“Spare me the banter, Déjà. I’m not in the mood. Just concentrate on the decryption.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Dr. Halsey paced across the antiseptic white tile of the Observation Room. One side of the room wasfilled with floor-to-ceiling terminals that monitored the vital signs of the children—test subjects, shecorrected herself. They displayed drug uptake rates and winking green, blue, and red status indicators:EKGs, pulse rates, and a hundred other pieces of medical data.
The other side of the observation room overlooked dozens of translucent domes, windows into thesurgical bays on the level below. Each bay was a sealed environment, staffed with the best surgeons andbiotechnicians that the Office of Naval Intelligence could drum up. The bays had been scrubbed andirradiated and were in the final preparation stages to receive and hold the special biohazardous materials.
“Done,” Déjà announced. “The file awaits your inspection, Doctor.”
Dr. Halsey stopped her pacing and sat. “On my glasses, please, Déjà.”
Her glasses scanned retinal and brain patterns, and the security barrier of the file lifted. With a blink ofher eyes, she opened the file.
It read:
United Nations Space Command Priority Transmission 09872H-98
Encryption Code:Red
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Public Key:file /excised access Omega/
From:Admiral Ysionris Jeromi, Chief Medical Officer, UNSC Research Station Hopeful
To:Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey M.D., Ph.D., special civilian consultant (civilian IdentificationNumber: 10141-026-SRB4695)
Subject:Mitigating factors and relative biological risks associated with queried experimental medicalprocedures.
Classification:RESTRICTED (BGX Directive)
/start file/
Catherine,
I am afraid further analysis has yielded no viable alternatives to mitigate the risks in your proposed
“hypothetical” experimentation. I have, however, attached the synopsis of my team’s findings as well asall relevant case studies. Perhaps you will find them useful.
I hope it is a hypothetical study . . . the use of Binobo chimpanzees in your proposal is troublesome.These animals are expensive and rare now since they are no longer bred in captivity. I would hate to seesuch valuable specimens wasted in some Section Three project.
Best,
y.j.
She winced at the veiled rebuke in the Admiral’s communiqué. He had never approved of her decisionto work with the Office of Naval Intelligence, and made his disappointment with his star pupil evidentevery time she visitedHopeful.
It was hard enough to justify the morality of the course she was about to embark upon. Jeromi’sdisapproval only made her decision more difficult.
Dr. Halsey gritted her teeth and returned to the report.
Synopsis of chemical/ biological risks
WARNING: the following procedures are classified level-3 experimental. Primate test subjectsmust be cleared through UNSC Quartermaster General Office code: OBF34. Follow gamma code
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biohazard disposal protocol.
1. Carbide ceramic ossification:advanced material grafting onto skeletal structures to make bonesvirtually unbreakable. Recommended coverage not to exceed 3 percent total bone mass because ofsignificant white blood cell necrosis. Specific risk for pre- and near-postpubescent adolescents: skeletalgrowth spurts may cause irreparable bone pulverization. See attached case studies.
2.Muscular enhancement injections: protein complex is injected intramuscularly to increase tissuedensity and decrease lactase recovery time. Risk: 5 percent of test subjects experience a fatal cardiacvolume increase.
3. Catalytic thyroid implant:platinum pellet containing human growth hormone catalyst is implanted inthe thyroid to boost growth of skeletal and muscle tissues. Risk: rare instances of elephantiasis.Suppressed sexual drive.
4. Occipital capillary reversal:submergence and boosted blood vessel flow beneath the rods and conesof subject’s retina. Produces a marked visual perception increase. Risk: retinal rejection and detachment.Permanent blindness. See attached autopsy reports.
5. Superconducting fibrification of neural dendrites:alteration of bioelectrical nerve transduction toshielded electronic transduction. Three hundred percent increase in subject reflexes. Anecdotal evidenceof marked increase in intelligence, memory, and creativity. Risk: significant instances of Parkinson’sdisease and Fletcher’s syndrome.
/end file/
PressENTER to open linked attachments.
Dr. Halsey closed the file. She erased all traces of it—sent Déjà to track the file pathways all the wayback toHopeful and destroy Admiral Jeromi’s notes and files relative to this incident.
She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’m sorry,” Déjà said. “I, too, had hoped there would be some new process to lower the risks.”
