The Pelican set down, engines roaring, and the platoon of men rushed out of it. Their helmets covered their entire face, their rifles were raised, and they'd been told that any resistance should be treated as active hostility.
He walked out of the Pelican after them, his own sidearm holstered on his thigh. No rifle. It was a calculated decision, to show Halsey that he had no need to carry a rifle himself, because he had plenty of power without needing a weapon.
It had been five years, eight months, two weeks, and six days since he had last set foot in the Orion-II compound's project, but he still recognized some of the buildings, even with the non-regulation additions that Halsey had made. He stopped in place, and gazed around the compound, mentally noting what would have to change, when he was in command of the program once more.
Major Arnold Wilson was back.
He took one last drag of the cigarette he'd been smoking in the Pelicans' troop bay, then dropped it to the asphalt and ground it out with his boot.
Behind him, the trio of Pelicans that had dropped off his initial forces were already lifting off, and another three Pelicans were coming in hot. Each one was loaded with up to forty men, a full platoon. Standing room only, of course.
A reinforced company. Some might have thought that was overkill for dealing with seventy-five children and about a hundred UNSC personnel. Wilson, however, had handled these children before, and he had made the mistake of underestimating their insubordination before. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
He'd brought enough men to assign two MP's to each one of the little bastards, and still have one man for every remaining soul on this base.
"Lieutenants, progress report," he barked into his comm, adjusting his hat as he walked down the dirt pathway towards the administration block.
"Securing the barracks block now," said Alpha Platoon's commander. "Local personnel say every trainee is inside, and they've done a headcount."
"Check for yourselves," Wilson ordered him, with a scowl. "Do not trust the local personnel, or their reports. Verify everything in person."
"The armories are secured now," Bravo Platoon informed him. "Standard guard rotation, five men on the central armory and two more on the three secondary armories. All of them handed over the keys immediately. Swept the buildings, nobody inside. I've got men cross-checking the inventory with the physical contents now, make sure nothing's missing."
Good, Wilson thought to himself, a little knot of tension dissipating. The children might be the biggest source of potential trouble, but the armories would elevate any trouble from mild to life-threatening. Armed, those child-soldiers might be able to match up to the Beta-5 military police. Unarmed, they didn't stand a chance.
"Charlie Platoon here, we're still sweeping the classrooms," came a third voice. "I've secured all entrances and exits, but these underground sections are deep. I've got one squad going room-by-room and sealing them afterwards, but I'm going to need at least one more platoon if we want to speed this up."
"Keep going as you are now," Wilson told him. "Delta Platoon will assist you once it arrives, while Echo secures the perimeter and Foxtrot secures the civilians."
One of Charlie Platoon's fireteams was standing guard at the entrance to the old administration block. The corporal in charge saluted, and Wilson returned it, before stepping inside.
The building hadn't changed too much, but where it had, it was yet more signs of Halsey's failures and civilian mindset. A noticeboard mounted to the corridor just inside the door, filled with upcoming events in a blatant disregard for proper information security. A set of headshots – photographs of just the head and shoulders – were pinned to the opposite wall, one for each of the test subjects.
He looked closer at the photographs. They didn't look to be current, and instead, looked like they were of the test subjects when they were still six years old, just a few months after the program had started judging by the haircuts.
Why put up the pictures? They were so outdated that they couldn't possible be for recognition. Some kind of sentimentality, perhaps? A way of convincing the trainers to take it easier on the test subjects, continuing Halsey's soft-handed approach to them? Foolish, but exactly the kind of foolishness that he expected from the woman.
The door to Halsey's office was sealed. Just past it was her personal quarters, where one of Charlie Platoon's men was ensuring that Halsey had stayed confined to quarters, as per his orders.
"Open it up," Wilson told him. "I want to talk to her."
"Right away, sir," the MP replied, pressing a button to disengage the external lock.
