remain under a cloak of absolute secrecy.
Kurt wished the Hopeful lived up to her reputation because today the lives of his Spartan potentials were at stake.
His candidates had had to endure so much in the last year. To
accelerate the program's timetable, puberty had been artificially induced. Human-growth hormone as well as cartilage, muscle, and bone supplements had been introduced into their diet, and the children had metamorphosed into near-adult stature within nine months.
They had become clumsy in their new, larger bodies, and had struggled to relearn how to run, shoot, jump, and fight.
And today, they'd face their most dangerous test. They would either become irreparably disfigured, die, or be transformed into Spartans.
No, that wasn't right. While these kids didn't have the heightened speed or strength of a Spartan, they already had the commitment, drive, and spirit. They already were Spartans.
Kurt heard boots clicking down the corridor, then muffled steps crossing the atrium lawn.
"Lieutenant, sir?"
A young man and woman approached with the long loping gaits of people who had spent much time in microgravity. They wore standard Naval uniforms bearing the stripes of a petty officer second class. Both had close-cropped black hair and dark eyes.
Kurt had had to pull a few strings to keep the Beta Company survivors of Pegasi Delta with him. Colonel Ackerson had wanted Tom for his own private operations. And ever-silent Lucy had narrowly avoided an unfit-for-duty classification and permanent reassignment to ONI psych branch for "evaluation."
He'd had to appeal to Vice Admiral Parangosky, claiming he needed Spartans to train Spartans.
Over Ackerson's objections, she had agreed.
The result: Tom and Lucy had become Kurt's right and left hands over these last years, and Gamma Company were the finest Spartans ever.
Tom and Lucy spent so much of their time in their SPI armor, it took Kurt a moment to recognizes his attaches. Their armor.
along with the rest of Gamma Company's Semi-Powered Infiltration suits, was being refitted with new photo-reactive coatings to boost their camouflaging properties. There were other experimental refits—gel ballistic layers, upgraded software suites, and other functions—that would hopefully be working within a year's time.
Tom and Lucy snapped off simultaneous salutes.
Kurt retuned the salute. "Report."
"The candidates are ready to board, sir," Tom said.
Kurt got up and the three of them walked back down the corridor and into docking cluster Bravo. It was the size of a small canyon with the capacity to cycle a fleet of dropships simultaneously through its massive air-lock system. There was ample space for triage and trams that could whisk an entire company of wounded soldiers to emergency surgical faculties.
Air locks screamed and there was a sudden gust of fresh air. Dozens of bay doors parted and Pelicans rolled into the bay on steam-powered beds.
The Pelicans' rear ramps lowered and the Spartan candidates filed out in orderly rows.
Kurt had briefed them about the procedures. They'd be sedated and injected with chemical cocktails and surgically altered to give them the strength of three normal soldiers, decrease their neural reaction time, and enhance their durability.
It was the final step in their transformation to Spartans.
It was graduation day.
He'd briefed them on the risks, too. He had shown them the archived videos of the results of the bioaugmentation phase of the SPARTAN-II program, how more than half of those candidates had washed out—either dying from the procedure or becoming so badly deformed they couldn't stand.
This would not happen to the SPARTAN-IIIs with the new medical protocols, but Kurt had wanted one final test.
Not one of the 330 candidates had opted out of the program.
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
Kurt wished the Hopeful lived up to her reputation because today the lives of his Spartan potentials were at stake.
His candidates had had to endure so much in the last year. To
accelerate the program's timetable, puberty had been artificially induced. Human-growth hormone as well as cartilage, muscle, and bone supplements had been introduced into their diet, and the children had metamorphosed into near-adult stature within nine months.
They had become clumsy in their new, larger bodies, and had struggled to relearn how to run, shoot, jump, and fight.
And today, they'd face their most dangerous test. They would either become irreparably disfigured, die, or be transformed into Spartans.
No, that wasn't right. While these kids didn't have the heightened speed or strength of a Spartan, they already had the commitment, drive, and spirit. They already were Spartans.
Kurt heard boots clicking down the corridor, then muffled steps crossing the atrium lawn.
"Lieutenant, sir?"
A young man and woman approached with the long loping gaits of people who had spent much time in microgravity. They wore standard Naval uniforms bearing the stripes of a petty officer second class. Both had close-cropped black hair and dark eyes.
Kurt had had to pull a few strings to keep the Beta Company survivors of Pegasi Delta with him. Colonel Ackerson had wanted Tom for his own private operations. And ever-silent Lucy had narrowly avoided an unfit-for-duty classification and permanent reassignment to ONI psych branch for "evaluation."
He'd had to appeal to Vice Admiral Parangosky, claiming he needed Spartans to train Spartans.
Over Ackerson's objections, she had agreed.
The result: Tom and Lucy had become Kurt's right and left hands over these last years, and Gamma Company were the finest Spartans ever.
Tom and Lucy spent so much of their time in their SPI armor, it took Kurt a moment to recognizes his attaches. Their armor.
along with the rest of Gamma Company's Semi-Powered Infiltration suits, was being refitted with new photo-reactive coatings to boost their camouflaging properties. There were other experimental refits—gel ballistic layers, upgraded software suites, and other functions—that would hopefully be working within a year's time.
Tom and Lucy snapped off simultaneous salutes.
Kurt retuned the salute. "Report."
"The candidates are ready to board, sir," Tom said.
Kurt got up and the three of them walked back down the corridor and into docking cluster Bravo. It was the size of a small canyon with the capacity to cycle a fleet of dropships simultaneously through its massive air-lock system. There was ample space for triage and trams that could whisk an entire company of wounded soldiers to emergency surgical faculties.
Air locks screamed and there was a sudden gust of fresh air. Dozens of bay doors parted and Pelicans rolled into the bay on steam-powered beds.
The Pelicans' rear ramps lowered and the Spartan candidates filed out in orderly rows.
Kurt had briefed them about the procedures. They'd be sedated and injected with chemical cocktails and surgically altered to give them the strength of three normal soldiers, decrease their neural reaction time, and enhance their durability.
It was the final step in their transformation to Spartans.
It was graduation day.
He'd briefed them on the risks, too. He had shown them the archived videos of the results of the bioaugmentation phase of the SPARTAN-II program, how more than half of those candidates had washed out—either dying from the procedure or becoming so badly deformed they couldn't stand.
This would not happen to the SPARTAN-IIIs with the new medical protocols, but Kurt had wanted one final test.
Not one of the 330 candidates had opted out of the program.
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
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