(A/N) Hey guys, apologies for the late update, was out late last night and then had work early this morning, so this was really the first opportunity I've had to update. Sorry! So here we are, the Freelancers having successfully repelled the Covenant attack, and in this chapter, they're taking the opportunity to rest a little.

As before, we're still looking for a few more writers for our Grifball fic, so head on over to our forum if you're interested. Also, we have another promotional image for Phase Two:

http:''thefreelancercollaboration,wikia,com'wiki'F ile:Memory_Cube,jpg

(As before, replace the ' with / the , with . and remove the space).

Enjoy!


Chapter Seventy-Four - View From the Top

Agent New York

Written by WargishBoromirFan


[Can't decide on a quote, so here are my two current favorite options, with Vetinari's "Don't let me detain you" threatening to enter Leonard's vocabulary somewhere in Georgia's chapter.]

"Every man is an island. I stand by that. But clearly some men are island chains. Underneath, they are connected." - Will Freeman, About a Boy

"Ignore that; it's simplistic and it's dumb. Only some of you will turn out sharks, just some. The rest are chum." - Prof. Callahan, "Blood in the Water" - Legally Blonde: the Musical


A wave rolled beneath him, and York let it carry him round in a semicircle, smooth as a duck, his eyes closed and ears muffled to all but the gently churning water and the whoops and laughter beyond.

Eventually he ought to join Carolina at her laps, seeing as she'd invited him and all (or at least not put up a fuss when he made two or three lazy rounds in her well-oiled wake the next lane over) or join in with the knot of newbies throwing around the basketball he'd managed to procure as a pool toy before their game of water polo-meets-Grifball-meets-football-meets-lacrosse- meets-volleyball descended into complete chaos (it had been close to start with - North and Cal had been attempting to give the rest a demonstration on how the most explosive land-based game worked with foam noodles and a long-handled net, but South had snagged the ball and complained that they spent too much time talking, so Georgia, Ark, Sota, and Mich were probably left more confused than they'd started and Maine had retreated to the relative sanity beneath the diving platform, even if the bald man in brand new board shorts had utterly refused any attempts to involve him in activities there, either,) but what use was having a giant indoor pool on the ship if a man didn't occasionally just lie back in it and float his troubles away?

And after all, they had had enough troubles lately. No one had seen Alaska since the Covenant attack. Rumour had it that he had been locked away somewhere.

Between the mixed-ball free-for-all and Virginia and Massa taking turns off the high dive, York could almost close his eyes and imagine himself at the beach, drifting gently with the tide.

"You alright out there, York? Don't remember you waiting an hour after eating to hit the water," Florida called from the edge of the pool, his feet still paddling idly against the wall as he cracked open a bottle from the cooler.

"Don't think I get much better." He might like a drink himself, but that required getting up and getting around Penn, the only one who hadn't drummed up any enthusiasm for hanging out at the pool. Maine and Carolina had been slow to convince, but both of them had entered the water gamely enough, if with varying degrees of skill. Maine swum about as well as an aerodynamic rock, but was tall enough to wade where Michigan or even Massa would be over her head. Carolina's stoke was a workman's technical, looking more like that of someone who'd learned to swim out of a field manual rather than been taught by experiences with a well-meaning but mischievous uncle, but she made it look good. Penn refused to dip in more than a couple toes and had retreated to the cooler and a chair, beer in hand as he watched the rest, but for Penn, that basically counted as being sociable.

He'd been the last one to see Alaska before… well, before, and just because no self-respecting Freelancer was going to lock himself up in a room and curl up into a ball of terrified nonsense after watching that didn't mean that a little friendly company would go amiss right now. It gave them the chance to spot warning signs before it happened to anyone else.

York cracked open an eye and spotted an abandoned foam "sword" from the game, scudding through the sympathetic waves to claim it in one kick. "I'm glad almost everybody could come on down; I for one really needed some pool time." He leaned back with his arms stretched over the neon blue noodle as if to encompass everything in the oversize room, head flopping back to face the far-off industrial steel dome. It should really be blue up there to better complete the illusion, if not an open view of the sky. The engineering department was busy enough with repairs, but while they were piecing the Mother of Invention back together, it wouldn't hurt to offer the suggestion for improvements. Might as well enjoy an atmosphere while they had one, and there was nothing wrong with floating in the water between stars.