The inside of Halsey's personal quarters was surprisingly lived in. Wilson took a moment to gaze around. There were no academic credentials, but there was a shoe-rack with a half dozen pairs of footwear. A kitchenette that looked like it had seen some recent attempt to bake, judging by the spilled flour on the counter. A small sitting area, with a couch and three chairs clustered around a coffee table, with about enough room for six people to chat, and some leftover coffee mugs on the table itself.
More photos were pinned up on one of the walls, though they were more casual. They looked like pictures taken of random moments. Wilson inspected them, frowning at the sight.
Two snipers at a firing range, one comically shorter than the other. Two boys and a girl smiling, arms thrown around each others shoulders. A girl in a baseball cap adorned with the Army Ranger's insignia, holding up a fistful of dog tags. A trio of test subjects being hauled away in handcuffs from a parked Pelican, looking angry. A fire team of ODSTs in the old-style armor, now in the process of being withdrawn from service, standing behind five test subjects, each adult holding a child in place by the shoulders, as if to claim them. Thirty-six older servicemen and women, standing in loose ranks, without any apparent relation to Project Orion-II.
Of all the things in the room, the most obvious was that missing one. The inhabitant.
A side-door opened, and Wilson's eyes snapped over to the woman who was emerging now from the bedroom.
Speak of the devil, he thought to himself, grimly.
"Captain Wilson," Catherine Halsey said, greeting him with a flat voice.
She looked very different from the last time that he'd seen her. Gone was the space-black ONI uniform beneath a sterile white labcoat. Instead, she was wearing blue-jeans and a khaki sweater, like she was some housewife that had just returned from a shopping trip.
The clothes did nothing to change her expression. Cold, blank. As emotional as a machine. She walked stiffly into the room, and stood there, looking at Wilson with eyes unfocused, as if she was staring right through him.
Amusement bubbled in his chest, though not enough to break through his tightly leashed satisfaction at this moment, long in coming though it was.
For six years, Arnold Wilson had kept the last sight of this woman locked in his brain. The anger on her face, the emotional bias that she'd betrayed when she screamed at him like he was a rookie butterbar on his posting. The way that she'd completely failed to display any of her previous detachment, and reverted to little more than an angry civilian when he had disagreed with her babying of the test subjects, and decided to start teaching them proper respect.
And now, when justice was finally served, and he had the joy of putting belt to ass… Catherine Halsey had given up. She was so shocked that she had trouble just looking at him normally.
"Major Wilson, actually," he corrected her.
"Congratulations," Halsey replied, her voice still toneless. "What can I do for you, Major?"
"You can explain to me why you decided to throw away the resources invested in this program," Wilson said, staring at her. "Why you've mismanaged it so badly that this intervention became necessary. You've turned it into a Gordian knot."
Halsey stared back at him, and didn't reply for a few moments.
"I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with these mismanagements," she finally said, still emotionless.
"Unfamiliar with your own actions?" Wilson repeated, unconvinced and relishing the opportunity to ram her failure into her face. "Try a different lie, Halsey. You've broken ONI regulations so often that it's a genuine point of contention if you even know what they are. Constant violations of this program's classification status. Active theft of UNSC resources. Even your attempts to aid the Insurrection by destroying the program."
This, at last, got a reaction.
Halsey's chin jerked upwards as she shifted her gaze from Wilson's torso to his face. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a thin line, and her mouth had opened slightly, as if to say something.
"I would never try to destroy this program," she countered, but it sounded weak to Wilson. Pro forma. Only said because she was obligated to say it, not because either of them believed that it was true. "And accusing me of sympathizing with the Insurrection is so far from the truth, it is comical."
"There is nothing comical about these charges," Wilson told her, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching. "I advise you to take them seriously."
"You still hold a grudge, don't you?" Halsey asked, her blue eyes locked on his. "Even if you had nothing to do with this investigation, you are too happy with it, and foolish enough to reveal that happiness openly. Is it revenge, after all this time? Is that why you are happy? Or are you deluded enough to believe that you will be placed in charge of this program, if I am removed?"
