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She watched Locklear carefully, gauging his reaction, and saw that he pulled away slightly at this last remark; it had hit home.
"And what the hell am I supposed to do with it?"
"Keep it safe," she told him. "Guard it with your life, because if the Covenant ever get it, they'll be able to jump through Slipspace a hundred times faster than they can now. Do you understand?"
Locklear closed his large fist around the crystal. "Not really, Doc. But I can take care of it." He paused and wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "But why me? Why not ask one of your Spartans?"
" 'My' Spartans," Dr. Halsey replied in a whisper, "could be ordered to hand it over to Lieutenant Haverson. And he'd risk
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getting it back to ONI Section Three—even if he had to gamble that the Covenant might get it."
Locklear snorted. "Well, as much as I don't like El-Tee White-bread, I'd hand it over if ordered, too. What's the big deal, any?way? We're almost home."
"Almost," Dr. Halsey repeated, and she gave him a slight smile. "But the moment you jump, this crystal emits radiation like a signal flare. The Covenant will find this ship ... and maybe this time they'll win the battle in Slipspace."
Locklear grimaced.
She held his steely gaze a moment and then finally let go of his hand. "So I know you'll do whatever it takes to prevent this object from falling into enemy hands."
He nodded grimly. "I read you, Doc. Loud and clear." There was a hint of respect in his voice. "I know what I have to do ... count on it."
"Good," she said.
The elevator doors parted. Locklear stuffed the crystal into his ammunition vest, and Locklear wheeled the table into the Gettysburg's launch bay. "Where do you want her?"
The bay was a beehive of activity: A hundred of Governor Jiles's crew jogged to and from passages carrying data pad schematics and field multiscanners; robotic dollies carried fat Archer missiles, spiderlike Antilon mines, and slender pods of deuterium fuel for the Gettysburg's auxiliary reactors; three Longsword fighter craft were being repaired; exoskeletons thud?ded along the deck, carrying plates of titanium and welding them in place.
"There," Dr. Halsey told Locklear. "Take her to that ship." She pointed to Governor Jiles's Chiroptera-class vessel. It sat on the deck looking like a sleeping bat. Its oddly angled stealth sur?faces blended into the shadows.
Locklear shrugged and pushed the loaded gurney.
Dr. Halsey halted by the ship's port hatch. It was sealed so tightly that no seam could be discerned.
She retrieved the thermal printout from her coat and rechecked its contents. She then touched a recessed button on the hull, and a tiny plate slid aside revealing an alphanumeric keyboard. Dr. Halsey typed in a long string and pressed ENTER.
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The hatch parted with a hiss.
She smiled. "Not even Cortana could crack their crypto, in?deed." She waved Locklear inside.
Locklear obliged her and pushed the gurney into the ship. Dr. Halsey followed, secured the examination table, and escorted Locklear outside. She turned and headed back into the vessel.