barcadi is my portmanteau of Hannibal Barca and Bacardi. It's so clever, I know. :P

Also. I want you guys to decide on Juna's final design. I left it open to interpretation in the mean time. If you've read Masscreed, then you know I made the (possibly extremely regrettable) choice to include breasts into the fem!Turian design (although my decision was based on the canon model). I'm not making that decision without consensus and consent from you guys this time, to avoid possible conflict.

I think a possible fix, in my opinion, is that the Sangheili are biologically different depending on which continent or biome they hail from, much like the Kig-Yar. Sanghelios is tropical with temperate poles and sparse continents. I think that "Tropical Sangheili" are the ones that we know and love from HALO: CE to HALO: REACH. "Temperate Sangheili" are potential deviants, biologically. Sangheili in general are called "Saurian." That is to say, reptile and mammal. Tropical Sangheili are entirely hairless and possess more reptilian traits. Temperate Sangheili could, in theory, have some hair to keep warm in a climate that reaches colder temperatures. As for other mammalian traits (namely breasts for females given that's a large part of what sparked this whole rant), I don't know. Depends on whether or not Sangheili lay eggs or give live birth. I mean they have belly buttons, so they could be placental (give live birth)… It's all over the place though. One novel an Elite talks about being born, a separate novel explicitly has an Elite hold up a Sangheili egg. Another source talks about incubation tanks for infant Sangheili. Then the game models have belly buttons, then Han 'Chavam has hair and faint but somewhat noticeable cleavage… Bungie plz.

So yeah I want your guys' opinion on Juna before I do anything stupid. :P

Below is some extra material involving the planned introduction of a primary character and some interviewing of the Separatist trio (Kilil, Tex, and Adas). I felt that this wasn't good enough to have in the middle of a story, but I didn't want to cut it ENTIRELY. So, I put it here, and it is skippable to anyone not wanting the almost useless exposition.

Just Procedure.

The majority of the Nexus crew had already had their orders finalized. These newcomers from the Separatists? Nobody knew that much about them. Sure, the Arbiter might trust them, hell, he very well could have handpicked every last one of them. But he didn't mention that to the higher ups, did he? So until everyone was all taken care of, the Nexus couldn't take off. Luckily there was an entire week to take care of business, and the evening after the day they arrived, Barrault ordered some of the crew to interview the Separatists who would join them on their tour.

Philip Lorde, a liaison for the Office of Naval Intelligence, let out a yawn as he signaled his supervisors to send the next Separatist in. "I'd like some water," he "asked," and within seconds, a marine had followed the Grunt into the room, carrying a large 1.75 liter bottle in his hand. Setting it down in front of Philip, he backtracked out of the room as Philip eyed the bottle strangely. Large. But that'll do, he thought as the Grunt, clad in Special Operations armor, scrambled into the chair across from him, on the other side of the metal table.

The UNSC had set up in Point Barrow, using some of their facilities to conduct interrogation. In this case, it was simply brief interviewing and exchange of documents if any were on hand. Philip had a list of standardized questions designed to give the UNSC information they needed to accommodate passengers on board the Nexus.

"Name?" he asked, in a voice that, while sounded tired, was smooth and full of youth. A voice that did not match his rugged, scared, ruined body. The Grunt removed his helmet and set it down on the table, eyes on Philip's as the latter shifted in his electric wheelchair.

"Kilil. 'Kill – ILL," he said. Just behind him in the line, Tex, Adas, and several others of different Covenant races awaited their turn to speak with Philip. Other groups went with other interviewers in other locations in Point Barrow.

Philip looked down at his cue cards and flipped to the next question. "Occupation?"

"Special Operations."

"Occupation?" Philip asked again, a bit more firmly.

"…right, you humans consider that a rank. Fine. Special Operations Engineer, I handle equipment," said Kilil, a bit irked by the way Philip handled the mistake.

Philip felt the back of the cue card deck and found out that he had skipped rank by accident. He exhaled briefly and let the Grunt have his victory. Flipping to the next card he cleared his throat and asked, "Birth world?"

"High Charity."

"Family?"

"Never knew them. Probably dead," Kilil sighed. He didn't seem all that fazed by what he just said.

Philip blinked and remembered a generic response statement he was obligated to say. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Kilil and I'm certain that they are in a better place," he lied. "Next question. Into your personal life. Religion?"

Kilil rolled his eyes. "Funny."

"Just standard questioning." Philip, at this point, was growing both weary and curious of Kill's gung-ho nature.

