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The Second Ring (Part 4)
Posted By: Jason<promodo@tampabay.rr.com>
Date: 30 January 2004, 7:22 PM
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The subtle, sharp hiss of a gas-valve was the first sign to John that someone was entering his compartment. He was standing; ready to salute by the time the pneumatic door slid aside. His hand, however, stopped mid-lift when he locked eyes with Spartan 204. The soldier gave his own fast salute, which John returned with a nod of his head.
"At ease," John said, settling down to rest on the side of his bed.
"Thank you, sir." The soldier's ease was more rigid than most enlisted men's attention, John noticed. "Mr. Mendez requested that I inform you we are 0100 hours from our rendezvous with the HacSan vessel Nautilus."
As the tall black man turned to leave, the Chief's hand went forward, grasping him by the wrist. The hold was not hard, but enough to keep him from leaving. "What's your name?"
The Spartan looked confused, looking down at the Chief in disbelief. "My name, sir?"
"Yes. Your name. What do they call you beyond a serial number?"
The younger man jutted his jaw to the side, looked away, then again caught eyes with the Chief. "I can barely remember anymore. I don't recall ever having a last name, sir. But, I know that Dr. Halsey always called me Seth."
The Chief gave a nod, and to completely blow the younger soldier away, a smile. "I'm John."
Seth looked down at the Chief, giving a nod, and turned toward him again. "The twins, they're Tim and Tom, Spartans 223 and 224, respectively. You can always tell its Tom because he has a scar on his forehead from a training exercise on Reach."
The Chief gave a nod, and rose to his feet... stretching out his shoulders, he snapped a salute to 204, and started putting his uniform on. "Dismissed, soldier. And thank you."
------
John continued along the hallway toward the docking seal of the small corvette, as the soft pang of the ship's slip-drives powering down rattled the hull. His feet felt funny for a moment as the ship slowed, and his stomach queased over. He hated ships, and always would. Two feet on the ground and a rod up your ass... that's how he preferred it to be, any day.
Turning toward the large, sealed panel, John gave salutes to the other three soldiers as they stepped forward, each towing a large cargo container similar to John's, containing their MJOLNIR suits. Mendez brought up the rear, limping on his cane as he came.
"Those damned slip-space drives do a number on this leg, that's for sure," the old corpsman said, hobbling along.
Standing before the sealed pressure gate and its following airlock, John watched through a meter of glass as the panel spiraled away on the other ship's radiation-proofed hull, and allowed the pressure on the two ships to mingle in the airlock. A green light and heavy thump of locking seals was heard, and the Corvette's door slid open silently, the Spartans quickly stepping through the portal. As John went through last, the captain of the vessel came down a narrow staircase, giving a sharp whistle. The same pilot of the Pelican was there, a grin on his shabby jaw as he offered up a data cube.
John stopped mid-track, looking down at it, then to the man. "What's this?"
The captain grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "Just a little classical music to live by..." The man lifted an arm, slapping the chief's bicep in a move that seemed to make his hand wince. "Give 'em hell, MC."
The Chief nodded, turning the cube over in his fingers and reading the side. 'Good Charlotte... Avril Lavigne... Simple Plan... ugh, it's worse than I thought...' The Chief was touched by the sentiment, but the cube happened to "slip" from his grip as he walked through the airlock, and into the HacSan Nautilus. As the ships separated with a parting kiss, the music was lost to oblivion in space (and with an author's note, Amen).
Once on board the ship, the Chief was shown to an intelligence and recon room, where a man sat smoking an ancient looking fat cigar, a small cloud of smoke surrounding him. The Chief cleared his throat, speaking with a firm tone. "Stow that smoke, soldier. You're in violation of UNSC Correctional Code 23.43-2---..."
"Good to see you too, John." The Admiral gave a grin, snuffing out his cigar on the old gold-inlay ashtray before him as he rose, stepping over and offering a large hand.
John, of course, was already at full attention and saluting by the time that happened, as were the small squad of Spartans behind him. Sandecker sighed, giving a salute, and then offering his hand again, which John promptly shook.
"It's good to see you too, sir," John said, before stepping behind a seat at the large black table.
"Have a seat, John." The Admiral was still bemused at the soldier's stern mannerism, despite all he had been through.
The next two hours were spent describing everything they knew about the ring-world, which was absolutely nothing. Every probe sent toward it had been swept into turbulence by the spinning rings and lost contact once beyond the first. However, the transponder signal was still strong, meaning they had survived to see the surface.
The largest of the rings, they realized after much analysis of previous recorded footage, was a duplication of the previous Halo they had found, only its inner lining was a metropolis of fusion generators and heavy machinery, a latticework of pipes extending thousands of feet into the air off their surfaces, small dimples along its surface from the view of space.
As their discussion of the proper approach for the ring continued, however, a sharp alarm trilled through the ship-- the proximity warning. A voice boomed over the loudspeaker throughout the ship, deep and serious. "This is Captain Preston! All hands to battle stations, Covenant Radicals incoming. We've got incoming plasma on the plane, be ready for impact."
The ship shuddered as the drives were fired too quickly for their good, but quick enough to swing the ship about. The reflexive coils on the MAC gun were charged off the fusion drive, and newly mounted electro-magnetic repulsor-rifles, or Gauss Guns, were brought to a hot hum that caused the entire ship to vibrate. Every view screen that wasn't dedicated to a combat station showed a quartet of Covenant ships appearing from Slipspace behind one that had already emerged, the front ship being a bit larger than the others. All bared the symbol of an unblinking vertical eye, roughly blasted into the surface of the ships with plasma scoring.
"Oh, Christ, it's the Seeing Eye. How could they have found out about this ring?"
John felt a tinge in the back of his neck-- the Seeing Eye were the only force the UNSC really feared since the days of the Covenant wars. The rest of the Covenant had surrendered at the death of their Alpha Prophet, but this fanatical and psychotic caste saw it as martyrdom, electing an insane Prophet disciple to their lead and committing genocide on the few human colonies that had begun to rebuild. Their weapons were feared, indeed, but more than that were their insane tactics. Their ships driven at full burn into UNSC docks, and then detonated by fanatical captains, despite the loss of thousands of their own men. They were dedicated, something that John both respected and feared in his enemy.
A hijacking frequency came over the band, and the image of the approaching ships flickered to the face of an Elite for a moment, his mandibles clicking as John's translating receptors picked up his garbled words.
"I am Captain Reb Hannahz. Make peace with your gods, humans. I send you to meet them in the great Holy Plains."
To Be Continued.
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