"if you would."
"Very well," she growled and sat. "I'll bite."
"Nothing new with that, Margaret," Admiral Rich muttered.
She shot him a piercing glare, but said nothing.
The three officers scanned the document.
Captain Gibson sighed explosively and pushed the tablet away. "Spartans," he said. "Yes, we're all familiar with their operational record. Very impressive." From the scowl on his face, it was clear "impressed" was not what he was feeling.
"And," Rich commented, "we already know your feelings
about this program, Colonel. I hope you did not bring us here to try and once again shut the Spartans down."
"No," Ackerson replied. "Please scroll to page twenty-three, and my purpose will become clear."
They reluctantly examined his report.
Captain Rich's brows shot up. "I've never seen these figures before… MJOLNIR suit construction, maintenance staff, and recent upgrades to their microfusion plants. Christ! You could build a new battle group for what Halsey is spending."
Vice Admiral Parangosky did not glace at the figures. "I've seen this before, Colonel. The Spartans are the single most expensive project in our section. They are, however, also the most effective. Come to the point."
"The point is this," Ackerson said. Sweat trickled down his back, but he kept his voice even. If he didn't sell this, Parangosky might roll over him, and he'd find himself busted to sergeant and patrolling some dusty frontier world. Or worse.
"I'm not suggesting that we shut the Spartans down," he continued and gestured broadly with both hands. "On the contrary, we're fighting a war on two fronts: rebels eroding our economic base in the outer colonies; and the Covenant, who, as far as we know, are committed to the total annihilation of humanity." Ackerson straightened and met Gibson's, Rich's, and then Parangosky's gazes. "I'm suggesting we need more Spartans."
The smallest flicker of a smile played over Vice Admiral Parangosky's thin lips.
"Crap," Rich muttered. He took a draw from his whiskey flask. "Now I've heard everything."
"What's your angle, Colonel?" Gibson demanded. "You've been on record against Dr. Halsey's SPARTAN-IIs since she started the program."
"I have," Ackerson said. "And I still am." He nodded to the readers. "Screen forty-two please."
They tabbed ahead.
"Here I detail the flaws of Halsey's undeniably 'successful' program," Ackerson said. "High cost, an absurdly small gene-candidate pool, inefficient training methodologies, far too few final units produced—not to mention her dubious ethics of using flash cloning procedures."
Parangosky scrolled ahead. "And you are proposing… ah, a SPARTAN-III program?" Her cast-iron expression didn't betray a hint of emotion.
"Consider the SPARTAN-IIs a proof-of-concept prototype," Ackerson explained. "Now it is time to shift into production mode. Make the units better with new technology. Make more of them. And make them cheaper."
"Interesting," she whispered.
He sensed he was getting through to her, so he pressed on.
"The SPARTAN-IIs have one additional feature that makes them undesirable for our purposes," Ackerson said. "A public presence. Although classified top secret, stories have leaked throughout the fleet. Just a myth at this point, but Section Two has plans to disseminate more information, and soon go public with the program."
"What!?" Rich pushed back from the table. "They can't release details of a top-secret—"
"To boost morale," Ackerson explained. "They'll build the legend of the Spartan. If the war goes as projected with the Covenant, we will certainly need drastic measures to maintain confidence among the rank and file."
"That means these Spartans will have to be, what, protected?" Rich asked incredulous. "If they're all dead, that makes a psy-ops campaign kind of moot, don't it?"
"Not necessarily, sir," Gibson remarked. "They can be dead, just not a secret."
"I assume, Colonel," Parangosky said, "that this public
presence issue will not be