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They were led to a circular room. Half the far wall retracted, revealing thick red velvet curtains, which also slowly pulled away and exposed the half-meter-thick windows that overlooked the asteroid field. Beyond was a gentle ballet of rocks tumbling, rotating, and bouncing off one another in slow motion.
Men carried in a long table, threw a white silk cloth over it, and smoothed it down. Then a succession of women carried in silver trays heavy with fruit, steaming meats, and chocolates, and a dozen decanters sloshing with amber, ruby, and clear liquors.
Padded chairs were brought in for them all. "Please." Jiles motioned toward Dr. Halsey and he pulled out a chair for her. "Relax and sit down."
The Master Chief took up a position by the door where he had a clear view of the entire room. Fred made sure the corridor was empty and then sealed the door.
The Chief checked behind the curtains for hidden men, sur?veillance devices, or false passages.
"Cortana?" he whispered.
"Looks clear," she said. "I'm not detecting anything. Walls are half a meter of Titanium-A."
"We're clear," the Master Chief told the Admiral.
Dr. Halsey finally sat in the proffered chair, smoothed her
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skirt, and Jiles gently slid the chair under her. He offered her a plate of plump strawberries, which she graciously declined.
Haverson took one of the strawberries, however, and bit into it. "Delicious," he remarked.
Jiles inclined his head. "Our hydroponics facility—"
"With respect, Governor, there's no time for chitchat," Admi?ral Whitcomb said. "The clock's ticking. In more ways than you might realize."
Jiles sighed and sat in a chair covered in gold leaf and black velvet. He threw his legs over one of the chair's arms and laced his hands behind his head. "You have my complete and full at?tention, Admiral."
"Good," Whitcomb said, frowning at Jiles's disregard for the seriousness of their predicament.
Admiral Whitcomb laid it out for him in short, easy-to-understand sentences: the fall of Reach, the Covenant's search for an alien technology, the chase and battle in Slipspace, and the unclassifiable radiation that would lead the Covenant through Slipspace... to here.
As he spoke, Governor Jiles set his feet onto the floor, and his relaxed position solidified. He leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. His congenial smile slowly tightened into a scowl.
"Bloody Elisa!" he shouted, jumped to his feet, and swept a decanter off the table. The glass shattered and ruby-colored brandy spattered across the hardwood.
John and Fred had Jiles instantly in their gunsights, but the Admiral held up his hand.
" 'Bloody Elisa'?" the Chief asked Cortana.
"The patron saint of vacuum," the AI replied. "She's popular among civilian pilots."
"I'd guess," the Admiral told Jiles, "that we have less than a day before they find us."
"And what," Jiles said slowly, controlling his anger, "do you suggest / do about it?"
"That's the simple part of all this, Governor. You can help us, or you can try to kill me and my crew, and sell our ships for whatever the black market will bear. They should yield quite a profit... provided the Covenant let you live long enough to cash in."