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100
HALO: FIRST STRIKE
She laughed, and it sounded like fine bone china clinking to-
gether. "You may proceed, Lieutenant," she told him.
The doors parted and revealed a corridor lined with walnut
panels and paintings of Washington Crossing the Delaware, Ad-
miral Cole's Last Stand, various alien landscapes, and space
battles.
Although he had barely felt the descent, Wagner knew he had
dropped three kilometers into the planet, through solid layers of
granite, reinforced concrete, plates of Titanium-A, and
EMP-hardened metal. None of this made him feel any safer,
though; ONI's research facility on Reach had the same setup,
and it hadn't done those poor bastards any good.
He stepped off the elevator. Lysithea whispered at his back:
"Watch out in there. They're looking to put someone's head on a
pike."
Wagner swallowed and straightened the microscopic wrinkles
in his uniform. He searched for a reason to delay—anything that
would keep him out of the room at the end of this corridor. He
sighed and overcame his inertia. No one kept the Security Com-
mittee for the UNSC waiting.
A pair of MPs snapped to as he approached the set of double
doors. They didn't salute, and their hands rested on their
hol-stered sidearms. They stared straight ahead, but Wagner
knew that if he twitched the wrong way he'd be shot first and
questioned later.
The doors silently swung inward.
He entered, and the doors closed behind him and locked.
Wagner recognized most of the brass seated at the
crescent-shaped table: Major General Nicolas Strauss, Fleet
Admiral Sir Terrence Hood, and Colonel James Ackerson. Vice
Admiral Whit-comb's chair was empty.
Another half-dozen officers were also present, and all were of
command rank, which made Wagner nervous. Each had display
tablets set before them, and even upside down, Wagner recog-
nized his preliminary report and video records.
Wagner saluted.
General Strauss leaned forward and snapped off his display.
"Christ! Did we know they had so many damn ships?" He