The red flag was gone. "Show me that again," Dr. Halsey said unbelievingly. "You recorded all that, didn't you?" "Of course." Mendez tapped a b.u.t.ton but the monitors played back-static. "d.a.m.n it. They got to the cameras, too," he muttered, impressed. "Every time we find a new place to hide them, they disable the recording devices." Dr. Halsey leaned against the gla.s.s wall staring at the carnage below. "Very well, Chief Mendez, what else do I need to know?"

"Your Spartans can run at bursts of up to fifty-five KPH," he explained. "Kelly can run a little faster, I think. They will only get quicker as they adjust to the 'alterations' we've made to their bodies. They can lift three times their body weight-which, I might add, is almost double the norm due to their increased muscle density. And they can virtually see in the dark."

Dr. Halsey pondered this new data. "They should not be performing so well. There must be unexplained synergistic effects brought on by the combined modifications. What are their reaction times?"

"Almost impossible to chart. We estimate it at twenty milliseconds," Mendez replied. He shook his head, then added, "I believe it's significantly faster in combat situations, when their adrenaline is pumping."

"Any physiological or mental instabilities?"

"None. They work like no team I've ever seen before. d.a.m.n near telepathic, if you ask me. They were dropped in these caves yesterday, and I don't know where they got black suits or the rope that for that maneuver, but I can guarantee they haven't left this room. They improvise and improve and adapt.

"And," he added, "theylike it. The tougher the challenge, the harder the fight . . . the better their morale becomes." it. The tougher the challenge, the harder the fight . . . the better their morale becomes."

Dr. Halsey watched as the first trainer stirred and struggled to get out of his inert armor. "They might as well have been killed," she murmured. "But can the Spartans kill, Chief? Kill on purpose? Are they ready for real combat?"

Mendez looked away and paused before he spoke. "Yes. If we ordered them to, they would kill quite efficiently." His body stiffened. "May I ask what 'real combat' you mean, ma'am?"

She clasped her hands and wrung them nervously. "Something has happened, Chief. Something ONI and the Admiralty never expected. The bra.s.s wants to deploy the Spartans. They want to test them in a real combat mission."

"They're as ready for that as I can make them," Mendez said. He narrowed his dark eyes. "But this is far ahead of your schedule. What happened? I've heard rumors there was some heavy action near Harvest colony."

"Your rumors are out-of-date, Chief," she said, and a chill crept into her voice. "There's no more fighting at Harvest. Thereis no more Harvest." no more Harvest."

Dr. Halsey punched the descent b.u.t.ton, and the observation room slowly lowered to the floor.

"Get them out of this hole," she said crisply. "I want them ready to muster at 0400. We have a briefing at 0600 tomorrow aboard thePioneer . We're taking them on a mission ONI has been saving for the right crew and the right time. This is it." . We're taking them on a mission ONI has been saving for the right crew and the right time. This is it."

"Yes, ma'am," Mendez replied.

"Tomorrow we see if all the pain they've been through has been worth it."

CHAPTER NINE.

0605 Hours, September 12, 2525 (Military Calendar) / UNSC Destroyer Pioneer Pioneer , en route to Erida.n.u.s System. , en route to Erida.n.u.s System.

John and the other Spartans stood at ease. The briefing room aboard the UNSC DestroyerPioneer made him uncomfortable. The holographic made him uncomfortable. The holographic projectors at the fore end of the triangular room showed the field of stars visible off the bow of the ship. John wasn't used to seeing so much s.p.a.ce; he kept expecting the room to decompress explosively. The stars flickered and faded and the overhead lights warmed. Chief Petty Officer Mendez and Dr.

Halsey entered the room. The Spartans snapped to attention. "At ease," Mendez said. He clasped his hands behind his back and clenched his jaw muscles. The Chief looked almost . . . nervous. That made John nervous, too. Dr. Halsey walked to the podium. The overhead light reflected off her gla.s.ses. "Good morning, Spartans. I have good news for you. The word has come down. Command has decided to test your unique abilities. You have a new mission: an insurgent base in the Erida.n.u.s System." A star map appeared on the wall and zoomed in to show a warm orange sun ringed with twelve planets. "In 2513, an armed insurrection in this system was suppressed by the UNSC force-Operation: TREBUCHET."

An intersystem tactical map appeared, and tiny icons representing destroyers and carriers winked on.

They engaged a force of a hundred smaller ships. Pinpoints of fire appeared against the dark. "The insurrection was put down," Dr. Halsey continued. "However, elements of the rebel forces escaped and regrouped in the local asteroid belt."

The map tilted and moved into the circle of debris around the star. "Billions of rocks," Dr. Halsey said, "where they hid from our forces . . . and continue to hide to this day. For some time ONI believed that the rebels were disorganized, and were lacking in leadership. That appears to have changed.

"We believe that one of these asteroids has been hollowed out, and that a formidable base has been constructed within. UNSC explorations into the belt have met either with no contact or with an ambush by superior forces."

