Everyone looked at Washington once they learned what was happening. Evidently, he was still patched into the Freelancer com net. As if that weren't awkward enough, he still had his radio on "receive" since after the incident with Sierra the other day. His hearing must've been off that whole time; otherwise he'd have figured it out earlier and switched off his device. "Repeat," the voice said. "What is your status, Recovery One?"

With all eyes on him, Wash inelegantly answered the radio. "Uh… This is Recovery One, Command. I read you. This, uh… may be a bad time."

"Please clarify. Over."

"I'm, ah… No, never mind. What do you need?"

As Wash conversed with the person on the radio, Cortana stepped silently away to talk to the Chief. "What's going on here?" she whispered.

"Apparently," he replied, "Washington's radio was on the whole time."

"I guess this means the party's over, then?"

"Most likely. It isn't as bad as the interruption to the last one we were at, though."

"What happened? I was getting fitted for a new body."

Before Chief could answer, Washington hung up his radio to address the room. "So, there's good news and bad news, everyone. First the bad news: the party is over. Come on, we gotta clean this place up."

Grif groaned. "Why? Things were just getting good."

"Because A: we're nearly out of beer anyway. And B, which is also the good news: we're moving the plan up ahead of schedule, and Phase One is already complete. We have our ride to HQ on its way."

Chief shot him a look. "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"Almost none of us are prepared for this operation, and half of us aren't even sober. Why did you have them send the ship so soon?"

"Well, it's not like I could say 'I'm at a party with the sim-troopers, could you wait a second'. Plus, we'd never have gotten a better opportunity than this to assault Freelancer Command. Trust me."

"Trust you? I've only known you for maybe a day and you want me to trust you?"

"Just take it easy, Chief," Cortana said. "Maybe Wash is right on this. Our initial plan might have had us wait too long. If we attack as soon as possible, we could potentially catch the Director with his guard down. Plus, you kind of need to credit him for not telling them what we're up to."

Chief stewed, staring at the coal-and-gold Freelancer with distaste. He dropped his head into his hand and sighed. "…Alright. I still don't trust him, but at least we have a ship…"

Church whistled. "I really don't want to see this guy angry. If just this conversation got him that upset, who knows what would happen if he gets completely pissed?"

"Amen," Tucker agreed.

"There's just one last thing," Wash added. "I'm not trying to piss you off by saying this, Chief, but Sierra can't come with us."

"What?" Chief and Cortana said simultaneously.

"The Director's something of an AI-enthusiast. He created the programs most Freelancers are equipped with, which boost their skills and armor upgrades. If he gets a hold of her, there's no telling what he could do - would do to her."

Chief gave him a skeptical look. "How do I know I can believe you? You've been trying to get rid of her since you learned she existed."

"Trust me, Chief. I'd be trying to get rid of her if I said she could come along. I'm looking out for her. Granted, it's mostly because I don't feel like dying today… You know it's the right decision."

"You can leave her with Doc," Simmons offered. "He seems nice enough, and I can guarantee O'Malley won't start anything."

"But, if he does," Tucker argued, "he might make Sierra evil - or at least a little brat. Leave her with Sheila; she's a hell of a lot nicer."

"I actually met Sheila not too long ago." Cortana looked at Chief. "Let's leave Sierra with her."

"Alternatively," Church joked, "you can take her along, and run the risk of losing her to the Freelancers." This remark earned him glares from Master Chief, Cortana, Tex, Tucker, and even Washington. "…It's a joke, guys. A guy can't make a fuckin' joke?"

/-/

Some time later, after Chief had returned from dropping Sierra off with Sheila, the Freelancer drop ship Washington called landed at the Red Base. Everyone climbed silently onboard, ending with the massive Spartan entering. He ventured to the cockpit, pistol in hand, and aimed at the pilot. "You will not pick up that radio until I tell you," he stated. "If you do, we have plenty of pilots that can take your place. Do I make myself clear?"

The driver lazily looked at him before taking a drink of whiskey. She raised the glass visor on her helmet and rubbed her eyes. "…Chief? That you?"