*Fights urge to make any jokes about the chapter number* Somewhere in my mind I might be a middle school boy. Anyway,I want to let you awesome people know that we're now over thirty thousand views. Seriously, you people are amazing, and you continue to be amazing despite my recent inability to follow a posting schedule. Thank you all for continuing to support this story.
The Council's made their decision. Unfortunately, that's all that I know. I don't yet know what that decision is. Tucker says they'll make a public announcement within the next few hours. I don't know if I can handle waiting that long.
I find myself pacing near the doors of the room they've provided for us. Tinu's doing her best to keep everyone distracted, striking up conversations and trying to goad Yttri into some modified road trip game Donut taught her. She says it's to keep everyone else from worrying, but I know it's just to keep herself busy. She's never been patient, and the importance of this news has her nerves on end.
Still, I know I ought to be helping Tinu with this. It's my responsibility to take care of my family. I should be the one trying to keep them calm. Unfortunately, that would be difficult to do, since I myself am not calm right now. All I can do is pace, back and forth, scuffing a small path into the polished floor in front of the door as I wait.
I take five steps, turn on my heel, take five more steps; repeat the motion as the same thoughts and worries loop through my mind for the thousandth time. I only stop when, suddenly, on the third step in my pattern, I walk face first into Washington.
Before I have a chance to step back and try to recover from the impact, his arms loop around me, holding me securely to his chest. I recognize what he's trying to do, so I take a moment of conscious effort to relax, slowly forcing some of the stress and tension to leave my spine. After a moment I do feel somewhat relaxed, though I know it could snap back to worry at any time.
"Calm yet?" Wash asks, lips tickling my scalp as he speaks.
"Somewhat," I answer in a half sigh. I can see Tinu out of the corner of my eye, watching us with a wide grin on her face, like she's just watched her favorite characters from a movie kiss for the first time. Nick, meanwhile, seems to be desperately trying to break her line of sight and give us some privacy. Yttri merely grumbles to herself as she steps out of the way of their fighting, dissecting some small device I can only guess she stole from a passing guard at some point.
I can't help but smile at their antics, imagining the scene with them as children once again. It's surprising how little they've changed in some ways. These thoughts, as well as the feel of Wash so close, help me to relax further, and I reach up and pull the Freelancer closer.
"Thank you," I whisper. "I just… I can't stand the waiting. I hate knowing I have no control over this anymore."
"We'll deal with whatever happens," he assures me. "You're surrounded by people you trust. What could possibly go wrong?"
I hold in all the comments springing to my mind about the Covenant deciding to execute us. Instead I choose to look up at him with mock suspicion. "When'd you get so positive?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I've just been thinking about everything that's lead up to now," he explains. "I figure after all the stuff we've already survived, chances are we'll make it out of this one too."
"No one's invincible," I say seriously.
"But some are very lucky," he argues with a smile.
I sigh. "My family doesn't really have a great track record with luck."
"Then we'll combine efforts," he insists. "Your skill with luck from the Reds and Blues. We'll be unstoppable."
I grin, though something about this sounds off. "How much of this is being influenced by Rho?" I ask after a moment.
"A little bit," Wash admits. "Some of her speech patterns are bleeding over, at least. But she isn't taking control," he adds hastily, seeing the worried expressing beginning to overtake my face. "We're just… meshing well, I guess. She's a good AI; easy to get along with. I can see why it was so easy to pass her around your family."
"Rho has an exceptionable ability to bond with people, even if their personality doesn't match hers," I agree. "I honestly think the Director would have liked her. She'd have been easy to pair with one of his agents."
Before Wash has a chance to state agreement or argue the point, the door we're standing in front of opens. A Sangheili of apparently low rank asks for me to follow him. When Wash moves toward the door as well, the alien makes it clear he was only sent to get me.
I place a hand on Wash's shoulder and tell him I'll be fine. He doesn't look convinced but nods anyway, kissing my forehead before letting me go.
I follow the messenger out into the hall and soon find myself in front of a door leading to another wing of the facility. UNSC is etched in simple block letters on a plaque by the door.
"What is this?" I ask.
"Ambassadors," the alien answers in rumbling but still understandable English. "They want to talk to you."
"What do they want to talk about?"
The Sangheili gives a shrug and waves for me to go through the door. I do and see that there are several doors lining a hall, each leading to what appear to be small offices, all fairly human in design. Most look empty. I assume this area is meant to house human representatives if they ever come to visit. I see light coming from under two doors and make my way to them.
The first of the doors opens when I'm halfway down the hall.
"Ah, you must be Silver," a man says as he steps through the door. He has an accent that I believe comes from England, though there are many colonies that have adopted the same sound of speech. I can't quiet pinpoint his age, though the grey hair and aged features lead me to believe it's a fairly high number. He sends me what I assume is meant to be a smile, though it doesn't look natural on him, like his muscles don't often move that way.
"Yes," I answer warily, keeping my distance. "Who are you? Why'd you send for me?"
"I was hoping we could discuss your... future," he says, waving for me to follow him as he turns back into the room. It doesn't escape my notice that he ignored my first question. Still, I don't see any reason not to at least hear what he has to say.
I follow the man into his office and sit in the chair he directs me to. He himself remains standing for a few more moments, rifling through some files in a cabinet behind me. I want to turn and watch him but don't want to seem overly suspicious. I don't know why, but something about this guy has me on edge. I don't trust him, and I don't like the feeling that he's hovering just out of sight.
