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While most Naval officers agreed she was unsightly, every en-listed Marine Kurt had ever spoken with declared her the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.
The Hopeful had taken on mythical proportions with the men and women who had to fight and die on the front lines. She had been damaged, but had survived, eighteen major Naval battles with rebel forces and four encounters with the Covenant. The ship's staff and technology had a reputation of saving lives, in many cases literally bringing the dead back to life.
Today the ship had been parked in interstellar space— essentially the middle of nowhere—by order of Vice Admiral Parangosky. And while the thousands of critically ill patients could not be evacuated, the eight decks surrounding docking cluster Bravo had been cleared of all personnel while ONI moved in their equipment and staff. The SPARTAN-III program had to 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.