One of the sleeping ones, a girl, dozed with one eye open. Her shorn hair had been buzz-cut to mimic animal claw marks. She couldn't be more than twelve. She blinked, sat up, and made a subtle sideways "cut" gesture to the others.
They stopped and together turned to Dr. Halsey.
Their faces were young, but they had the well-developed physiques of Olympic athletes.
These had to be Ackerson's SPARTAN-IIIs.
Dr. Halsey felt a curious mix of revulsion and maternalism.
"How are you feeling?" Kelly asked.
"Fine," she answered, and continued to examine her surroundings.
There was carbon scoring and melted gobs of metal, as if the place had been bombed.
Near Mendez was what looked as if it had once been a computer workstation—now a solid lump.
Chief Mendez misread her gaze, and thinking she was looking at him, gave her a short bow.
"Doctor, it's good to see you," he said, "but you and SPARTAN-087 have landed yourselves into a kettle of fish… boiling water and all. If you're well enough, I can fill you in.
But take your time; there's no rush if you feel sick"
"Indeed?" Dr. Halsey said, and raised one eyebrow.
She resented being treated like an invalid moron. As if a minor acceleration-induced blackout had crippled her mental faculties.
"Indulge me. Chief," she said. "Allow me to make a few educated guesses as to your 'kettle of fish'—just to test my mental state."
Chief Mendez made a gracious gesture with his cigar. "Please, Doctor."
"Where to start… ?" Dr. Halsey tapped her lower lip, thinking. "I suppose with you. Chief.
You were recruited by Colonel Ackerson and some secret subcell of Section Three to train a new generation of Spartans."
The Chief's cigar dropped from his fingers.
She nodded toward the teens playing cards. "These must be the product of those efforts.
I'm eager to question them about their training and augmentation and discover what else has been accomplished."
The young Spartans looked amongst themselves, curiosity flickering over their faces.
Kelly shifted in her kneeling stance, moved her weight onto her left foot as if preparing to pounce. Kelly was a finely honed weapon, but she had never learned how to conceal her emotions. Her body language spoke volumes: these third-generation Spartans made her nervous.
That made her nervous, too.
Dr. Halsey knew her conclusions about these new Spartans had been correct, but there were so many more unanswered questions. Mendez and Colonel Ackerson had had decades to produce and train two or three generations. If this were true, then why had she never heard of these Spartans? Keeping a pilot program secret was one thing; keeping dozens of next-generation Spartans who were likely fighting and winning battles hidden was another matter entirely.
The implications of that silence chilled her to the bone.
For now, though, she had to at least appear to know everything.
Dr. Halsey stood and took a deep breath, smelling ash, vaporized aluminum, and the faint odor of carbonized meat.
"Next," she said, "this bunker has been subjected to extreme temperature that approximately matches the blackbody radiation profile from the drones we encountered in space. I surmise that a battle has occurred here."
She glanced at the young Spartans and the dents and flash-burn scoring on their armor.
"A battle, I see, that has been rather one-sided."
"The drones," the girl with the stylized buzz cut whispered. "What are they?"
"A question, good." Dr. Halsey almost smiled. It was a fine beginning step between her and the new Spartans: teaching them. Trust would come later.
"The drones, actually called Sentinels, are similar to those I have seen on an alien construct world," she explained. "Their builders, called Forerunners, possess technology more advanced than the Covenant. And they have just as much, or more, willingness to use that technology to destructive ends."
Dr. Halsey turned and stepped toward the other unknown figure in full camouflaging armor. "But before I continue along theoretical lines of speculation, let me finish with the simple chains of logic."
The unknown person stood nearly two and a half meters tall in his armor.
"I recognize my work," she declared. "You are a SPARTAN-II." Very few soldiers in the UNSC were so tall or moved with such liquid grace.
The figure nodded.
Dr. Halsey walked around this unknown Spartan.
"Despite the UNSC policy of listing every Spartan as missing or wounded in action when killed," Dr. Halsey continued, "I have kept track of those actually 'missing.' There was Randall in 2532, Kurt in 2531, and Sheila, in 2544."
She completed her circle around the Spartan and gazed directly into his mirrored faceplate.
"Sheila is dead," Dr. Halsey said. "I personally witnessed her killed in the Battle of Miridem. Which means you are Kurt or Randall. If I had to guess, I would say Kurt, because he made an effort to understand people and their feelings. If I were running a secret Spartan program, he would have been the one to select to lead them."
The helmet's faceplate unpolarized and Kurt smiled at her.
"Is there anything you don't know, Dr. Halsey?" Kurt said.
She closed her eyes, suddenly weary, and then patted his gauntleted hand. "It is good to see you alive."
She couldn't let slip exactly how happy she was to see Kurt. One of her Spartans come back from the dead, it was a small victory in a war of endless defeats. It redoubled her determination to save them all from the growing threats. But she had to maintain control.
Spartans responded to authority and commands—never sentimentality.
"We need to get a message to FLEFTCOM," she said. "Get help, and perhaps discover what the Forerunners are looking for here."
Get help would translate as ships capable of translight flight, a way for Dr. Halsey to lead the last remaining Spartans to safety.
"Our COM options are nil," Mendez said, and snuffed his cigar on the concrete wall. "All ships in orbit…" He shook his head. "The Agincourt was destroyed days ago by drones."
"Destroyed?" Dr. Halsey asked. "They should have been able to outrun the smaller craft."
"The drones can combine," Kurt told her, "giving them cumulative power to their weapon systems, thrust, and shield capabilities."
"The Beatrice was severely damaged on reentry," Kelly said. "Main engines inoperable.
There is no possibility for a Slipspace transition."
Dr. Halsey lowered her voice, a whisper, but still loud enough so everyone could hear.
"We must find a way off this world, or a way to contact the UNSC. Another Forerunner ruin was recently discovered, a ring construct built for one purpose: the annihilation of all life in the galaxy.