Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [22]
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 started project SPARTAN. Now? I . . . I just don’t know.”
“I have been over the ONI projections of Outer Colony stability three times, Doctor. Their conclusion is correct: 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 avoid overwhelming civilian losses. They will be the perfect pinpoint strike force. They can prevent a civil 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 your
attention, I must. If the Office of Naval Intelligence detects a delay in their prize project, you will likely be replaced by someone who harbors . . . fewer doubts. And regrettably for the children, most likely someone less qualified.”
“I hate this.” Dr. Halsey got up and strode to the fire exit. “And sometimes, Déjà, I hate you, too.” She left 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 been shaved and incision vectors had been lasered onto his entire body. Despite these indignities, Dr. Halsey marveled at what a spectacular physical specimen he had grown into. Fourteen years old and he had the body of an eighteen-year-old Olympic athlete, and a mind the equal of any Naval Academy honors graduate.
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’m fighting 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’s
exercises. But I don’t know what the twist is. Can you tell me, Dr. Halsey? Just this time? How do I win?” 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.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
0000 Hours March 30, 2525 (Military Calendar) / UNSC Carrier Atlas en route to the Lambda Serpentis 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 the ash 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, and
bustling with activity—were unusually quiet. TheAtlas ’s firing deck had been cleared of munitions and crew. 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. We shall 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, quickly falling 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 part
of himself. It felt like leaving his people behind.
Mendez’s face might as well been chiseled from stone, for all the emotion