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repairs.
“They’re too tight,” Kelly said. “It’ll limit my range of motion.”
“We wear them for this op,” John told her. “There are too many places between here and there withnothing to breathe but vacuum. As for the rest of your equipment, take what you want—but stay light.Without recon data on this place, we’re going to be moving fast . . . or we’ll be dead.”
The team started selecting their weapons first.
“Three-ninety caliber?” Fred asked.
“Yes,” John replied. “Everyone take guns that use .390-caliber ammunition so we can share clips if wehave to. Except Linda.”
Linda gravitated to a matte-black long-barreled rifle—the SRS99C-S2 AM. The sniper rifle system hadmodular sections: scopes, stocks, barrels, even the firing mechanism could be swapped. She quicklystripped the rifle down and reconfigured it. She assembled a flash-and-sound suppression barrel, andthen to compensate for the lower muzzle velocity, she increased the ammunition caliber to .450. Sheditched all the sights and scopes and settled for an integrated link to her helmet’s heads-up display. Shepocketed five extended ammunition clips.
John also chose an MA2B, a cut-down version of the standard MA5B assault rifle. It was tough andreliable, with electronic targeting and an ammo supply indicator. It also had a recoil-reduction system,and could deliver an impressive fifteen rounds per second.
He picked up a knife: twenty-centimeter blade, one serrated edge, nonreflective titanium carbide, andbalanced for throwing.
John grabbed the panic button—a tiny single-shot emergency beacon. It had two settings. The red settingalerted thePioneer that it had hit the fan, and to come in guns blazing. The green setting merely markedthe location of the base for later assault by the UNSC.
He took a double handful of ammo clips—then paused. He set them down and pocketed five. If they gotinto a firefight where he’d need that much firepower, their mission was over anyway.
Everyone took similar equipment, with a few variations. Kelly selected a small computer pad with IRlinks. She also had their field medical kit.
Fred packed a standard-issue lockbreaker.
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Linda selected three nav marker transmitters, each the size of a tick. The trackers could be adhered to anobject and would broadcast that object’s location to the Spartans’ heads-up displays.
Sam hefted two medium-size backpacks—“damage packs.” They were filled with C-12, enough highexplosives to blow through three meters of battleship armor plate.
“You have enough of that stuff?” Kelly asked him wryly.
“You think I should take more?” Sam replied, and smiled. “Nothing like a little fireworks to celebratethe end of a mission.”
“Everyone ready?” John asked.
Sam’s smile disappeared and he slapped an extended clip into his MA2B. “Ready!”
Kelly gave him John a thumbs-up.
Fred and Linda nodded.
“Then let’s go to work.”
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CHAPTER TEN
1210 Hours, September 14, 2525 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, Eridanus 2 spacedock, civilian Cargo Ship,Laden (registry number F-0980W)
“Spartan 117: in position. Next check-in at 0400.” John clicked off the microphone, encrypted themessage, and fed it into his COM relay. He triggered a secure burst transmission to theAthens , the ONIprowler ship on station a few AUs distant.
He and his teammates climbed onto the upper girders. In silence, the team rigged a web of support netsso they could rest in relative comfort. Below them lay a hundred thousand liters of black water, andsurrounding them, two centimeters of stainless steel. Sam rigged the fill sensor so the reservoir’scomputer wouldn’t let any more water flow into the storage tank. The lights in their helmets cast apattern of crossing and crisscrossing reflection lines.
A perfect hiding spot—all according to plan, John thought, and allowed himself a small grin of triumph.The tech specs that ONI had procured on theLaden showed a number of hydroponic pods mountedaround the ship’s carousel system—the massive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship’s space-grown crops.
Perfect.
They had easily slipped past the lone guard in theLaden ’s main cargo bay and into the nearly desertedcenter section. The water tank would mask their thermal signatures, and block any motion sensors.
The only risky element entered the picture if the center section stopped spinning . . . things could getvery messy inside the tank, very fast. But John doubted that would happen.
Kelly set up a tiny microwave relay outside the top hatch. She propped her data pad on her stomach andlinked to the ship’s network. “I’m in,” she reported. “There’s no AI or serious encryption . . . accessingtheir system now.” She tapped the pad a few more times and activated the intrusion software—the bestthat ONI could provide. A moment later the pad pulsed to indicate success.
