After a brief radio conference with Hale, I headed to the mess hall for dinner. The other Freelancers were already there—I heard the loud chatter of the dining area long before I reached it—and stepped inside. The large, plain room sat several long tables, each with many Freelancers. A half-eaten buffet table stood at the far end of the room, and I cringed. I would need to walk all the way across the hall to reach it. I half wanted to turn around and go back to my room without dinner, but knew that wasn't an option.
I sighed. Feeling as if I were trapped in the first day of high school all over again, I took a deep breath and walked across the room to the buffet table. The loud chatter of the Freelancers became punctuated with mutters and whispers, barely audible but definitely present. I felt their eyes bore into my back as I served myself a plate of food and turned around.
The Freelancers continued to talk among themselves, but I saw their glances turn my way periodically. I looked around for somewhere I might sit, and saw an empty spot. I forced myself to walk over and smile.
"Hi," I said to a chatting group. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"No," one of the Freelancers replied, looking surprised.
"Mind if I sit down?"
His friends stared at him. "Well, I don't see why not," he shrugged.
He moved over and made room for me. I sat tentatively, aware that some Freelancers had begun staring.
"Sorry, but…" one of the Freelancer's friends inquired from across the table. She was the first Freelancer I had interrogated in the morning. Agent Alabama. "Who exactly are you?"
"I'm Agent Eleven. From the UNSC. I'll be here for a while with my—"
"No, no, I understand that," she replied, spooning macaroni into her mouth. "I mean… what are you doing here? Like, in the mess hall with us? Shouldn't you be schmoozing up in the dining room with the Director?"
I sighed. "My rank isn't that high," I said carefully. had to toe the fine line between superior and subordinate. "My boss was welcome. I wasn't."
"What a surprise," muttered another Freelancer. "The king sits with his royal court yet again."
I chuckled, somewhat surprised at his rash comment. Perhaps they did understand. "Listen, we weren't really properly introduced this morning," I said to them. "Maybe we could start over?"
"Sure, why not?" The Freelancer beside me held out his hand. "I'm West Virginia, but, like I already told you this morning, just call me Wes." We shook hands, both laughing at the awkwardness of the situation.
"Screw formalities," said the Freelancer sitting in front of me. She shrugged. "Just call me Bama." She turned to her left and elbowed the Freelancer beside her. "Your turn."
"I'm Georgia," she said quietly, smiling shyly.
"Delaware here," the soldier on Bama's other side interrupted.
"Listen, Eleven," Wes interrupted. "I still don't really understand your situation here. The Director never asks for help from outside parties. He's made it clear that our work is classified."
"Well, we have our fair share in in dealing with classified information," I explained. "It's like… it's like I'm here to help the Director give you check-ups and make sure you're all fit enough to be a part of this program." I prayed that sounded all right to them. Not too intrusive. "Honestly, you probably won't ever see me except for mealtimes."
"Well, I don't care what you do, as long as you're not, like, replacing us or anything." Bama said the comment casually enough, but the others flashed looks at me questioningly.
"No, no," I responded quickly. "The Director hardly knows I exist, and I am in no way trained to participate in such intense conditions. I'm just a UNSC Agent. Nothing else."
"Then why were you using the Florida locker?" asked another Agent from farther down. I turned to her, frowning. It was Carolina again. She was watching me suspiciously and had been overhearing our conversation. A few other soldiers turned to look at me curiously.
Bama turned to me, frowning. "You used the Florida locker?"
"Um, was that against the rules?"
"Well, not really. It's just that… no one's ever used it before."
"Why is it even there?" I asked them. "You don't have an Agent Florida."
"This facility was built way before Project Freelancer started. The Director had been planning the whole thing for a long time," Del explained. "We think that he probably had plans for a fiftieth Freelancer before Florida… well, you know. We think that he even had a chick picked out for the job, but abandoned the idea out of respect to the now-nonexistent state."
"Oh God…" I gasped. "Was I using a memorial as a locker?"
The others laughed. "I don't think it goes quite that far," Georgia said. "But the fact that you did put your things there is a little questionable."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that we think you're a liar," Carolina spat. I turned to her.
"Excuse me?"
"Why the hell would you not be up there kissing up to the Director if you're not trying to become one of us? The Director always has guests stay specifically with him."
More Freelancers stopped their conversations and turned our way.
"Listen," I replied irritably. "I'm here purely for intelligence. I'm just collecting information about you. I'm not in any way affiliated with this project, so stop trying to pretend I'm the next Agent Florida! I'll be leaving once Hale and I are done with our records, and I'll be out of your lives forever. I can see now that that will be a relief."
Carolina's frown didn't lessen. "Why don't you just mind your own business?"
"Damn, give it a rest, will you, Carolina?" Del complained. "So the girl wanted to work out. Is that such a big deal?"
Carolina glared at him and turned away, speaking in a low voice to the Freelancer on her right.
"Don't listen to Carolina," Bama said to me casually. She had been completely unphased by the confrontation. "She's a bitch today because Wash beat her during training. She gets pissy when anyone does that. I guess your arrival was just the cherry on top."
"I'm not trying to interfere here, I'm serious," I said honestly. "I don't know how to make that more clear."
"It's unfortunate, but that's the way things are around here," Wes said, shrugging. "Anyone who comes here is going to be subject to suspicion, and that includes you now." He looked away. "I'll admit it—I was surprised when you came into the mess hall here with us. And when I heard that thing about the locker." He shrugged. "I dunno. There's no reason for you to lie, really."
"Yeah, and who gives a shit what they think anyway?" Bama asked. I was really starting to like her. "Just do your thing and everyone will see that you're not trying to replace us."
The conversation slowly died and turned to other topics, and I was eager to jump in and speak about anything besides me.
"What are you doing after dinner?" I asked. "More training?"
"Yeah, we have a couple more sessions to go still," Del answered, covering a dinner roll with butter and biting into it. "We've got a weapons seminar and then an advanced technology lecture. We should be done after that."
"What are you doing after this?" inquired Georgia curiously. "Are you coming with us?"
"No, no, of course not. I've got a meeting with my boss anyway. I have some paperwork to fill out. I'll be in my room for the rest of the day."
"Where are you staying?" asked Wes. "Up on the higher levels? I heard those guest suites are amazing."
"No, not at all. You guys seriously think I'm a way higher rank than I am. I'm just using an extra room that's just down the hall from all of yours. Nothing fancy."
"You're staying near us?" Bama echoed. "Which room?"
"109."
"Oh, that's right near our rooms," Del said, indicating himself and Georgia. "I'm 108 and Georgia's 110."
"Right. Like I said, nothing fancy."
"Hmm."
A large bell tolled, signaling the end of dinner. I got up with the Freelancers and walked to the doorway with them.
"Well, it was nice to meet you," I said, still a little uneasy. I wasn't sure if my first interaction with them had been a success or not.
"Later, Eleven," Wes said. "Maybe we'll see you tonight."
They turned from me and followed the other Freelancers toward their next training session. I was just about to leave when I heard Bama's carrying voice echo through the hall.
"I don't know what to think," she was saying to Wes. "Why would the Director give her the Florida room?"
I cringed.
"I don't know," Wes said. "It's only fair that we give her a chance, you know? I know that we're all cutthroat and shit around here, but we can't just automatically assume she's lying to us."
"Besides," Del added, "If she were a new recruit, she wouldn't have been asking us all that information and shit this morning. She would have been standing in line."
"How do you know she's not being secretly trained to be our leader or something?"
"We don't," Wes said simply, shrugging slightly. "We'll just have to wait and see."
I sighed and headed back to my room. This was going to take a lot of work.