Wilson's teeth started to grind. A single minute with Halsey had validated holding onto that dislike for six years. Even now, she spoke with a disconnect, as if this was all academic to her, and not a very real situation where the adults put the spoiled babies back in their place.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Halsey spoke first, cutting him off.
"If you are only here to gloat, then you should leave," she said. "Every moment you waste talking to me is another moment where you look unprofessional and incompetent to whatever ONI officer placed you in this position. Go do your job, Major. As you should have done six years ago."
Wilson almost responded. He almost shot back a scathing retort, pointing out to her that obviously, ONI had known this interaction would happen. That they'd planned on this interaction happening, when he'd been given this job. They'd yanked him back from the Outer Colonies just for this job, when they have dozens of O-3's and O-4's floating around the Highland Military Complex, waiting for assignments.
But no. He held his tongue. If Halsey was dumb enough to miss that, then he wouldn't throw away that advantage. Let her walk into the committee meeting with her head held high, thinking she'd gained some kind of knowledge or edge, when she was still dancing to ONI's tune.
That was the difference between them, after all. He understood what needed to be done, no matter how ugly, and she didn't.
Halsey had her little fantasy world where everything could be nice, and she could care about the test subjects, because she'd never truly seen the danger of a real battle, and she'd never had to suffer the pain of watching her men die in her arms. It was easy to judge when you were a civilian, less knowledgeable than even a rear-echelon staffer.
Don't even get him started on the insanity of creating this project in the place, and then becoming squeamish about it. Halsey was willing to talk about sacrifices in abstract, but the moment she started getting close to the test subjects, she lost all sense of professionalism and pampered them.
"Enjoy your time off," Wilson told her, keeping his voice as polite as he could. "It might stretch a little longer than you think."
"I'll take your word for it. After all, you would know," Halsey riposted, her voice still cold. "Have a nice day."
"You too, Halsey," Wilson said, taking the last word.
He turned away from her, showing her his back in another subtle of disrespect that she couldn't understand. She wasn't a threat, so he didn't need to keep his eyes on her. He left, and shut her door behind him.
The MP standing guard nodded to him as he came out.
Wilson inspected the man. He was a fan of the new helmets, with their polarized visors. At first glance, they looked like a standard Army or Marine helmet, but they'd replaced the transparent space-tight visor with some new material that was much more durable.
According to scuttlebutt, it was the product of another Section Three R&D program, called Project GUNGNIR – the same one that had come out with the new arm-mounted datapads a few years back.
This was the kind of thing that ONI should be spending more money on. Enhancing their normal soldiers, as best as they could.
But ONI wanted super-soldiers, and so they'd get super-soldiers. Maybe, once he was back in charge of the program, he'd be able to cut some of the fat from Halsey's wasteful spending, and get it re-routed back to better places, like GUNGNIR. No more wastefulness and coddling.
"You know your orders," he said quietly to the man. "Catherine Halsey can be very persuasive. If she tried to talk to you, do not engage in conversation with her, and notify me immediately."
"Yes, sir," the MP nodded, his eyes hidden behind the visor.
Major Arnold Wilson walked off down the hall, his thoughts churning.
He considered checking Halsey's office for anything incriminating, but discarded the thought almost immediately. It wasn't needed, anyway. The investigation committee had already started looking through the security camera footage from the last few years with the help of Smart A.I.'s, and they would be far more effective at that task than he would.
He rounded the corner, and came his next stop, also guarded by an MP, who saluted him.
Wilson opened the door, and stepped into the office of Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez.
The head trainer was sitting behind his desk as Wilson entered, reading a thin, paperback book. He set it down as Wilson walked in, and stood respectfully, saluting.
"Chief Mendez," Wilson said, nodding to the man in acknowledgment. "At ease. It's good to see you again."
"Thank you, sir," Mendez replied. He didn't say anything more, not returning the sentiment or giving any indication of his feelings on the matter.