“They’ve got a nav trajectory to the asteroid belt. ETA is ten hours.”
“Good work,” John said. “Team: we’ll sleep in shifts.” Sam, Fred, and Linda snapped off theirflashlights.
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The tank reverberated as theLaden ’s engines flared to life. The water tilted as they accelerated awayfrom the orbital docking station.
John remembered Eridanus 2—vaguely recalled that it once was home. He wondered if his old school,his family, were still there—
He squelched his curiosity. Speculation made for a fine mental exercise, but the mission came first. Hehad to stay alert—or failing that, grab some sleep so he would be alert when he needed to be. ChiefMendez must have told them a thousand times: “Rest can be as deadly a weapon as a pistol or grenade.”
“I’ve got something,” Kelly whispered, and handed him her data pad.
It displayed the cargo manifest for theLaden . John scrolled down the list: water, flour, milk, frozenorange juice, welding rods, superconducting magnets for a fusion reactor . . . no mention of weapons.
“I give up,” he said. “What am I looking for?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Kelly replied. “The Chief smokes them.”
John flicked back through the list. There: Sweet William cigars. Next to them on the manifest was acrate of champagne, a Beta Centauri vintage. There were fast-chilled New York steaks, and Swisschocolates. These items were stored in a secure locker. They had the same routing codes.
“Luxury items,” Kelly murmured. “I bet they’re headed straight for a special delivery to Colonel Wattsor his officers.”
“Good work,” John replied. “We’ll tag this stuff and follow it.”
“Won’t be that easy,” Fred said from the darkness. He flicked on his flashlight and peered back at John.“There are a million ways this can go wrong. We’re going in without recon. I don’t like it.”
“We only have one advantage on this mission,” John said. “The rebels have never been infiltrated—they’ll feel relatively safe and won’t be expecting us. But every extra second we stay . . . that’s anotherchance for us to be spotted. We’ll follow Kelly’s hunch.”
“You questioning orders?” Sam asked Fred. “Scared?” There was a slight hint of challenge in his voice.
Fred thought for a moment. “No,” he whispered. “But this is no training mission. Our targets won’t befiring stun rounds.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to fail.”
“We’re not going to fail,” John told him. “We’ve accomplished every mission we’ve been on before.”
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That wasn’t entirely true: the augmentation mission had wiped out half of the Spartans. They weren’tinvincible.
But John wasn’t scared. A little nervous, maybe—but he was ready.
“Rotate sleep cycles,” John said. “Wake me up in four hours.”
He turned over and quickly nodded off to the sound of the sloshing water. He dreamed of gravball and acoin spinning in the air. John caught it and yelled, “Eagle!” as he won again.
He always won.
Kelly nudged John’s shoulder and he was instantly awake, hand on his assault rifle.
“We’re decelerating,” she whispered, and pointed her light into the water below. The liquid tilted at atwenty-degree inclination.
“Lights off,” John ordered.
They were plunged into total darkness.
He popped the hatch and snaked the fiber-optic probe—attached to his helmet—through the crack. Allclear.
They climbed out, then rappelled down the back of the ten-meter-tall tank. They donned their grease-stained coveralls and removed their helmets. The black suits looked a little bulky beneath the workclothes, but the disguise would hold up to a cursory inspection. With their weapons and gear in duffelbags, they’d pass as crew . . . from a distance.
They crept through a deserted corridor and into the cargo bay. They heard a million tiny metallic pingsas gravity settled the ship. TheLaden must be docking to a spinning station or a rotating asteroid.
The cargo bay was a huge room, stacked to its ceiling with barrels and crates. There were massive tanksof oil. Automated robot forklifts scurried between rows, checking for items that might have come loosein transit.
There was a terrific clang as a docking clamp grabbed the ship.
“Cigars are this way,” Kelly whispered. She consulted her data pad, then tucked it back into her pocket.
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They moved out, clinging to the shadows. They stopped every few meters, listened, and made sure theirfields of fire were clear.
Kelly held up her hand and made a fist. She pointed to the secure hatch on the starboard side of the hold.
John signaled Fred and Kelly and motioned them to go forward. Fred used the lockbreaker on the doorand it popped open. They entered and closed it behind them.
