“What is it?” Dorian demanded. “What’s the result? You can say it in front of all of us; we don’t have secrets.” He shot a glare at Owen when he said this. Owen didn’t react.
“Ms. Rousseau,” Dr. Faraday said. “I’m afraid your sample is positive.”
Evie gasped, let out a sob. Saskia reached across the table, grabbed Evie’s hand. Dorian threw his arm around her shoulder. Saskia knew she didn’t need to hear the rest of the samples. They would all be positive.
Still, she squeezed Evie’s hand as tight as she could while the results were read.
Dorian: Positive.
Saskia: Positive.
“Spartan-B096,” Dr. Faraday said. “You’re negative.”
Saskia whipped her head around. Owen’s usual stoic expression flashed away, just for a second. He seemed—shocked. And perhaps a little guilty.
“So your theory was correct,” the captain said.
“Theory?” Saskia looked over at her. “What theory? You said you’d never seen this before!”
Dr. Salo blushed. “We theorized that Spartan-B096 might not be affected, due to the treatments he received as a child, during the SPARTAN-III augmentation process.”
Saskia sat up, her heart pounding.
“At this point, I need to note that what you’re hearing is classified and well beyond your scope of clearance,” the captain said, and Saskia felt a surge of rage.
I’m just tired of the secrets, Evie had said, and Saskia, in this moment, was too.
But Captain Dellatorre continued. “However, for the sake of the situation, it warrants an explanation. I’ll tell you as much as I’m able.” She took a deep breath. “All Spartan-IIIs have their genetic code modified as part of their treatment. Somehow, that genetic modification inoculated B096 against the aftereffects of exposure to the artifact.”
“So where does that leave us?” Evie asked. “What good does it do us that Owen is immune? What good does it do Victor?”
Dr. Salo looked over at Captain Dellatorre. There was something in Dr. Salo’s expression that made Saskia want to look away.
Captain Dellatorre leaned forward, her hands folded in front of her. She seemed like a kind but strict teacher, someone with bad news who still wants the best for you.
“This gives us,” she said, “an opportunity.”
“What?” shouted Dorian. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Dorian,” Owen said in a low voice. “Enough.”
“Don’t tell me what’s enough!” Dorian yelled, standing. “Our friend is dying, and we’ve got the same thing. You all don’t give a damn about us—”
“If you would follow protocol and let me finish,” the captain said, “then you would know that I’m trying to save Victor’s life. You of all people, Mr. Nguyen, should appreciate this. It was your idea, after all, to procure the artifact from Brume-sur-Mer in the first place. Had you followed protocol then, we might be in a different situation now. There’s a solution to this problem, but it’s going to take you listening for once instead of running your mouth. Do you understand that, Mr. Nguyen?”
A heavy silence moved through the room. Dorian stared at her. For a moment, Saskia thought he was going to stalk out of the room and straight into a dishonorable discharge—if that was even possible given their paramilitary status. But then his shoulders slumped and his expression softened. “Really? There’s a way—”
“Yes. We’re giving Victor and all of you an opportunity to survive.”
More silence. Saskia felt the weight of her fear and her doubts pressing down on her. Something had felt off ever since they arrived back at the base. She was starting to understand why.
“Captain,” Owen said. “Is there a treatment?”
“Not directly, no. We’ve never seen this anomaly before. But given what we know so far, all four of you will likely benefit from a new program we’ve been developing. It is an experimental procedure, somewhat similar to the procedure Spartan-B096 went through. However, it’s designed for older subjects.”
A chill raced through Saskia’s body. She thought of Owen explaining how he’d come to be, the way he’d skirted around the reality of the treatments he’d been given.
“We are looking to develop the next wave of Spartans,” the captain said. “Not children who have been trained and modified, but adults. We have already begun to administer the procedure to Victor, and so far he seems to be responding favorably to the treatment. It was our one shot at saving him. Now we’d like to save you as well.”
“You’ve already started the program on Victor?” Evie asked. “Do his parents know?”
“Of course.” Captain Dellatorre laughed a little, shook her head. “You all really think we’re boogeymen, don’t you? They granted us permission. They want their son to survive.”
Dorian scoffed. “Is there a guarantee it will do that?”
