Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [18]
The wall slid apart and a balding man entered. Curiously he wore an Army uniform, pinned with the eagle insigne of a colonel. His dark eyes fixed upon Kurt.
"Sir!" Kurt started to stand and salute.
"At ease, soldier," the Colonel said.
Kurt checked his motion. He opened his mouth to correct the Colonel's error, but fell silent. Naval NCOs were never called "soldiers," but in Kurt's experience, officers. Army or otherwise, never appreciated correction unless lives were at stake.
The Colonel's continued stare made Kurt uneasy. In fact, several things contributed to his unease. He was on a UNSC ship, receiving medical care, but how had he gotten here, and why was an Army colonel interested in him?
"I am James Ackerson," the Colonel said. He then did a curious thing: he held out his hand to shake.
This was a rare occurrence. Usually no one wanted to touch a Spartan, let alone shake their hand.
Kurt took Ackerson's hand and gingerly squeezed it.
Ackerson. Kurt knew that name. There had been conversations between Dr. Halsey and Chief Mendez. Ackerson had come up a dozen times, and from their inflection and body language Kurt had surmised he was not their friend.
Kurt was aware that everyone in the UNSC had the same basic goal: protecting humanity from all threats. Not everyone, however, agreed on how that mandate should be executed… which led to internal conflict. Kurt understood this the way he understood basic precepts of a Shaw-Fujikawa translight engine. He grasped the underlying theoretical principles, but the nuances and the actual application of that knowledge remained a mystery to him.
Most likely this colonel was on permanent loan to ONI as a liaison officer. They often recruited civilians, officers from other branches of the military, or anyone they needed to get their job done.
An Army colonel was approximately the same rank as a Navy captain, so while Kurt was wary, he had to be polite, and even take orders from Ackerson as long as they did not conflict with previous orders.
"If you are well enough, get dressed." Colonel Ackerson nodded to the night table on which was a neatly folded uniform.
Kurt stood, removed the osmotic IV patch, and dressed.
"SPARTAN-051, what is your name?" Ackerson asked.
"Kurt, sir."
"Yes, but Kurt what? What is your family name?"
Kurt knew he had had another name, before his training. That, however, was part of a life that seemed more dream than real now. And that other name was just a shadow in his mind, as was the family that had gone along with it. Still, he struggled to remember.
"It doesn't matter," Ackerson said. "For the time being if asked, use the last name…" He considered for a moment. "Ambrose."
"Yes, sir."
Kurt buttoned his shirt. The uniform was missing the Spartan patch of an eagle holding a lighting bolt and arrows. It instead had the clasping-hand patch of the UNSC Logistical core. It
bore the single pip of a private first class and two combat ribbons for Harvest and Operation TREBUCHET.
"Follow me." Ackerson moved out the open doors into a narrow corridor. He led Kurt through three intersections.
Many Naval officers passed them, but none saluted. They kept to themselves for the most part, eyes down. And while a few nodded to Kurt, no one so much as even glanced at Ackerson.
Kurt's unease at this odd situation grew palpable.
They halted at a pressure door guarded by two marines who saluted. Kurt crisply returned their salute. Ackerson gave them a causal half-salute gesture.
The Colonel set his hand on a biometric reader and face, retina, and palm were
simultaneously scanned.
With a hiss, the door opened.
Kurt and Ackerson stepped into a dimly lit twenty-meter-wide room filled wall to wall with monitors. Spectroscopic signatures, star charts, and Slipstream space pulses strobed