- Ramen 6378
- |
- Fabled Legendary Member
Chapter 3: UNSC - Joliet City Branch
A cool, air-conditioned breeze hit my face as the glass doors slid open. Straightening out my suit, I stepped inside the minimalistic, sterile-white lobby. A series of benches lined the walls, several coffee tables occupying the middle of the room. Bright lights were integrated into the ceiling, illuminating the lobby with their artificial glow, contrasting sharply with the natural sunlight outside. A reception desk stood on the far side of the room, opposite the glass doors.
I stepped quietly over to the desk, trying not to break the dead silence in the lobby. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman, probably in her late forties, with horn-rimmed glasses, noticed me as I walked over. I offered a smile at her and said, "Hi, how are you?"
Smiling politely, she responded, "I'm well, thank you. Welcome to the UNSC Joliet City branch. May I help you with something?"
"Yes, I'd like to see Dr. Martin Freedman, if he's available."
She turned to her computer and started typing. "Do you have an appointment, sir?"
"Well, no, but..."
She glanced up at me, disapproval edging into her voice. "I'm sorry, but Dr. Freedman is quite occupied at the moment. If you don't have an appointment, there's really nothing I can do."
"Are you able to call him right now?"
"Am I able to? Yes, I am."
"Okay, could you call him and tell him it's Fabian? I'm sure he'll invite me right in."
Her mouth tightened as she considered the suggestion. I had to get her approval somehow. Quickly, I added, "If he doesn't know me, then I'll leave and make an appointment for some other time."
After a moment, she nodded and picked up the phone. She quickly dialed a number and waited, glancing up at me sporadically. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I could hear the faint sound of the phone's earpiece ringing.
Someone on the other end seemed to pick up. The receptionist, breaking the silence, said politely, "Dr. Freedman? I'm sorry to bother you, but someone called Fabian is here to see you." She listened for a moment and then turned to me, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. "He says he doesn't know anyone with the name of Fabian, sir."
Confused, I said in a trailing voice, "That's not possible..."
"I think it's time for you to leave, sir."
Suddenly, another idea hit me. "One last try, please. Tell Dr. Freedman that it's Spartan B174, not Fabian."
I have to admit, this lady did a good job of hiding her surprise. Without missing a beat, disapproval in her expression, she uncovered the mouthpiece and said, "He says that he's a Spartan, sir. B174." After a few moments, she nodded. "He'll be right in." She turned to me and tilted her head towards a door behind the reception desk. "Head through the door and straight across the atrium. Dr. Freedman's office should be the second door on the right." I smiled at her politely in thanks and stepped towards the door.
A beam of bright, natural sunlight hit me as the door opened. I blinked, stunned by the sudden change. My eyes quickly began to adjust to the new lighting. Once they did, I stared in wonder around the room, what the receptionist mentioned as the atrium. Contrasting drastically with the small, sterile reception lobby, the atrium was the very definition of open space. Its ceiling soared high up into the air, letting bright sunlight filter through the large, circular glass window placed at the center of the concrete ceiling, encompassing nearly half of the ceiling space. I could spot the adhesive weaving in the glass itself, enabling to be bulletproof. Despite the concrete and stone motif of the atrium, the entire structure reminded me of an airport.
Still, as I shut the door to the reception lobby and began walking slowly towards the opposite side of the atrium, glancing around at the architecture of the place, I could see that underneath the welcoming, civilian look, there was still a significant military influence within the atrium. The low and long, yet wide tunnel at the end of the atrium, somewhat reminiscent of a road tunnel, was framed by a towering stone wall, extending all the way up to the ceiling of the atrium. Despite its attempts to blend in with the civilian-like atmosphere, there was no mistaking the various locations for strategic height advantages for whoever came in through the front door. My mind suddenly brought up the memory of the decommissioned UNSC Commonwealth during my time on Reach, before it was glassed and I was ordered off the planet.
Due to the early hours of the morning, I could only see several personnel drifting through the atrium. Some were walking with purpose across the large room, carrying sheaves of paper or bags filled with who-knows-what. Others were standing casually near the tables and booths surrounding the sides of the atrium, talking with coworkers and colleagues while eating breakfast.
By now, my feet had taken me to the opening of the tunnel on the far side of the atrium. The defensive wall extended for a considerable distance past the opening of the tunnel itself, casting a shadow that blocked the sun from reaching the area. A series of bright lights illuminated the otherwise pitch-black concrete tunnel. Several wide metal doors lined the sides of the tunnel. Remembering what the receptionist said, I opened the second door on the right. Just before entering, I scanned the sign right above the door. It read, "SPARTAN De-Augmentation."
[Edited on 11.12.2011 1:59 PM PST]