York snuck a glance towards the lap lanes. Nope, nothing wrong at all with that view.

"Indeed, the only issue I have is that not enough people bother to follow proper pool protocol." Wyoming rose from the depths like some walrus-faced stealth shark, creating just enough turbulence to knock York from his laze before shaking out his moustache. Though the black-haired Brit wasn't really built like a swimmer, he took so well to the water that York was tempted to look for gills. "Those standing in the pool ought to make way for diving swimmers unless they want to get pulled under," the sniper continued, fussily twirling his facial hair back into its usual curl.

"That's easier if we can ever see you," York countered, wiping the water out of his eyes as he reclaimed the noodle. "Aren't you supposed to make some sort of two-note warning that speeds up as you get closer?"

"It's all a matter of being observant, old chap," Wyoming told him. His moustache was perfect as he disappeared as smoothly as he'd popped up.

"Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun dun dundundundun…" York watched the subtle wake as it veered off towards the gamers, briefly taking down Mich. The little blonde swore rather than screamed as she popped back up, but California was quick to hoist her up to his shoulders, out of the water, anyway. She caught a rather haphazard pass from Ark and the game took on a new goal.

"Good luck getting the ball now, backstabbers!" Mich crowed, holding her prize above her head.

South snarled and vaulted to her brother's shoulders with the unrestrained power of a trusting gymnast - it went beyond expectation; she knew he'd catch her in place and push ahead. "Gotta warn you, we were best in any pool in the neighbourhood at 'chicken' for five years running," North chuckled before speeding in.

"Well, I'm not gonna just let them have all the fun," Georgia declared, swimming towards the diving range. That actually sounded like a fairly good idea to York; maybe the kid wasn't so dumb after all. "Hey, Maine! Gimme a boost!"

Well, a man couldn't be the brightest at everything.

"Whaddya say, Carolina?" York called out to his own preferred partner. "Want to show them what the best really looks like?"

Carolina paused in her steady paces of the pool, pushing her ponytail from her face. "Seriously? You mean to get involved with that nonsense?" She blew a stray bang from her eyes contemptuously. "Call me when you want to do something important." With that, she started again at her endless laps.

"You'd be quite literally knocking them off the top," York persisted. When Carolina raised her head again, she couldn't quite hide an amused glint in those green eyes.

"All right," she gave in, swimming under the lane divider and cracking her knuckles before placing her hands on his shoulders. "But any funny business and your ass is going down with the rest of them."

"Yes, ma'am." Their eyes met and smiles lingered a little longer than necessary before York boosted her up, his hands circling around firm calves as he waded into the fray just after Georgia had finally convinced a rather bemused-looking Maine to rejoin the group as a noble steed for the onesie-suited male agent.

"Seriously, Pinky?" Sota asked, as Ark attempted to cover his snort of laughter. "You know how 'chicken' usually works, right?"

"Oh, I know a thing or two about how to play 'chicken," Georgia said, adjusting his mismatched goggles and swim cap. "And the view's better from up here."

York didn't need Carolina's nudge to charge towards Maine. He caught Cal and North joining up at his sides out of the corner of his eye, their original match forgotten as South and Michigan turned their wrath on Georgia instead. Maine, poor thing, tried to dodge and hold them off with a stiff-arm to North while holding his passenger by one leg, but it was a losing fight even before South launched off to pounce Georgia directly. At least the big guy avoided the majority of the attacks once she knocked the smaller man from his back, though Maine had briefly threatened to go down himself under Mich and Cal's onslaught. Even atop Cal, Mich barely came chest-high over the giant, meaning that he ended up taking most of her hits meant for Georgia.

"Don't drown him, South," York called. "We don't have anywhere to hide any bodies." Carolina leaned into the back of his head, enjoying her perch as they paused to fish the fallen challenger out.

"Oh, there are not going to be pieces big enough to hide," South muttered as her brother pulled her up and off.

Maine reached under the churning water to scruff their other team member and hold him above in the air. Georgia came up flailing and choking, but he seemed to have control of his limbs if not all his breath back by the time Maine dropped him to swim under his own power. "'M okay," Georgia insisted with a slightly liquid wheeze, not quite focusing his eyes as he shakily began treading water. "Just gimme five minutes, and then I'll take you all on."

