CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN
1210 Hours, September 14, 2525 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, Eridanus 2 space
dock, civilian Cargo Ship,Laden (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.
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 massive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship’s spacegrown
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.
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
from the orbital docking station.
John remembered Eridanus 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
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.”
“Won’t be that easy,” Fred said from the darkness. He flicked on his flashlight and peered back at John.
“There are a million ways this can go wrong. We’re going in without recon. I don’t like it.”
“We only have one advantage on this mission,” John said. “The rebels have never been infiltrated—
they’ll feel relatively safe and won’t be expecting us. But every extra second we stay . . . that’s another
chance for us to be spotted. We’ll follow Kelly’s hunch.”
“You questioning orders?” Sam asked Fred. “Scared?” There was a slight hint of challenge in his voice.
Fred thought for a moment. “No,” he whispered. “But this is no training mission. Our targets won’t be
firing stun rounds.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to fail.”
“We’re not going to fail,” John told him. “We’ve accomplished every mission we’ve been on before.”
That wasn’t entirely true: the augmentation mission had wiped out half of the Spartans. They weren’t
invincible.
But John wasn’t scared. A little nervous, maybe—but he was ready.
“Rotate sleep cycles,” John said. “Wake me up in four hours.”
He turned over and quickly nodded off to the sound of the sloshing water. He dreamed of gravball and a
coin spinning in the air. John caught it and yelled, “Eagle!” as he won again.
He always won.
Kelly nudged John’s shoulder and he was instantly awake, hand on his assault rifle.
“We’re decelerating,” she whispered, and pointed her light into the water below. The liquid tilted at a
twenty-degree inclination.
“Lights off,” John ordered.
They were plunged into total darkness.
He popped the hatch and snaked the fiber-optic probe—attached to his helmet—through the crack. All
clear.
They climbed out, then rappelled down the back of the ten-meter-tall tank. They donned their greasestained
coveralls and removed their helmets. The black suits looked a little bulky beneath the work
clothes, but the disguise would hold up to a cursory inspection. With their weapons and gear in duffel
bags, they’d pass as crew . . . from a distance.
They crept through a deserted corridor and into the cargo bay. They heard a million tiny metallic pings
as gravity settled the ship. TheLaden must be docking to a spinning station or a rotating asteroid.
The cargo bay was a huge room, stacked to its ceiling with barrels and crates. There were massive tanks
of oil. Automated robot forklifts scurried between rows, checking for items that might have come loose
in transit.
There was a terrific clang as a docking clamp grabbed the ship.
“Cigars are this way,” Kelly whispered. She consulted her data pad, then tucked it back into her pocket.
They moved out, clinging to the shadows. They stopped every few meters, listened, and made sure their
fields of fire were clear.
Kelly held up her hand and made a fist. She pointed to the secure hatch on the starboard side of the hold.
John signaled Fred and Kelly and motioned them to go forward. Fred used the lockbreaker on the door
and it popped open. They entered and closed it behind them.
John, Sam, and Linda waited. There was a sudden motion and the Spartans snapped their weapons to
firing positions—
A robot forklift passed down an adjacent aisle.
The massive aft doors of the cargo hold parted with a hiss. Light spilled into the hold. A dozen
dockworkers dressed in coveralls entered.
John gripped his MA2B tighter. One man looked down the aisle where they crouched in the shadows.
He stooped, paused—
John raised his weapon slowly, his hands steady, and sighted on the man’s chest. “Always shoot for
center of mass,” Mendez had barked during weapons training. The man stood, stretched his back, and
moved on, whistling quietly to himself.
Fred and Kelly returned, and Kelly opened and closed her hand, palm out—she had placed the marker.
John grabbed his helmet from his duffel bag and slipped it on. He pinged the navigation marker and saw
the blue triangle flash once on his heads-up display. He returned Kelly’s thumbs-up and removed the
helmet.
John stowed his helmet and MA2B and motioned for the rest of the team to do the same. They casually
walked out of theLaden ’s aft cargo hold and onto the rebel base.
The docking bay was hewn from solid rock. The ceiling stretched a kilometer high. Bright lights
overhead effectively illuminated the place, looking like tiny suns in the sky. There were hundreds of
ships docked within the cavern—tiny single craft, Mako-class corvettes, cargo freighters, and even a
captured UNSC Pelican dropship. Each craft was held by massive cranes that traveled on railroad tracks.
The tracks led toward a series of large airlock doors. That’s how theLaden must have gotten inside.
There were people everywhere: workers and men in crisp white uniforms. John’s first instinct was to
seek cover. Every one of them was a potential threat. He wished he had his gun in hand.
He remained calm and strode among these strangers. He had to set the right example for his team. If his
recent encounter with the ODSTs in the gym of theAtlas had been any indication, he knew his team
wouldn’t interact well with the natives.