Dr. Halsey sighed. “I have doubts, Déjà. I thought the reasons so compelling when we first startedproject SPARTAN. Now? I . . . I just don’t know.”
“I have been over the ONI projections of Outer Colony stability three times, Doctor. Their conclusion iscorrect: massive rebellion within twenty years unless drastic military action is taken. And you know the‘drastic military action’ the brass would like. The SPARTANS are our only option to avoidoverwhelming civilian losses. They will be the perfect pinpoint strike force. They can prevent a civil
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war.”
“Only if they survive to fulfill that mission,” Dr. Halsey countered. “We should delay the procedures.More research needs to be done. We could use the time to work on MJOLNIR. We need time to—”
“There is another reason to proceed expeditiously,” Déjà said. “Although I am loath to bring this to yourattention, I must. If the Office of Naval Intelligence detects a delay in their prize project, you will likelybe replaced by someone who harbors . . . fewer doubts. And regrettably for the children, most likelysomeone less qualified.”
“I hate this.” Dr. Halsey got up and strode to the fire exit. “And sometimes, Déjà, I hate you, too.” Sheleft the observation room.
Mendez was waiting for her in the hallway.
“Walk with me, Chief,” she said.
He followed without a word as they took the stairs to the pre-op wing of the hospital.
They entered room 117. John lay in bed and an IV drip was attached to his arm. His head had beenshaved and incision vectors had been lasered onto his entire body. Despite these indignities, Dr. Halseymarveled at what a spectacular physical specimen he had grown into. Fourteen years old and he had thebody of an eighteen-year-old Olympic athlete, and a mind the equal of any Naval Academy honorsgraduate.
Dr. Halsey forced the best smile she could muster. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, ma’am,” John replied groggily. “The nurse said the sedation would take effect soon. I’mfighting it to see how long I can stay awake.” His eyelids fluttered. “It’s not easy.”
John spotted Mendez and he struggled to sit up and salute, but failed. “I know this is one of the Chief’sexercises. But I don’t know what the twist is. Can you tell me, Dr. Halsey? Just this time? How do Iwin?”
Mendez looked away.
Dr. Halsey leaned closer to John as he closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply.
“I’ll tell you how to win, John,” she whispered. “You have to survive.”
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CHAPTER SEVEN
0000 Hours March 30, 2525 (Military Calendar) /UNSC CarrierAtlas en route to the LambdaSerpentis system
“And so we commit the bodies of our fallen brothers to space.”
Mendez solemnly closed his eyes for a moment, the ceremony completed. He pressed a control and theash canisters moved slowly into the ejection tubes . . . and the void beyond.
John stood rigidly at attention. The carrier’s missile launch bays—normally cramped, overcrowded, andbustling with activity—were unusually quiet. TheAtlas ’s firing deck had been cleared of munitions andcrew. Long, unadorned black banners now hung from the bay’s overhead gantries.
“Honors . . .ten hut !” Mendez barked.
John and the other surviving Spartans saluted in unison.
“Duty,” Mendez said. “Honor and self sacrifice. Death does not diminish these qualities in a soldier. Weshall remember.”
A series of thumps resounded through theAtlas ’s hull as the canisters were hurled into space.
The view screen flickered and displayed a field of stars. The canisters appeared one by one, quicklyfalling behind the carrier as it continued on its course.
John watched. With each of the stainless-steel cylinders that drifted by, he felt that he was losing a partof himself. It felt like leaving his people behind.
Mendez’s face might as well been chiseled from stone, for all the emotion it showed. He finished hisprotracted salute and then said, “Crewmen, dismissed.”
Not everything had been lost. John glanced around the launch chamber; Sam, Kelly, and thirty othersstill stood at attention in their black dress uniforms. They had made it unharmed through the last—mission wasn’t quite the right word. More or less.
There were a dozen others, though, who had lived . . . but were no longer soldiers. It hurt John to look at
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them. Fhajad sat in a wheelchair, shaking uncontrollably. Kirk and René were in neutral-buoyancy geltanks, breathing through respirators; their bones had been so twisted they no longer looked human.There were others, still alive, but with injuries so critical they could not be moved.
Orderlies pushed Fhajad and the other injured toward the elevator.
John strode toward them and stopped, blocking their path. “Stand fast, Crewman,” he demanded.“Where are you taking my men?”
