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ERIC NYLUNO
125
MJOLNIR armor. Blood and hydrostatic gel bubbled from
Kelly's wounds.
"I volunteered to be the fail-safe option," she told Kelly. "In
the lower levels of these caverns are enough high explosives to
level the facility—in case we were ever overrun by the enemy.
I'm here to make sure no one gets access to our technology."
Dr. Halsey injected a local anesthetic and inserted a flexible
laser-tipped catheter into Kelly, carefully monitoring her progress
on the MRI. She pulsed the laser, fusing the lacerations in her
liver. Dr. Halsey then inflated her lung. Kelly would lose half of
that organ, regardless of her treatment. The tissue was already
turning blue and mottling necrotic brown.
"Kalmiya, prep the flash clone facility and retrieve Kelly's
DNA sequence from the archives. I'd like to get a new liver and
right lung started for her.
"You're fine for now," Dr. Halsey lied. "I just want to get replace-
ments made for you, in case we're down here for a long time."
"I understand," Kelly rasped.
Dr. Halsey wondered if she did—if Kelly understood that
getting shot and burned and having your internal organs trauma-
tized wasn't supposed to happen to you every day... unless you
were a Spartan. She wished the war were over. She wished her
Spartans had some measure of peace.
"Doctor?" Kalmiya whispered through the tiny private speaker
bud in Dr. Halsey's glasses. "There is an anomaly in
SPARTAN-087's DNA files. You may want to review this in
private."
Dr. Halsey sealed Kelly's injuries with biofoam, removed the
catheter, and cauterized the incision. "Rest," she said.
"No, ma'am. I'm ready to—" Kelly tried to sit up.
"Down." Dr. Halsey set a hand on her shoulder. She had no il-
lusions that she could have stopped Kelly with the gesture—but it
reinforced her words and her will. "Doctor's orders."
Kelly sighed and lay back.
"I'll be in my office just over there"—she pointed to the next
room—"if you need anything."
Dr. Halsey left Kelly and moved to her office. Two walls were
covered with giant displays; old disposable coffee cups littered
the floor; a holographic projector flooded with data, lines, rotat-
ing graphics, and unanswered correspondence overflowed her