Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [38]
Chief Mendez entered the room and marched to the center platform. He wore his black dress uniform as well. His chest was covered with Silver and Bronze Stars, three Purple Hearts, the Red Legion of Honor award, and a rainbow of campaign ribbons. He had recently shaved his head.
The Spartans rose and stood at attention.
Dr. Halsey entered. She looked older to John, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth more pronounced, streaks of gray in her dark hair. But her blue eyes were as sharp as ever. She wore gray slacks, a black shirt, and her glasses hung about her neck on a gold chain.
“Admiral on deck,” Mendez announced.
They all snapped straighter.
A man ten years Dr. Halsey’s senior strode to the stage. His short silver hair looked like a steel helmet. His gait had a strange lope to it—what crewmen called “space walk”—from spending too much time in microgravity. He wore a simple, unadorned black dress UNSC uniform. No medals or campaign ribbons. The insignia on the forearm of his jacket, however, was unmistakable: the single gold star of a Rear Admiral.
“At ease, Spartans,” he said. “I’m Admiral Stanforth.” The Spartans took their seats in unison. Dust swirled onstage and collected into a robed figure. Its face was obscured within the shadows of its
hood. John could discern no hands at the end of its sleeves.
“This is Beowulf,” Admiral Stanforth said as he gestured to the ghostly creature. Stanforth’s voice was calm, but distaste was evident on his face. “He is our AI attaché with the Office of Naval Intelligence.” He turned away from the AI. “We have several important issues to cover this morning, so let’s get
started.” The lights dimmed. An amber sun appeared in the center of the room with three planets in close orbit. “This is Harvest,” he said. “Population of approximately three million. Although on the periphery of
UNSC-controlled space, this world is one of our more productive and peaceful colonies.”
The holographic view zoomed in on the surface of the world and showed grasslands and forests and a thousand lakes swarming with schools of fish. “As of military calendar February 3, at 1423 hours, the Harvest orbital platform made long range radar
contact with this object.”
A blurry outline appeared over the stage. “Spectroscopic analysis proved inconclusive,” Admiral Stanforth said. “The object is constructed of material unknown to us.” A molecular absorption graph appeared on a side screen, spikes and jagged lines indicating the relative
proportions of elements.
Beowulf raised a cloaked arm and the image darkened. The words CLASSIFIED—EYES ONLY appeared over the blackened data. Admiral Stanforth shot a glare at the AI. “Contact with Harvest,” he continued, “was lost shortly thereafter. The Colonial Military Administration
sent the scout shipArgo to investigate. That ship arrived in-system on April twentieth, but other than a
brief transmission to confirm their exit Slipstream position, no further reports were made. “In response, Fleet Command assembled a battle group to investigate. The group consisted of the destroyerHeracles , commanded by Captain Veredi, as well as the frigatesArabia andVostok . They
entered the Harvest System on October seventh and discovered the following.”
The holograph of the planet Harvest changed. The lush fields and rolling hills transformed, morphing into a cratered, barren desert. Thin gray sunlight reflected off a glassy crust. Heat wavered from the surface. Isolated regions glowed red.
“This is what was left of the colony.” The Admiral paused for a moment to stare at the image, and then continued. “We assume that all inhabitants are lost.”
Three million lives lost. John couldn’t fathom the raw force it had taken to kill so many—for a moment he was torn between horror and envy. He glanced at the Purple Heart pinned to his chest and remembered his lost comrades. How did one simple bullet wound compare with so many wasted lives? He was suddenly no longer proud of the decoration.
“And this is what theHeracles battlegroup