Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [34]
Kurt had had to petition Colonel Ackerson for thirty extra slots for this final phase. He simply didn't have it in him to randomly cut thirty—when every last one of them was willing and ready to fight. Ackerson had gladly granted his request.
Kurt stood and saluted as the line of candidates passed him.
They marched by, returning his salute, heads held high, and chests out. On average only twelve years old, they looked closer to fifteen with the sculpted musculature of Olympic
athletes; many had hard-won scars; and all had an ineffable, confident air about them.
They were warriors. Kurt had never felt so proud.
The last candidate lingered, and then halted before him. It was Ash, serial number G099, leader of Team Saber. He was one of the fiercest, smartest, and best leaders in the class. His wavy brown hair was slightly over regulation length, but Kurt was inclined to let it slide, today of all days.
Ash snapped off a precise salute. "Sir, Spartan candidate G099 requesting permission to speak, sir."
"Granted," Kurt said, and finished his protracted salute.
"Sir, I…" Ash's voice cracked.
Many of the boys had problems with their vocal cords, still recovering from the rapidly induced puberty.
"I just wanted to let you know," Ash continued, "what an honor it's been to train under you. Chief Mendez, and Petty Officers Tom and Lucy. If I don't make it today, I wanted you to know that I wouldn't have done anything differently, sir."
"The honor has been mine," Kurt said. He held out his hand.
Ash stared at it a moment, and then he grasped Kurt's hand, clasped it firmly, and they
shook.
"I'll see you on the other side," Kurt said.
Ash nodded and left, catching up to the rest of the candidates.
Tom and Lucy both nodded their approvals.
"They're ready," Kurt whispered. He looked away so he
wouldn't have to meet their gazes. "I hope we are. We're taking a hell of a risk."
Kurt, Tom, and Lucy stopped at a staff conference room, now an improvised ONI command and control center. Medical technicians in blue lab coats watched 330 video monitors and bio-sign sets. Tom spoke to one of the techs while Kurt's gaze flicked from monitor to monitor.
He then went down to the open surgical arena. It had four hundred sections—each partitioned by semiopaque plastic curtaining, and each fitting with a sterile-field generator that blazed with its characteristic orange light overhead.
Kurt entered one unit and found SPARTAN-G122, Holly, there.
The partitioned area was crammed full of machines. There were stands with bio monitors. Several intravenous and osmotic patches connected her to a chemo-therapeutic infuser, loaded with a collection of liquid-filled vials that would keep Holly in a semisedated state while it delivered a cocktail of drugs over the next week. There was a crash cart and portable ventilator nearby, as well.
She struggled to rise and salute, but she fell back, her eyelids fluttering closed.
He went to Holly's side and clasped her tiny hand until she settled into a deep sleep.
She reminded him of Kelly when she was this young: full of spunk, and never giving up. He missed Kelly. He had been dead to his fellow SPARTAN-IIs for almost twenty years. He missed all of them.
The chemo-therapeutic infuser hissed, vials rotated into place, micromechanical pumps thumped, and bubbles percolated inside its colored liquids.
It was starting. Kurt remembered when he went through the augmentation. The fevers, the pain—it felt as if his bones were
breaking, like someone had poured napalm into his veins.
Holly shifted. The bio monitors showed a spike in her blood pressure and temperature. Tiny blisters appeared on her arms and she scratched at them. They filled with blood and then quickly smoothed into scabs.
Kurt patted Holly's hand one last time and then went to the infuser and lifted the side panel. Inside were dozens of solution vials. He squinted, reading off their serial numbers.
He spotted "8942-LQ99" inside the infuser. That was the carbide ceramic ossification catalyst to make skeletons virtually