Perhaps it was Wilson's own emotional bias at work, but he thought the difference between Halsey and Mendez couldn't have been clearer at that moment. Halsey was cold and emotionless, a thin veneer of detachment that failed to hide her overly sentimental behavior. Mendez was a true professional, refusing to engage in any level of implicit support for any cause, even Wilson's.
Wilson appreciated that in Mendez. A man that you could trust to follow orders was a good man.
"I've come for a status report," he told the NCO.
"All cadets are in their barracks and secured inside," Mendez informed him. "All on-site civilian staff have returned to their quarters in the secondary housing block. The trainers are ensuring both parties stay inside, while the support personnel are resting in the mess hall to secure them in a single location, and so the cooks can continue preparing the noon meal."
"Good," Wilson said. "We'll be moving the test subjects out of the compound at 2000 hours, along with the civilian staff. They should eat before then, and you've already taken care of that. Prescient as always, Chief."
Mendez nodded, but didn't say anything more. There was no sign of curiosity on his face, no raised eyebrow or questioning look, but Wilson felt that he should explain the next steps to the man anyway – Mendez might well be the only member of Project Orion-II that he would keep on, after the changeover, so it was best that he understand what was coming down, before the hammer fell.
"They'll be transported to the Highland Military Complex," he continued, walking over towards the window and looking out towards the parade ground behind the administration block. "The investigation will be thorough, and will include quite a few interviews of the test subjects themselves, as well as the civilian contractors. You can expect to be interviewed as well, but likely later on in the process."
A tiny quirk of his lips was the only response from Mendez to that information. They curled downwards for a split second, and then returned to their neutral position as the non-commissioned officer joined him by the window.
Wilson chuckled slightly, and shook his head gently at the minuscule reaction. Even now, he couldn't tell if Mendez was irritated, what he might be irritated at, or if it was just a muscle twitch.
It felt… good to be back here. Standing by a man that he could trust, while his enemy was soon to receive her just reward for sabotaging a vital UNSC program out of petty delusions of morality.
He might have had more sympathy for Halsey if her sabotage had genuinely been a sign of morality, but it hadn't been.
Halsey failed to understand that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. That was the inevitability of the military: that you had to sacrifice lives eventually. Your men's lives, the enemy's lives, even your own life, all in order to save as many civilian lives as possible.
It was sad, but it was also inevitable. If you tried to save every possible life, you could become paralyzed by indecision, always seeking the perfect solution where there was none. Hesitation was one of the worst sins in combat, and there were always going to be complications and casualties.
Halsey had never understood that. She had always been focused on advancing science by building on the bodies of the children. Her supposed kindness was nothing but a mask to cover up her gleeful enjoyment of this entire situation.
It was no wonder she'd screwed up the project – she didn't care at all about the actual delivery of a product, she just wanted to play around with toy soldiers in her little lab.
But like always, reality had won against delusions, and Halsey hadn't been prepared for it.
"I'd love to chat more, but I should continue my inspection," Wilson said after a few more moments. "Is there anything you believe I should pay particular attention to?"
Mendez considered it for a moment, perhaps out of politeness, then shook his head gently.
"Nothing comes to mind, sir," he replied.
"Thank you, Chief Mendez," Wilson said, extending a hand to shake the NCO's. "I look forward to working with you."
Mendez nodded, but didn't reply verbally, keeping his opinion to himself.
That probably was not a good idea, Wilson thought to himself, with a spike of self-flagellation as he realized that he'd likely overplayed his hand. The video cameras around here, they'll all be used for the investigation. The committee will see what I've just said.
Acting like Halsey's job was already his was not the best way to act. But, well, the committee also would have known about his past, and his interactions with Halsey. There was no pretending that he was a fan of the civilian – not that he would have pretended otherwise.
Wilson left the head trainer standing by his window, looking out at the compound, and departed the room.
The rest of the administration block was empty. The psych staff used it for their evaluations of the test subjects, but both psychologists and test subjects had been confined to their quarters in a different building.