"Since the Great Journey was a sham I've been strictly agnostic."

Philip could easily say the same, to be honest, for similar reason: war. He tapped his metallic, prosthetic fingers on the equally metal table subconsciously. He was pleased that this chimp hadn't had the nerve to ask about his left arm or wheelchair yet. He read the next card. "Sexual orientation?"

"Why the hell's that right after religion?"

"No idea."

"Hello laaadiiiiees."

Philip checked off the box on the mostly blank biographical form saying "Heterosexual." He flipped to the next card and read it out loud as well. "Do you have any disabilities, illnesses, or other inhibiting factors the United Nations Space Command needs to know about?"

"I got less than you do."

And with that, Philip was seconds away from hurling his upper body out of the wheelchair to try and strangle this impudent monkey until his lungs gave out. His metal hand clenched into a fist and he leered wrathfully at Kilil. The Grunt stared him right in his dark, mocha brown eyes. Knowing he was being watched, Philip backed down, though his real hand tightened around the cards. "Now I am going to ask you about personal interests. Have you any hobbies?"

"I stream borderline-ancient episodes of Friends, M*A*S*H, the 2005 The Office, and Full House from the Black Market," Kilil began, to the surprise of Philip and his supervisors who stood, astonished behind the one-way mirror from which they oversaw the interview. "…I handle, polish, paint, and augment weapons and vehicles… and when I was in the Covenant I talked to comrades over a Food Nipple session."

A marine propped open the door and poked his head through. "Sorry to interrupt but can you hook my family and I up with the Full House streaming thing?" he asked, smiling like an idiot.

Philip gave him a death glare, and the marine slowly pulled his head back out, closing the door in shame. "Sure!" Kilil cried, as soon as he felt sure that the marine was back behind the one-way mirror. "So why do you need to ask that?"

"Classified."

"Now I'm paranoid."

"Now you're only marginally afraid?"

"Feel free to ask."

Philip sniggered brazenly. "I'm going to tell you something I didn't tell anyone I interviewed before you. I've seen the combat records. The Arbiter? Yes, he gave us your military history. I must say, your actions on Reach were impressive. With the Covenant you fought in New Alexandria. After the Schism you fell in with the Swords of Sanghelios. Fought the Covenant at Rio de Janeiro. What is it that makes you so bold? Huh?"

"Practice."

"Doesn't fool me. If your entire race earned their low status and the title of Crybaby among UNSC troops how are you any better?"

Kilil narrowed his eyes, glaring at Philip. "I'm done here," he said, hopping off of the chair and walking out. Philip glanced down at his cards. There was one question that remained unanswered.

Criminal record.

Just Procedure ~ Tex and Adas

"Name?" Philip inquired, reading the first card once again. In front of him sat a Skirmisher Murmillo. It was well-equipped with the standard orange armor issued to most Murmillones. Its feathers were a dark scarlet, which faded to black at the roots. Not too ugly for a tree-turkey, Philip thought.

"Tex."

"Rank," said Philip, remembering not to mess up the order of the cards again.

"Murmillo."

"Occupation."

"Covenant had me scout. Swords of Sanghelios upgraded me to Close Quarters Assault. Perhaps my record told you about my actions on Reach? I was a mere minor. Took a Type-35 and shot a SPARTAN in the head," Tex bragged. "Believe me, I regretted it after the Schism. Made sure to blow the heads off of as many Jiralhanae as I could to compensate."

Philip perked a thin eyebrow. "When was this?" he said, not believing the story. And for good reason.

"New Alexandria I think you humans called it."

"Interesting enough, I suppose. Birth world?"

"Eayn."

"Any family?"

Tex let that question sit for a moment before answering. "Sorry, my family's a bit large. My father died in the war, and mother's into… politics. Got two brothers and three sisters, my mother's pride and joy…" he said, ending his final sentence with a cold, bitter tone for emphasis on his sisters.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Tex and I'm sure your father is in a better place," Philip again lied, tired of that regulation already. About 30 of the 50+ people he got stuck interviewing said they had family die. That's 30 I'm Very Sorry To Hear Thats.

Tex's left eye twitched. He could see it in Philip's eyes that he couldn't spare a damn about a Kig-Yar's family. "My brothers are here with me," he said. When Philip froze to let that process, a sly smile crept onto the T'vaoan's beak.

From behind the one-way mirror, two marines shared a brief conversation. "Shit, more turkeys?" one of them said, a bit worried.

"Why the hell are we even doing this anyway?" asked the other.