John, Sam, and Linda waited. There was a sudden motion and the Spartans snapped their weapons tofiring positions—
A robot forklift passed down an adjacent aisle.
The massive aft doors of the cargo hold parted with a hiss. Light spilled into the hold. A dozendockworkers dressed in coveralls entered.
John gripped his MA2B tighter. One man looked down the aisle where they crouched in the shadows.He stooped, paused—
John raised his weapon slowly, his hands steady, and sighted on the man’s chest. “Always shoot forcenter of mass,” Mendez had barked during weapons training. The man stood, stretched his back, andmoved on, whistling quietly to himself.
Fred and Kelly returned, and Kelly opened and closed her hand, palm out—she had placed the marker.
John grabbed his helmet from his duffel bag and slipped it on. He pinged the navigation marker and sawthe blue triangle flash once on his heads-up display. He returned Kelly’s thumbs-up and removed thehelmet.
John stowed his helmet and MA2B and motioned for the rest of the team to do the same. They casuallywalked out of theLaden ’s aft cargo hold and onto the rebel base.
The docking bay was hewn from solid rock. The ceiling stretched a kilometer high. Bright lightsoverhead effectively illuminated the place, looking like tiny suns in the sky. There were hundreds ofships docked within the cavern—tiny single craft, Mako-class corvettes, cargo freighters, and even acaptured UNSC Pelican dropship. Each craft was held by massive cranes that traveled on railroad tracks.The tracks led toward a series of large airlock doors. That’s how theLaden must have gotten inside.
There were people everywhere: workers and men in crisp white uniforms. John’s first instinct was toseek cover. Every one of them was a potential threat. He wished he had his gun in hand.
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He remained calm and strode among these strangers. He had to set the right example for his team. If hisrecent encounter with the ODSTs in the gym of theAtlas had been any indication, he knew his teamwouldn’t interact well with the natives.
John made his way past dockworkers and robotic trams full of cargo and vendors selling roasted meat onsticks. He walked toward a set of double doors set in the far rock wall, marked: PUBLIC SHOWERS.He pushed through and didn’t look back.
The place was almost empty. One man was singing in the shower, and there were two rebel officersundressing near the towel dispensers.
John led his team to the most distant corner of the locker room and hunkered down on one of thebenches. Linda sat with her back to them, on lookout duty.
“So far so good,” John whispered. “This will be our fallback position if everything falls apart and we getseparated.”
Sam nodded. “Okay—we have a lead on how to find the Colonel. Anyone have any ideas how to get offthis rock once we grab him? Back into theLaden ’s water tank?”
“Too slow,” Kelly said. “We’ve got to assume that when Colonel Watt goes missing, his people aregoing to look for him.”
“There was a Pelican on the dock,” John said. “We’ll take it. Now let’s figure out how to operate thecranes and airlocks.”
Sam hefted his pack of explosives. “I know just the way to politely knock on those airlock doors. Don’tworry.”
Sam tapped his left foot. He only did that when he was eager to move. Fred’s hands were clenched intofists; he might be nervous, but he had it under control. Kelly yawned. And Linda sat absolutely still.They were ready.
John got his helmet, donned it, and checked the nav marker.
“Bearing 320,” he said. “It’s on the move.” He picked up his gear. “And so are we.”
They left the showers and strode through the dock, past massive drop doors and into a city. This part ofthe asteroid looked like a canyon carved into the rock; John could barely make out the ceiling faroverhead. There were skyscrapers and apartment buildings, factories, and even a small hospital.
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John ducked into an alley, slipped on his helmet, and pinpointed the blue nav marker. It overlay a cargotram that silently rolled down the street. There were three armed guards riding in the back.
The Spartans followed at a discreet distance.
John checked his exit routes. Too many people, and too many unknowns. Were the people here armed?Would they all engage if fighting started? A few of the people gave him strange looks.
“Spread out,” he whispered to his team. “We look like we’re on a parade ground.”
Kelly stepped up her pace and pulled ahead. Sam fell behind. Fred and Linda drifted to the right and left.
The cargo tram turned and made its way slowly through a crowded street. It stopped at a building. Thestructure was twelve stories tall, with balconies on every floor.
John guessed these were barracks.
There were two armed guards in white uniforms at the front entrance. The three men in the tram got outand carried the crate inside.