“He’s going to die if we don’t do anything,” the captain said. “And while the three of you are healthy now, there’s no reason to think you will stay that way. One injury, one sickness … it could kill you.”
Saskia dug her nails into the skin of her arms, fear surging up inside her.
“But if it works,” Captain Dellatorre said, “not only will it stem the complications you’ve incurred by your contact to the Forerunner artifacts, but you will be different. You will be stronger. Faster. Better in every way.” She smiled at Owen. “Just like him. And you’ll be helping to usher in a new age of Spartans to lead us in the fight against the Covenant. You can help ensure that what happened on Meridian doesn’t happen anywhere else. You’ve seen it yourselves these past few months: Spartans are our best hope at stopping this enemy. With this procedure, you can protect your families. You can help ensure that what has happened on Meridian doesn’t happen anywhere else.” She took a deep breath. “But I won’t sugarcoat it: As dangerous as the procedure to become a Spartan is, it’s not nearly as dangerous as actually being one. I’m sorry this happened to the four of you, I truly am—but these are the cards you’ve been dealt.”
“May I say something, Captain?” Dorian’s voice cut through the thick quiet. Saskia couldn’t tell if he was feigning respect, or if he was really serious this time.
Captain Dellatore nodded.
“You have us here, isolated from our families, in a desperate situation with no apparent alternatives, and you expect us to feel like this is our decision?”
Captain Dellatorre lifted her chin, considering him. “Do you remember what I told you before you agreed to sign on, Mr. Nguyen?”
A pause. “You told me I wasn’t a child.”
“You’re not, Mr. Nguyen. And the UNSC has been telling that to people your age for the last twenty-five years. They told it to me when I was your age, and they told it to my predecessor before me. This is what it is to go to war for our right to exist. If you want to see future generations, then you need to think very hard about what the right step forward is. I understand you’ve lost people on Meridian. There are millions of others who have lost people just like you have and billions more who will if we don’t stop this enemy. You’re not a child, Mr. Nguyen, and you can’t afford to continue to think like one.”
Dorian stared at the wall behind the captain, his jaw tightening.
She stood up, gathered her comm pad. “Take a day to think it over. But I will need your answer by 1700 tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe Victor’s parents agreed to it,” Dorian said, his footsteps echoing off the walls. “It’s … it’s a life debt to ONI. Have you read the papers? Just when we thought we were getting out of this, we’re enlisting for life.”
“Victor’s parents were probably desperate,” Evie said quietly. “Like we all are. Their son can live, can become a hero for the UNSC—something he already wanted.”
Dorian slammed his fist against the wall. “No, I mean I literally can’t believe it. Do you think they really got his parents’ permission? What if they’re just
doing it?”
“Oh, calm down. Yeah, they haven’t been entirely honest with us, but they also had no way of knowing what would happen inside the structure. I mean, we’re far from the perfect candidates to become Spartans. You can barely follow orders, and I’m not some expert marksman. None of us even wanted to join the military before this happened. And have you seen the other candidates? Their achievements are—” She waved her hands around. “Honestly, we’re lucky they’re even agreeing to give us this opportunity!”
Saskia lagged behind Dorian and Evie, only half listening to their exchange. It was the next day, and she had only five hours to decide if she wanted to go through with the treatment. All night she had lain awake, thinking back to her conversation with Owen, then imagining some alien creature growing inside her, crawling up the walls of her blood cells, changing her somehow.
A new procedure, she thought as Dorian’s and Evie’s voices drifted around her. Not the exact same as what Owen went through. Perhaps it was easier, though the captain had made it clear it wasn’t without risk. If it was designed for adults, there was no way ONI could indoctrinate her or the others the way Owen had been. Even though she had to admit that his indoctrination was the only reason she was alive—she just didn’t want it happening to her. Perhaps that was selfish. But it was also a comfort.
No, her concerns were more that the procedure was new. Untested. Potentially unsafe. And there was no guarantee that it would stop the genetic alterations in their system.
No guarantee they would survive the genetic alterations without treatment either.
She swiped through all the paperwork ONI had given her—waivers of liability, descriptions of what would happen to her. The paperwork made her feel comforted too. It was a show of respect. They were letting her make the choice.
