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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
0510 hours, September 13,2552 (revised date, Military
Calendar) \ Aboard hybrid vessel Gettysburg-Ascendant
Justice, in Slipspace.
The Master Chief and his team, which now consisted of
Grace, Linda, Will, and Fred, had been ordered to report to
the Officers' Club—normally forbidden territory to NCOs. Of
course, nothing about their circumstances had been normal for a
long, long time.
The Gettysburg's O-Club had a massive table of oak, scored
with numerous gouges and scorches from a hundred cigars casu-
ally set upon its surface. There was a bar stocked with bottles
containing a rainbow collection of liquors, dusted with shattered
crystal. The room's walnut-paneled walls were polished to a rich
glow. Hung along those walls was the UNSC gold-fringed blue
flag. There were also gold and silver citation plaques for merito-
rious gallantry. There were photos of officers and past Captains
of the Gettysburg. And most interesting to the Master Chief
were tin Civil War daguerreotypes that displayed battlefields full
of charging men and cavalry and cannons belching flash and
thunder.
Admiral Whitcomb and Sergeant Johnson entered the room.
The Spartans snapped to rigid attention. "Officer on deck!" the
Master Chief shouted, and they all saluted.
"At ease," Admiral Whitcomb said. "Please sit down."
The Master Chief stepped forward. "With respect, these chairs
will not support the weight of our gear, Admiral."
"Of course," the Admiral said. "Well, make yourselves as
comfortable as you can. This is an informal meeting." He snorted.