"Here we are," he says as he finally reenters my field of vision. He's holding a small stack of files, and I see my name on one. He takes a moment to settle into the seat behind his desk and arrange the papers before him. Once everything's set in place, he finally acknowledges me.
"Now, Miss Silver," he begins, looking at me with an expression that is, unfortunately, unreadable. "I'm sure you're aware of the situation your… family is in."
"Framed for attempted genocide," I say. "Yes, I'm aware."
"Of course," he says with a soft smile. Somehow it makes me think he doesn't believe our story. "And what are your plans for once this is resolved?"
"Living," I answer. "We just want normal lives. We own some property on a colony world a few systems from here. I thought it'd be a good place to settle down and take care of my family."
"Of course," the man repeats. "I'm sure you know, however, that that might not be possible."
"Why wouldn't it be?" I ask, trying my best not to sound hostile.
"Well, there are some legal issues regarding your creation," he says. "Technically, you were created for the UNSC. You and your family are, for lack of a better term, our property."
"Really?" I ask, voice edging toward a growl.
"Quite," the man says. "The UNSC has put a lot of money into the project you came from. We're loathe to let that go to waste. We have many programs running right now which use equipment from the old Samson Initiative projects. I think your family would fit well as agents for one of them."
"Stop," I say, holding up a hand to silence him. "That isn't what's going to happen here."
"Well, that isn't your decision to make, now is it?"
"Actually, it is," I argue. "We've already fought for a long time to get this close to freedom. We're not going to give that up this easily."
"Is that a threat?" the man asks.
"More or less," I say with a shrug. "We aren't property. All we want is to disappear, away from the Covenant or the UNSC or anything else like that. I think it's best for everyone involved if you let us do that."
"This could become a very ugly fight if you resist," he says. I think he means it as a warning, but all I hear is a threat.
"Then let's not make it come to that," I say. I stare at the man as he falls silent. He looks familiar, though I can't remember where I've seen him before. "Who are you?"
"Malcolm Hargrove," he answers, straightening his suit as he says it. "Former Chairman of the Samson Initiative's Oversight Subcommittee."
"That's right," I say thoughtfully. "You used to visit us in one of the old bases, to check on Dr. Han's work."
"And she always introduced you as her intern or assistant, I believe," Hargrove says. "Did you ever wonder why she did that?"
I shake my head. "I assumed we weren't ready, and she didn't want you to know her experiments were going poorly."
Hargrove chuckles a bit, leaning further back in his chair as he looks at a corner of the ceiling. "Her experiments were actually going extraordinarily well, better than we'd ever expected," he corrects me. "Had we asked her to do make you, I'm sure we would have been delighted with the results. Unfortunately we did not." He meets my eyes for a moment. "She was never authorized to make any soldiers, you see. We merely paid her to research the possibility of creating beings such as yourself."
"What does that mean?" I ask, feeling as though he's leading to some point with this.
"It means you aren't meant to exist," he explains. "You were created illegally, without sanction. And there are currently no laws regarding the treatment of experimentally created beings." He sighs and sits up straighter. "This puts me in a difficult situation. Given your actions lately, it would be impossible to keep you hidden from the public eye. This is a situation that needs to be cleaned up."
"And you want to do that by making us work for you?" I ask. "We'd be little more than slaves."
"You'd do the work you were made for."
I shake my head. "It's not work we want." I fall silent for a moment, trying to think of a solution he'll accept. "Dr. Han made us without the UNSC's consent or knowledge, using mostly money she inherited from her parents," I continue slowly. "We have no connection to you. The best option for you right now is to wash your hands of us and let us handle this on our own."
"Too risky," Hargrove dismisses immediately, shaking his head.
"It's your only choice," I declare. "Because we won't work for you."
He sighs again, appearing tired suddenly. "I suppose there is no way I can convince you otherwise," he says hopelessly.
"None at all," I answer.
"Very well then," he says. "I suppose I'll prepare a public statement of the UNSC's connection to your family, allowing no connection between us and no help to be given from us to you." I can't help but feel he sounds bitter.
"I'm sure we'll manage," I say, standing and backing to the door. Part of me thinks that it's too easy, and I'll end up hearing more about this at some point. Still, something about Hargrove's arguments seemed almost desperate, like he didn't expect me to believe him in the first place. Whatever the case, I leave before he can say anything else.
I'm about to leave the wing altogether and go back to my family when I hear a woman's voice behind me.
"Miss Silver?" she says questioningly.
"That's me," I say, turning to look at her.
"I'm Therese Spanner," she says, holding out her hand in greeting as she approaches me. "I'm the one who sent for you."
"You are?" I ask, glancing back at the office door behind me.
"Yes," she answers, following my line of sight. "Were you just talking to Hargrove?"
"Talking's one word for it," I answer angrily, still remembering his threats.
Spanner sighs and shakes her head. "I'm sure whatever he said, while technically true, is information we've already chosen to overlook for the sake of your freedom," she assures me. "The UNSC means you and your family no harm and, if anything, wishes to help you make a smooth and invisible transition into civilian life."
"That sounds rehearsed," I say in a deadpan voice.
"Oh, well, I… have been planning what I'd say to you for the past hour," she admits, sounding slightly embarrassed.
I simply stare at her, wondering what kind of trick this might be.
"Please, if you'll just hear me out for a moment, I'd like to discuss some opportunities with you," she says, motioning for me to follow her to her office.
"What kind of opportunities?" I ask warily, still not following her.
"The kind you'll like," she promises with a smile.