Her thoughts kept swinging back and forth, even as they approached the medical wing. The nurse at the entrance glanced up at them, gave them a kind smile.
“I was told you’d be stopping by,” she said. “Please, we need to confirm your identities.” She gestured at the hand scanner fixed on the table. Saskia pressed her palm to the glass. A swoop of heat and then the door clicked open.
“Third door on the left,” the nurse said.
Saskia waited for the others, and then they went into the corridor together. The lights were bright but sallow, the air tinged with a chemical scent that burned the back of Saskia’s throat.
“Third door on the left,” Dorian said when they arrived at it. He pushed it open. The air inside was unmoving, almost stale, that medicinal scent so strong as to be overpowering. The pod clicked and hummed and hissed, and as they approached, the lights flickered on inside it, revealing Victor, naked save for a strip of cloth across his waist and the wires crawling over his body, hooking him up to the machinery.
Evie let out a whimper, pressed her hand to her mouth. Saskia moved closer to her. Victor’s skin was splotchy and red from the burns, and his face was drawn, his unburned skin ashy, almost gray. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked dead.
They stared at him for a long time. There was no sound but the pod equipment and an occasional sniffle from Evie. Saskia couldn’t tear her eyes away from Victor, looking so lifeless and worn out in the midst of all that life-saving technology that just … wouldn’t work.
And then she thought of Owen, healthy, strong. Not dying in a gray shriveled heap in a hospital wing.
And then she thought of herself. What would it be that would activate the anomaly? How serious an injury would she have to sustain before her body refused all treatment? A broken leg? A paper cut?
How long before she was lying in a healing pod, not healing at all?
“I can see why his parents agreed to the treatment,” Evie said suddenly, in a quiet voice. “Anything is better than this.”
Dorian kept staring at Victor. “I think you’re right. Still.” His frown deepened, turned into a scowl. “This would never have happened if they hadn’t sent him to Annecy.”
“But it did happen,” Evie said. “And it was Victor. He wanted to go—he wanted to fight to stop the Covenant. He wanted to fight for Meridian. His parents signed the waivers, but what do you think he would say? Would he agree to the procedure?”
Dorian didn’t respond. They all knew the answer.
Saskia drifted up to the healing pod, placed her hand against the glass. It was warm to the touch, like a human body. When she dropped her hand away, her fingerprints remained like ghosts.
Looking at Victor was like cutting herself with a piece of glass. It was a pain that would scar. Because it should have been her drifting in that pod, floating toward an unknowable death.
“The captain was right. We aren’t children anymore,” she whispered, watching her reflection in the glass. “This is about ONI being resourceful. They have a chance to save us and develop their new program—of course they’re going to take it. My parents were the same way. Not cruel. Not totally benevolent either. Just … in between. They did what they needed to survive. I guess that’s the cost of this war.” She lifted her gaze until she saw Dorian and Evie behind her in the reflection.
“And I don’t want to die,” she said. “Not like this.”
She turned around, trembling. Evie and Dorian stared at her.
“Are you saying—”
I lost my family, and ONI gave me a new one.
“At least we know we’ll be helping save humanity,” she said. “Regardless of what happens.”
Evie and Dorian looked at each other.
“What do we have to lose?” she said. “Our lives?” She gestured at Victor. “I’m willing to at least try.”
Evie stepped forward, pulled Saskia into an embrace. “Me too,” she whispered.
Saskia felt the tears then, a hot flood that she wiped furiously away, certain Dorian would make fun of her. She looked up at him, but his face was twisted up too, and she realized there were tears in his eyes.
“I’m not letting you two do this alone,” he said.
And then he threw his arms around both of them, bringing them in for an embrace. Saskia tried not to think about the future. It was nothing like the future she had ever imagined for herself.
But at least in this future, she had a family.
CASSANDRA ROSE CLARKE’s work has been nominated for the Philip K. Dick Award, the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, the Pushcart Prize, and YALSA’s Best Fiction for Young Adults. She grew up in south Texas and currently lives in a suburb of Houston, where she writes and serves as the associate director for Writespace, a literary arts nonprofit. She holds an MA in creative writing from The University of Texas at Austin, and in 2010 she attended the Clarion West Writer’s Workshop in Seattle.
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