She paused, pushed up her gla.s.ses, and added, "The Office of Naval Intelligence has also confirmed that FLEETCOM has discovered a security breach within their organization-a rebel sympathizer leaking information to these forces."

John and the other Spartans shifted uneasily. A leak? It was possible. Deja had shown them many historical battles that had been won and lost because of traitors or informants. But it never occurred to him that it could happen in the UNSC.

A flat picture flashed over the star map: a middle-aged man with thinning hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and watery gray eyes.

"This is their leader," Dr. Halsey said. "Colonel Robert Watts. The original photo was taken after Operation: TREBUCHET and has been computer aged.

"Your mission is to infiltrate the rebel base, capture Watts, and return him-alive and unharmed-to UNSC-controlled s.p.a.ce. This will deprive the rebels of their new leadership. And it will provide ONI a chance to interrogate Watts and root out traitors within FLEETCOM."

Dr. Halsey stepped aside. "Chief Mendez?"

Mendez exhaled and unclasped his hands. He strode to the podium and cleared his throat. "This operation will be different from your previous missions. You will be engaging the enemy using live rounds and lethal force. They will be returning the favor. If there is any doubt, any confusion-and make no mistake: in combat, there will be confusion-takeno chances. Kill first, ask questions later. chances. Kill first, ask questions later.

"Support on this mission will be limited to the resources and firepower of this destroyer," Mendez continued. "This is to minimize the chance of a leak in the command structure."

Mendez walked to the star map. The face of Colonel Watts snapped off and blueprints for a Parabola-cla.s.s freighter appeared.

"Although we don't know the location of the rebel base, we believe they receive periodic shipments from Erida.n.u.s Two. The independent freighterLaden is due to leave s.p.a.ce dock in six hours for a routine recertification of her engines. She is being loaded with enough food and water to supply a small city. Additionally, her captain has been identified as a rebel officer thought to have been killed during is due to leave s.p.a.ce dock in six hours for a routine recertification of her engines. She is being loaded with enough food and water to supply a small city. Additionally, her captain has been identified as a rebel officer thought to have been killed during Operation: TREBUCHET.

"You will slip aboard this freighter and hopefully hitch a ride to the rebel base. Once there, infiltrate the installation, grab Watts, and get off of that rock any way you can."

Chief Mendez gazed at them all. "Questions?"

"Sir," John said. "What are our extraction options?"

"You have two options: a panic b.u.t.ton that will relay a distress signal to a preestablished listening ship. Also, thePioneer will stay on-station . . . briefly. Our window here is thirteen hours." He tapped the star map on the edge of the asteroid belt and it glowed with a blue Nav marker. "I'll leave the extraction choice up to you. But let me point out that this asteroid belt has a circ.u.mference of more than a billion kilometers . . . making it impossible to canva.s.s with ONI surveillance craft. If things get hot, you will be on your own. will stay on-station . . . briefly. Our window here is thirteen hours." He tapped the star map on the edge of the asteroid belt and it glowed with a blue Nav marker. "I'll leave the extraction choice up to you. But let me point out that this asteroid belt has a circ.u.mference of more than a billion kilometers . . . making it impossible to canva.s.s with ONI surveillance craft. If things get hot, you will be on your own.

"Any other questions?"

The Spartans sat, silent and immobile.

"No? Well, listen up, Recruits," Mendez added. "This time I've told you all the twists that I know of. Be prepared for anything." His gaze fixed on John. "Squad Leader, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Petty Officer Third Cla.s.s."

"Sir!" John snapped to attention.

"a.s.semble your team and equipment. Be ready to muster at 0300. We'll drop you off at the Erida.n.u.s Two docks. You're on your own from there."

"Yes, sir!" John said.

Mendez saluted. He and Dr. Halsey then left the room.

John turned to face his teammates. The other Spartans stood at attention. Thirty-three-too many for this operation. He needed a small team: five or six maximum.

"Sam, Kelly, Linda, and Fred, meet me in the weapons locker in ten minutes." The other Spartans sighed and their gazed dropped to the deck. "The rest of you fall out. You'll have the more difficult part of this mission: You'll have to wait here."

The weapons locker of thePioneer had been stocked with a bewildering array of combat equipment. On a table were guns, knives, communication gear, body armor explosives, medical packs, survival gear, portable computers, even a thruster pack for maneuvering in s.p.a.ce. had been stocked with a bewildering array of combat equipment. On a table were guns, knives, communication gear, body armor explosives, medical packs, survival gear, portable computers, even a thruster pack for maneuvering in s.p.a.ce.

More important than the equipment, however, John a.s.sessed his team.

Sam had recovered from the augmentation faster than any of the other Spartans. He paced impatiently around the crates of grenades. He was the strongest of them all. He stood taller than John by a head. He had grown out his sandy hair to three centimeters. Chief Mendez had warned him that he was going to look like a civilian soon.