"Georgia, she has you whipped," Arkansas called his roommate off. "Don't start something you can't finish."

"I didn't think I did that bad, considerin' it was three to one odds," Georgia said, at last able to bring his focus around to his friends. Even so, Florida had left his drink on the wall and swam out towards the group by the shallow end, just in case life needed to be guarded.

"That was kind of embarrassing to watch," he said, patting the recovering man on the head. "Word of advice, son? Work on the delivery before you mix it up. It can work wonders, trust me." Georgia nodded, though his eyebrows were furrowed as if unsure exactly what Florida was referring to. Of course, this was Georgia, so he might just be concentrating on the schematics of some voice-activated water cannon, for all York knew. "You okay, big guy?" Maine offered a quick nod to Florida's inquiry, and then retreated back towards the cooler, willing to risk an encounter with Penn over a beer after this.

"Well, that's Georgia down and South disqualified due to leaving her perch, which leaves just you and me, little girl." Carolina raised herself languidly from York's hair and turned to face Michigan, pressing him forward with a twist of her hip. Before they'd closed the distance - or allowed South and Georgia chance to protest - the air turned to blades with an unholy shriek blaring from the speakers.

"Attention, agents: the Director requires your presence in the conference room. If you hurry, you may have time for cold showers before the meeting is scheduled to begin." The prim feminine voice lacked a neck to go with it, so York could only groan and squeeze Carolina's ankles instead.

"Thank you, F.I.L.S.S," Carolina responded as the senior serious agent on duty. Penn might have looked more serious in his warm-up suit and deck chair rather than a racerback one-piece, but he had also been serious about drinking himself senseless today.

"If it would increase productivity, I could turn on the emergency fire safety system and allow you to get your showers while you make your approach to the conference room," the ship AI offered with docile benevolence.

"No thank you, F.I.L.S.S." Carolina kicked out of York's hold with only a barely-felt trace of reluctance, back in leader mode as they trooped back to the locker rooms and into their armour. While York had brought a T-shirt as a cover, he doubted that the Director would approve of the Grifball tee and aloha-print trunks as meeting wear.


Once he was dried off and changed, York hurried along with the rest of the crew towards the briefing room, taking position slightly behind South and Wyoming. The Director had his back to them, his eyes on the top six leaderboard. "You may notice a few differences," the Director said, still not yet turning to face the agents. Reluctantly, York followed his gaze. Things had been going pretty well today, and then they were called from team bonding for this?

Time to get back to cutthroat reality, York resigned himself, unsure whether or not it was better that the top three spots hadn't changed. Good for Carolina, Penn, and him, he guessed. Virginia and Wyoming had switched places, but one spot either way was hardly worth the satisfied smirk and annoyed twitch of a moustache exchanged between the two snipers. The final listed spot, whose previous occupant still wasn't in sight, was the only real surprise on the top six list.

South was struggling to control her grin, but she'd never had as good a poker face as Carolina. "Congratulations," York told her in an undertone. "Looks like the newbie shine's all off of you."

"Well, it's about damn time," South responded, though there was less bite and more glee than she'd likely intended to put in her voice.

"Whoo! Moved up two, and Ark, you're all the way up to eighth place!" Georgia had whipped out his data pad in the back row, and York wasn't sure if the other lower-ranked agents had clustered around him more to shut him up or to check their own statuses. Even without looking, York could make three guesses about who stood between South and Arkansas, and all of them started with the same letters as "no duh."

"Thanks, Georgia, but now's not the moment," Ark hissed, but when the Director at last turned around, it was with a very rare indulgent smile on his face.

"Go ahead and look. The pursuit of knowledge is to be encouraged, so long as it does not get in the way of your mission. When you are quite done, we will resume the meeting." The Director crossed his arms, his posture a pretty good at-ease for an upper-level old desk jockey.

"Scroll to the bottom and pass it aroundquickly," Ark translated through gritted teeth.