The orderly halted and his eyes widened. He swallowed and then said, “I, sir . . . I have my orders, sir.”
“Squad Leader,” Mendez called out. “A moment.”
“Stay,” John told the orderly, and marched to face Chief Mendez. “Yes, sir.”
“Let them go,” Mendez said quietly. “They can’t fight anymore. They don’t belong here.”
John inadvertently glanced at the view screen and the long line of canisters as they shrank in thedistance. “What will happen to my men?”
“The Navy takes care of its own,” Mendez replied, and lifted his chin a little higher. “They may nolonger be the fastest or the strongest soldiers—but they still have sharp minds. They can still planmissions, analyze data, troubleshoot ops . . .”
John exhaled a sigh of relief. “That’s all any of us ask for, sir: a chance to serve.” He turned to faceFhajad and the others. He snapped to attention and saluted. Fhajad managed to raise one shaking armand return the salute.
The orderlies wheeled them away.
John looked at what remained of his squad. None of them had moved since the memorial ceremony.They were waiting for their next mission.
“Our orders, sir?” John asked.
“Two days full bed rest, Squad Leader. Then microgravity physical therapy aboard theAtlas until yourecover from the side effects of your augmentation.”
Side effects.John flexed his hand. He was clumsy now. Sometimes he could barely walk without falling.Dr. Halsey had assured him that these “side effects” were a good sign. “Your brain must relearn how tomove your body with faster reflexes and stronger muscles,” she told him. But his eyes hurt, and they
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bled a little in the morning, too. He had constant headaches. Every bone in his body ached.
John didn’t understand any of this. He only knew that he had a duty to perform—and now he feared hewouldn’t be able to. “Is that all, sir?” he asked Mendez.
“No,” the Chief replied. “Déjà will be running your squad through the dropship pilot simulator as soonas they are up to it. And,” he added, “if they are up for the challenge, she wanted to cover some moreorganic chemistry and complex algebra.”
“Yes, sir,” John replied, “we’re up to the challenge.”
“Good.”
John continued to stand fast.
“Was there something else, Squad Leader?”
John furrowed his brow, hesitated, and then finally said, “I was Squad Leader. The last mission wastherefore my responsibility . . . and members of my squaddied . What did I do wrong?”
Mendez stared at John with his impenetrable black eyes. He glanced at the squad, then back to John.“Walk with me.” He led John to the view screen. He stood and watched as the last of the canistersvanished into the darkness.
“A leader must be ready to send the soldiers under his command to their deaths,” Mendez said withoutturning to face John. “You do this because your duty to the UNSC supersedes your duty to yourself oreven your crew.”
John looked away from the view screen. He couldn’t look at the emptiness anymore. He didn’t want tothink of his teammates—friends who were like brothers and sisters to him—forever lost.
“It is acceptable,” Mendez said, “to spend their lives if necessary.” He finally turned and meet John’sgaze. “It is not acceptable, however, to waste those lives. Do you understand the difference?”
“I . . . believe I understand, sir,” John said. “But which was it on this last mission? Lives spent? Or liveswasted?”
Mendez turned back toward the blackness of space and didn’t answer.
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0430 Hours, April 22, 2525 (Military Calendar) /UNSC CarrierAtlas on patrol in the LambdaSerpentis System
John oriented himself as he entered the gym.
From the stationary corridor, it was easy to see that this section of theAtlas rotated. The constantacceleration gave the circular walls a semblance of gravity.
Unlike the other portions of the carrier, however, this section wasn’t cylindrical, but rather a segmentedcone. The outer portion was wider and rotated more slowly than the narrower inner portion—simulatinggravitational forces from one quarter to two gravities along the length of the gym.
There were free weights, punching and speed bags, a boxing ring, and machines to stretch and toneevery muscle group. No one else was up this early. He had the place to himself.
John started with arm curls. He went to the center section, calibrated at one gee, and picked up a twenty-kilogram dumbbell. It felt wrong—too light. The spin must be off. He set the weights down and pickedup a forty-kilogram set. That felt right.
For the last three weeks the Spartans had gone through a daily routine of stretching, isometric exercises,light sparring drills, and lots of eating. They were under orders to consume five high-protein meals aday. After every meal they had to report to the ship’s medical bay for a series of mineral and vitamininjections. John was looking forward to getting back to Reach and his normal routine.