Kelly, in contrast, had taken the longest to recover. She stood in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest. John had thought she wasn't going to make it. She was still gaunt and her hair had yet to grow back. Her face, however, still had its rough, angular beauty. She scared John a little, too. She was fast before . . . now no one could touch her if she didn't allow it.

Fred sat cross-legged on the deck, twirling a razor-edged combat knife in glittering arcs. He always came in second in all the contests. John thought he could have come in first, but he just didn't like the attention. He was neither too short nor too tall. He wasn't overly muscled or slim. His black hair was shot with streaks of silver-a feature he hadn't had before the augmentation. If anyone in the group could blend into a crowd, it would be him.

Linda was the quietest member of the group. She was pale, had close-cropped red hair, and green eyes. She was a crack shot, an artist with a sniper rifle.

Kelly circled the table once, and then selected a pair of grease-stained blue coveralls. Her name had been sloppily embroidered on the chest. "These our new trainee uniforms?"

"ONI provided them," John said. "They're supposed to match what the crew of theLaden wears." wears."

Kelly held the coveralls up and frowned. "They don't give a girl much to work with."

"Try this on for size." Linda held a black body suit up to Kelly's long slender frame.

They had used these black suits before. They were form-fitting, lightweight polymer body armor. They could deflect a small-caliber round and had refrigeration/heating units that would mask infrared signatures. The integrated helmet had encryption and communications gear, a heads-up display, and thermal and motion detectors. Sealed tight, the unit had a fifteen-minute reserve of oxygen to let the wearer survive in vacuum.

The suits were uncomfortable, and they were tricky to repair in the field. And they always needed 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 with nothing 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 we have to. Except Linda."

Linda gravitated to a matte-black long-barreled rifle-the SRS99C-S2 AM. The sniper rifle system had modular sections: scopes, stocks, barrels, even the firing mechanism could be swapped. She quickly stripped the rifle down and reconfigured it. She a.s.sembled a flash-and-sound suppression barrel, and then to compensate for the lower muzzle velocity, she increased the ammunition caliber to .450. She ditched all the sights and scopes and settled for an integrated link to her helmet's heads-up display. She pocketed five extended ammunition clips.

John also chose an MA2B, a cut-down version of the standard MA5B a.s.sault rifle. It was tough and reliable, 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 t.i.tanium carbide, and balanced for throwing.

John grabbed the panic b.u.t.ton-a tiny single-shot emergency beacon. It had two settings. The red setting alerted thePioneer that it had hit the fan, and to come in guns blazing. The green setting merely marked the location of the base for later a.s.sault by the UNSC. that it had hit the fan, and to come in guns blazing. The green setting merely marked the location of the base for later a.s.sault by the UNSC.

He took a double handful of ammo clips-then paused. He set them down and pocketed five. If they got into 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 IR links. She also had their field medical kit.

Fred packed a standard-issue lockbreaker.

Linda selected three nav marker transmitters, each the size of a tick. The trackers could be adhered to an object 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 high explosives 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 celebrate the 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."

CHAPTER TEN.

1210 Hours, September 14, 2525 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, Erida.n.u.s 2 s.p.a.ce dock, civilian Cargo Ship,Laden (registry number F-0980W) (registry number F-0980W) "Spartan 117: in position. Next check-in at 0400." John clicked off the microphone, encrypted the message, and fed it into his COM relay. He triggered a secure burst transmission to theAthens , the ONI prowler ship on station a few AUs distant. , the ONI prowler 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 nets so they could rest in relative comfort. Below them lay a hundred thousand liters of black water, and surrounding them, two centimeters of stainless steel. Sam rigged the fill sensor so the reservoir's computer wouldn't let any more water flow into the storage tank. The lights in their helmets cast a pattern 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 mounted around the ship's carousel system-the ma.s.sive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship's s.p.a.ce-grown crops. showed a number of hydroponic pods mounted around the ship's carousel system-the ma.s.sive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship's s.p.a.ce-grown crops.

Perfect.

They had easily slipped past the lone guard in theLaden 's main cargo bay and into the nearly deserted center section. The water tank would mask their thermal signatures, and block any motion sensors. 's main cargo bay and into the nearly deserted center 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 get very 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 and linked to the ship's network. "I'm in," she reported. "There's no AI or serious encryption . . . accessing their system now." She tapped the pad a few more times and activated the intrusion software-the best that 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 their flashlights.

The tank reverberated as theLaden 's engines flared to life. The water tilted as they accelerated away 's engines flared to life. The water tilted as they accelerated away from the orbital docking station. John remembered Erida.n.u.s 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. He had to stay alert-or failing that, grab some sleep so he would be alert when he needed to be. Chief Mendez 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, frozen orange 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 a . John scrolled down the list: water, flour, milk, frozen orange 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 a crate of champagne, a Beta Centauri vintage. There were fast-chilled New York steaks, and Swiss chocolates. 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 Watts or his officers."

"Good work," John replied. "We'll tag this stuff and follow it."