Wilson thought about talking to the psych staff, but discarded the idea. He hadn't met any of them before his untimely removal from Project Orion-II, since they'd still been confined to Menachite Mountain at that time. There was no relationship to rekindle.
Besides, even if he had known them, Wilson didn't plan on keeping the psych staff around. Military training was about breaking a man down into a usable state, cutting out the luxuries that were not needed, until he was raw aggression and trained muscle-memory. Psychologists were about building a man into something else, about laying on more hesitations onto them. Though respectable on its own, the two things were utterly incompatible.
He left the administration block, and smiled to himself as he saw Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot Platoons unloading from their Pelicans and spreading out around the compound. Chatter filled his ear as the Lieutenants fed him updates and reports.
"Major!" said the Lieutenant in charge of Alpha Platoon, as Wilson approached the barracks block. "We've just finished the headcount. All test subjects are accounted for. Seventy-five in total. I've also deployed the men as you ordered, though I'm not sure if it's needed."
"Good," Wilson replied, ignoring the Lieutenant's complaint. "And my second order?"
"We've separated out Candidate 016 from the others," the Lieutenant told him. "She's being held in the first room to the right, after you enter."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Wilson said, nodding to the man before entering the barracks.
The inside of the building was quiet. A few of Alpha Platoon were stationed at the ends of the hallways, and in the stairwells, always within clear sight of each other. No isolated individuals that could be attacked, dragged off, and then the tactic repeated.
It might have seemed paranoid to Alpha Platoon's CO, but he hadn't seen what these children could do. He hadn't watched three grown adults with stun batons be swarmed under a tide of howling brats with little more than rocks. He hadn't watched one of those kids approach the unconscious men with the clear intent of murdering them and finishing the fight in a permanent way.
Oh, yes. Major Wilson remembered that video very clearly.
Candidate 016 was the only one of the Orion-II's that he had even the slightest good feeling about. The only one who had learned the lesson that he'd been trying to teach, the only one to realize that this was a life-or-death struggle and not some game, the only one to cut herself free from the shackles of civility. The test subject that was most likely to be sufficiently ruthless and pragmatic about life, and not suffer from hesitation or emotional biases.
He entered the conference room and closed the door behind him. The place was soundproofed, and though there were cameras and listening devices in here, as there was all over the compound, this conversation was fully expected by the investigation committee.
"Candidate 016," he said, looking at the brunette twelve-year-old standing at the far end of the room.
The girl stiffened to attention, and saluted sharply. There was no sign of recognition on her face, no indication that she knew who Major Wilson was.
"I am Major Arnold Wilson," he introduced himself. "At ease. I have been told that you are willing to testify about Catherine Halsey, and the management practices of this program for the past six years."
She bit her lip, and her blue eyes gazed up at Wilson, scanning him from head to toe, as if evaluating him for sincerity or legitimacy. It was an adorable attempt to appear serious, but there was no way that the pre-teen could read Wilson, so he didn't take offense to it. If it put her in a more cooperative mood, it was a benefit to him.
"I am," Candidate 016 replied cautiously, before pursing her lips. "If I do… what will happen to the Doctor?"
Wilson smiled. Just as he'd expected. A little desire for revenge, for payback.
He'd taken a risk, after his removal from the program. He'd covertly contacted a few of the trainers that he knew from experience would be more inclined to see things his way, rather than Halsey's softhearted coddling. In return, they'd kept an eye out for test subjects that would be more likely to resist, to disagree, to fight back.
It was funny, in some ways. If Wilson had remained in the program and Halsey had been removed, then these rebels would have been his biggest headache. Instead, they were his secret weapon. The ones that would testify to the horrors of Halsey's abuse… or could be convinced to testify to imagined horrors.
"Don't worry about that," he said, as he tried to remember her name, and came up with it. "If you're honest with us, then we can help you put Catherine Halsey away for a long, long time, Victoria."
"I go by Visha," the girl said.