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Read about the Forgotten Spartan I Program
Butane: To protect the world from devastation!
sir_brilliant: To unite all people within our nation!
Rainman89: To denounce the evils of truth and love!
sir_brilliant: To extend out reach to the stars above!
SpaceGhostFlyer: Jessie!
Butane: James!
sir_brilliant: Team Rocket blasting off at the speed of light
Butane: Surrender now or prepare to fight
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The first installemnt of chapter seven is here, sorry, but it's pretty boring. but the action will come
Chapter Seven
1200 Hours, January 19,2525 (Military Calendar)
Richter System, Richter VII, Camp Ulysses Officer’s
Club
Simmons arrived at the officer’s club promptly at 1200 Hours. He parked his warthog and awaited the arrival of Colonel Hastert and the ONI spooks, whose names he still did not know. When they arrived, Simmons saluted and the Colonel indifferently returned it. He brushed past Simmons and walked inside. The other officers seemed not to notice Simmons at all.
Inside, the Colonel turned to the receptionist, “We’ll take the private room,” he said to her. She nodded and started walking towards the back. Simmons was not aware there was a back room, but sure enough, they walked past the dining room, and the bar, and into a back room, completely secluded from the rest of the building. Two waiters walked in and handed them menus. They ordered drinks and the waiters left. “Well, I am sure you’d like to know why you are here,” the Colonel said.
“Yes, Sir,” Simmons replied. “Also, it may seem odd, but if the captain doesn’t mind my asking, Sir, I would like to know your name,”
The captain turned to him, “Names are not important,” he said. Simmons nodded, but felt concerned, why the secrecy, even from an ONI officer this was unusual.
“Of course, Sir,” Simmons said.
The waiters arrived with their drinks, and they placed their orders. Once they had departed the colonel spoke again, “Now, down to business,” he said, “Everyone in this room knows who you are,”
“What you are,” added the captain.
“Yes, we all know you are a Spartan I, and were the only surviving subject.” The colonel said.
“But there is something you don’t know,” the Captain said, he spoke softly, and his voice was cold. “You are not the only Spartan.”
This statement flustered Simmons, “But didn’t you just say I was?” he asked.
“We said you were the only Spartan I, but there were others after you, your successors,” the captain’s voice chilled Simmons, and he was suddenly very cold.
“Others?”
“Yes,” the Colonel told him, “There are currently seventy five subjects preparing to be augmented, they will be the Spartan II’s.”
“You understand that all of this is classified?” the Captain asked him.
“Yes, Sir, of course I do,” Simmons told him, “But why are they continuing the project, I was the only survivor of twenty subjects, why are they risking more?” Simmons asked him.
“ You were a test subject,” the captain said, “A guinea pig, you were preparation for the Spartan II’s.” The captain’s voice grew even colder, “They used you to prefect the process, so they could make changes. Spartan one was never meant for anything more than tests, you were never meant to be an asset to the UNSC.”
The thought of being called a guinea pig was repulsing, Halsey said that Spartan one was going to help save the UNSC from civil war, not help her ruin others lives as well. Simmons thought of Amacus, how he had died in a tube, a man destined for greatness, who died for a test. It was disgraceful.
The waiters repapered, carrying trays of food. As one of them laid a plate in front of Simmons, he realized he did not have much of an appetite.
The Colonel began to eat his meal, but the ONI officers just sat there.
“Where are these Spartan’s now?” Simmons asked.
“They are on Reach,” the colonel told him, between mouthfuls of food. The Captain seemed repulsed by the Colonel’s eating habits, but started to neatly cut up his meal. Simmons looked at his plate, there was plentiful helpings of meat, and vegetables, it was the most lavish meal Simmons had ever seen. He picked up his fork and tore off a piece of the meat and ate it. It was excellent. For a second Simmons forgot the hardships of being the only Spartan I to survive, about Amacus dying, about everything, but they suddenly rushed back into him. He suppressed his feelings, and tried not to make a show of them, but he was certain the Captain knew everything Simmons thought or felt.
“Sir,” Simmons said to the Colonel, “I would like to be transferred to Reach.”
This statement seemed to startle even the Captain.
“Lieutenant, your needed here,” the Colonel said.
“With all due respect, Sir,” Simmons said to him, “The rebel threat here is all but neutralized, and you have more than enough qualified officers,”
“Why?” this time, the Lieutenant spoke, he was given a cold look from the Captain, but he spoke again, “Why do you want to go to Reach?”
“I want to see these Spartans, and I wish to speak with Dr. Halsey,” there was a hint of frustration in his voice, and Simmons regretted using such a tone in front of superior officers.
“I will do what I can Simmons,” the Colonel said, “But I make no guarantees.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Simmons said.
He finished his meal and prepared to leave as a waiter walked in. He handed a data pad to the Colonel and left. The Captain looked inquisitively at the Colonel, who began to read whatever the message was. Once he was done he placed it on the table and looked at Simmons. The ONI Lieutenant reached for the Data pad, but the Captain glanced at him, and he retracted his arm.
“Well, Lieutenant,” the Colonel said, looking at Simmons, “You’re mission was a complete success. We sent a Recon team into the area, and it was completely clear, there was not a rebel in sight,”
“Thank you, Sir,”
“No the thanks is on you Simmons, your platoon has now completed two flawless missions. I am sure an outfit like yours would be welcome on Reach.” The Colonel told him. He stood up and exited the room, Simmons and the others followed.
[Edited on 10/10/2005]