"Because a very special split-lip VIP decided to crash a human exclusive party."

"At least it's not the Infinity, I guess…" said the first marine.

"Eh, I'd rather swap with some of the SPARTANs they got on the Infinity. We should get that Jun guy in here, I hear he's awful chatty. He'd enjoy this much more than Mr. Lorde would," the second marine replied.

"Oh? Well I just had a thought about the Jackals."

"What's that?"

"More turkeys means more good eating' on Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, and more leftovers."

"Okay. Next set of questions are about personal beliefs," said Philip. "Religion?"

Tex paused again, putting a talon on his chin. "I haven't really thought about it all that much… but I like Islam. Ooh, excellent economic advice to be gained from Muslims," he said.

"You're not in a religion for the money. Say hello to praying five times a day lying on your forehead," Philip quipped.

"Now… you see, I didn't know about that."

"Sexual orientation."

And Tex's face immediately turned a bright purple. "Can I leave this one blank?" he asked, and Philip shook his head slowly, moving his lips and mouthing a no. He saw the human's organic hand move down, hovering the pen over homosexual. "…to use an exotic term," he started, laughing tensely and holding a single finger up. "Biromantic demisexual." He would point to the mostly blank form in front of his interviewer, pulling the collar of his armor's bodysuit.

This would bring poor Philip to stare at the form for a straight minute trying to find a box or blank space somewhere in the stack of paper for a space to write that down. "What the fu-…" he whispered under his breath, "Can someone tell me what that is?!" he finally shouted, turning to the one-way mirror. No response came. He finally just circled the list of available options (there were only three) and wrote the comment PLEASE LIST "OTHER" ON THE NEXT PRINTING.

Tex meekly apologized and Philip asked the next question. "Disabilities, injuries, diseases, or any other inhibiting factors. Do you have them – and I swear if you make a comment about my disabilities I will end you. I've had a long day."

He realized that he had practically petrified Tex with that last comment, but after a few seconds the Murmillo shook off the fear and replied politely. "No sir, I do not."

"Hobbies?"

"I'm learning some engineering from this Unggoy named Kilil," replied Tex.

"Ah yes, him. He's the reason I scared the red out of your feathers," Philip said, coughing and dusting off his own short, blonde hair. "Anything else?"

"So much of my life's been consumed by war, I haven't had time to get a hobby," the Skirmisher sheepishly said.

And for once, Philip found that he could relate. "Last question, and it's a category of its own; criminal record? Were you or are you currently involved in piracy?"

"Boy I wish I was…" Tex sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Guerilla warfare, space combat, swashbuckling… rum and women?"

"A Pirate's Life for You, I suppose," Philip, in a complete deadpan, remarked, leaving the criminal record blank. "If you're a good enough pilot we could just give you a privateering position. Make you fight real pirates should we get hit by them. Let you keep some treasure."

Tex's face lit up at the mention of this, "I'm actually a pretty good pilot!" he claimed.

"Fantastic, I'll make a note of that," Philip lied, writing dolorem ipsum in the margin of Tex's form. He gestured for Tex to get up and leave, and as soon as the Skirmisher's back was turned he scratched out the Latin gibberish. "This job is pain itself," he quipped.

An Elite of average height stepped in at that moment and swiftly took the seat Tex had left behind. The chair was comically small compared to the Elite's massive body, though it hardly amused Philip. He reset the cue card deck and pulled out a fresh, blank form from the stack of document templates to his left. "What manner of questioning have you?" the Elite asked, more like demanded.

"Name?"

"Adas 'Kasam."

"Rank?"

"…minor."

"Occupation?"

"Lance leader. Roughly equivalent to your fireteams."

"Family?"

Adas fell quiet for a few seconds. "Father and mother both supported the Hegemony. My sister and I defected. She's behind me in line."

"I'm very sorry to hear that Kys-"

"Don't. Even."

"Thank you."

"Let's just make this quick?"

Philip immediately agreed with the Sangheili. "I'm just going to shoot questions quickly. Just try to answer them all."

"Go."

"Religion."

"Questioning."

"Sexual Orientation."

"Heterosexual," Adas answered through an indigo blush.

"Inhibiting factors?"

"Keep your doctors away from me."

He checks "no" off. "Hobbies?"

"I try not to concern myself with petty matters of entertainment, but I must admit to finding pleasure in reading."

"Criminal record."

"Defecting from the Covenant. Cleared when we won the war."

He left this section blank. "Thank you. That's all for now."