Georgia fiddled with the tabs for a moment, insisting he was trying to get a bigger resolution, before Maine swiped the pad neatly from his hands and held it where the rest could see. Penn was content to stare daggers into Carolina, confident of his own place in the rankings, and the redhead remained the model top of the board, standing at attention while the rest muttered among themselves or offered congratulations, but York decided to indulge his own curiosity, while they had the full leaderboard out. North, Ark, Maine, Florida, Massa, Georgia, Sota, Cal, Mich… He sighed in relief at the last name on the list. Alaska had fallen far, but at least he wasn't completely out of their lives. Even those ranked dead last weren't dead. York hoped.

The Director cleared his throat, and Maine shut off the data pad. The boss man might be in a good mood, but it didn't do to push it. "The shift in the rankings offers us a chance to reflect on the meaning of leaderboard and Project Freelancer as a whole. There have been several changes over the course of this project so far, and we have a very big one coming. The Covenant has come for us, and so we must respond. We must scale to new heights and prove that we are adaptable enough to face not just one ship's worth, but as much as they may choose to send against humanity."

The Director's voice went quiet, as if his thoughts had gone to the missing member of the team, as well. "Those who are not able to adapt to this threat will be eliminated from the Project. Those who can prove themselves…" he adjusted his glasses with a faint smile, shaking off any detritus that might stand in the way of his vision, "shall reap the benefits of these changes. Your current standings will affect more than simply who is sent on what mission. Though I fear I must keep you in the dark for just a little longer, a new era is dawning for Project Freelancer, agents. Prepare yourselves for it. Dismissed."

York saluted along with the rest, feeling a bit bemused as to the overall purpose of this particular meeting. It wasn't unusual for the Director to keep the team guessing - and sniping at each other in attempts to jockey up the leaderboard; already California was throwing out bad "watch your six" puns at the Dakotas - but you didn't tease a roomful of infiltration and interrogation specialists, lab geeks, and their friends with heavy weaponry like that and not expect anyone to seek out a little more information.

While the rest of the crew gossiped and swaggered, York kept an eye on the conference room they had just left as he made his rounds of congratulating and commiserating. There was more of the former, fortunately; the only two senior agents to drop much in the ratings besides Alaska were generally fairly good sports about it, and if Cal and Mich hadn't "moved up" past where they'd been two flips of the board ago, they hadn't lost any ground, either, falling only behind Sota as they gained from Alaska's loss.

The tan-armoured Freelancer really knew better than to expect the Director to pop out the front door and put any rumours about this "dawning new era" to rest, but he bowed out of South and Virginia's argument over full frontal blitz versus surgical stealth missions, North's counter-theory that involved an army of robots and handheld laser weapons, and Cal's joking suggestion that the Director was just going to splice them with Sangheili DNA, which Georgia ran with in a way that only one intimately familiar with technology journals and never with the human psyche could manage, to Mich and Florida's visibly increasing dismay, not adding any real ideas of his own. York thought he heard the creak of a back door, and then there came the familiar whine of a landing Pelican.

The sound of the transport ship was nothing new; the repairs to theMother required new supplies almost every day, and not even Georgia looked up at its approach as he continued a very informative monologue on Mgalekgolo synaptic joints, to judge from Mich's slightly ill expression. Surely the Director couldn't have timed their meeting that well, but it was either go check it out now or stand around and listen to Cal and Wyoming come up with worse and worse eel puns. York slipped off with a smile.

There wasn't all that much he was able to see, through the mess of construction and repair atop the usual chaos of a working hangar bay. More technicians than York knew were stationed on Eris surged this way and that through the docks, crates were placed willy-nilly across the floor with no regard for snoops who might like a clear line of sight on the docked Pelican, and the repair crew seemed to hammer with extra enthusiasm today, drowning out any conversation.

Well, considering what York could see, no wonder. The Counselor hadn't attended their little pep rally because he was here in the bay, and appeared to have been waiting here for quite some time, if his expression at the Director's arrival was anything to go by. A horde of the techs swarmed up the Pelican's ramp at the bespectacled man's nod of approval, and the officers of Project Freelancer kept their gaze on the box within the knot of transporters as it was carefully removed from the ship and wobbled down the ramp, into quarters where even the Freelancers weren't supposed to go. The stamps, as far as York could tell, were standard UNSC postal codes, but whatever it was, the Director had treated that two-man-sized box like it contained something breakable.

Well, whatever tomorrow's dawn brought, York reflected as he headed back to rejoin his fellow surviving agents, it probably wasn't a beach ball.