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ERIC NYLUND
273
Dr. Halsey removed a cloth covering a pair of injectors. She
clicked them into the ports on Kelly's MJOLNIR armor ports
that threaded directly into her subclavian and femoral veins.
"Keep doing your physical therapy, and the dermacortic steroids
will remove most of the scarring and restore your full mobility
within another week," she explained.
"A week?" Kelly growled and struggled to rise. "Doctor, I need
to be one hundred percent ASAP. The Chief has a mission—"
Dr. Halsey activated the injectors, and they hissed their con-
tents into Kelly's body. She relaxed and slumped back on the ta-
ble, unconscious.
"No, Kelly," Dr. Halsey whispered. "You're not going on the
Chief's mission. You're going on mine."
The sedative in her bloodstream would knock out an ODST in
peak condition for the better part of a day. Halsey estimated that
Kelly would be unconscious for a little more than two hours. By
that time they'd both be far enough along that there'd be no turning
back.
Dr. Halsey swiveled one of the displays to face her. She exe-
cuted the memory-erase command—wiping clean Cortana's
recollection of the research they had done on old ONI lockdown
codes. She folded the printout of their results and stuffed it into
her pocket.
"Cortana?"
"Yes, Doctor?" she replied. Her voice through the room's
speakers sounded distracted.
"Locate Corporal Locklear and have him report immediately,
please."
"Done, Doctor Halsey."
"Thank you, Cortana. That will be all." She added in a whisper
so low that only she heard: "Take good care of them all for me."
Dr. Halsey adjusted the examination table so it lay flat, and
then loaded medical supplies and equipment onto its undercar-
riage. She placed a bag with four submachine guns and sixteen
full clips of ammunition on top of the supplies.
She found a lukewarm cup of stale coffee and gulped it down
to the dregs.
Corporal Locklear appeared at the open entrance to the prep
room. "Hey, Doc. Cortana said you needed me?" he said tersely.