John made his way past dockworkers and robotic trams full of cargo and vendors selling roasted meat on
sticks. He walked toward a set of double doors set in the far rock wall, marked: PUBLIC SHOWERS.
He pushed through and didn’t look back.
The place was almost empty. One man was singing in the shower, and there were two rebel officers
undressing near the towel dispensers.
John led his team to the most distant corner of the locker room and hunkered down on one of the
benches. Linda sat with her back to them, on lookout duty.
“So far so good,” John whispered. “This will be our fallback position if everything falls apart and we get
separated.”
Sam nodded. “Okay—we have a lead on how to find the Colonel. Anyone have any ideas how to get off
this rock once we grab him? Back into theLaden ’s water tank?”
“Too slow,” Kelly said. “We’ve got to assume that when Colonel Watt goes missing, his people are
going to look for him.”
“There was a Pelican on the dock,” John said. “We’ll take it. Now let’s figure out how to operate the
cranes and airlocks.”
Sam hefted his pack of explosives. “I know just the way to politely knock on those airlock doors. Don’t
worry.”
Sam tapped his left foot. He only did that when he was eager to move. Fred’s hands were clenched into
fists; he might be nervous, but he had it under control. Kelly yawned. And Linda sat absolutely still.
They were ready.
John got his helmet, donned it, and checked the nav marker.
“Bearing 320,” he said. “It’s on the move.” He picked up his gear. “And so are we.”
They left the showers and strode through the dock, past massive drop doors and into a city. This part of
the asteroid looked like a canyon carved into the rock; John could barely make out the ceiling far
overhead. There were skyscrapers and apartment buildings, factories, and even a small hospital.
John ducked into an alley, slipped on his helmet, and pinpointed the blue nav marker. It overlay a cargo
tram that silently rolled down the street. There were three armed guards riding in the back.
The Spartans followed at a discreet distance.
John checked his exit routes. Too many people, and too many unknowns. Were the people here armed?
Would they all engage if fighting started? A few of the people gave him strange looks.
“Spread out,” he whispered to his team. “We look like we’re on a parade ground.”
Kelly stepped up her pace and pulled ahead. Sam fell behind. Fred and Linda drifted to the right and left.
The cargo tram turned and made its way slowly through a crowded street. It stopped at a building. The
structure was twelve stories tall, with balconies on every floor.
John guessed these were barracks.
There were two armed guards in white uniforms at the front entrance. The three men in the tram got out
and carried the crate inside.
Kelly glanced at John. He nodded, giving her the go-ahead.
She approached the two guards, smiling. John knew her smile wasn’t friendly. She was smiling because
she was finally getting a chance to put her training to the test.
Kelly waved to the guard and pulled open the door. He asked her to stop and show her identification.
She stepped inside, grabbed his rifle, twisted, and dragged him inside with her.
The other guard stepped back and leveled his rifle. John sprang at him from behind, grabbed his neck
and snapped it, then dragged his limp body inside.
The entry room had cinderblock walls and a steel door with a swipe-card lock. A security camera
dangled limply over Kelly’s head. The guard she had dragged in lay at her feet. She was already running
a cracking program on the lock, using her data pad.
John retrieved his MA2B and covered her. Fred and Linda entered and slipped out of their coveralls,
then donned their helmets.
“Nav marker is moving,” Linda reported. “Mark 270, elevation ten meters, twenty . . . thirty-five and
holding. I’d say that’s the top floor.”
Sam entered, pulled the door shut behind him, and then jammed the lock. “All clear out there.”
The inner door clicked. “Door’s open,” Kelly said.
John, Kelly, and Sam slipped out of their coveralls as Fred and Linda covered them. John activated the
motion and thermal displays in his helmet. The target sight glowed as he raised his MA2B.
“Go,” John said.
Kelly pushed open the door. Linda stepped in and to the right. John entered and took the left.
Two guards were seated behind the lobby’s reception desk. Another man, without a uniform, stood in
front of the desk, waiting to be helped; two more uniformed men stood by the elevator.
Linda shot the three near the desk. John eliminated the targets by the elevator.
Five rounds—five bodies hit the floor.
Fred entered and policed the bodies, dragging them behind the counter.
Kelly moved to the stairwell, opened the door, and gave the all-clear signal.
The elevator pinged and its doors opened. They all wheeled, rifles leveled . . . but the car was empty.
John exhaled, then motioned them to take the stairs; Kelly took point. Sam brought up the rear. They
silently went up nine double flights of stairs.
Kelly halted on an upper landing. She pointed to the interior of the building, then pointed up.
John detected faint blurs of heat on the twelfth floor. They’d have to pick a better route, a way in that no
one would expect.
John opened the door. There was an empty hallway. No targets.
He went to the elevator doors and pried them open. Then he turned on his black suit’s cooling elements
to mask his thermal signature. The others did the same . . . and faded from his thermal imaging display.