One-Way Trip/Prologue

2247 Hours September 7, 2517 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex, Planet Reach

"Is there a pressing reason for this disturbance, Professor?"

The woman was a good deal shorter and smaller than her guest, but her tone made him flinch slightly. She stared at him from behind a fortress of messily stacked papers, desktop hardware and empty Styrofoam cups that reeked of coffee. Though he was the one in a lab coat, she radiated authority as if she thought her skirt and blouse were a uniform. She pushed her glasses a precise millimeter up her straight nose and huffed. "I... apologize for my outburst, Doctor Sarkozy. You're no doubt well aware of the tasks I've been undertaking today. Now what is it you want?"

Sarkozy straightened a bit. "Retrieval team Zeta reports that they are in position, Doctor Halsey. They're forwarding you the specifics and are awaiting your go-ahead." He was visibly older than the woman, but addressed her in the tone of a subordinate. He looked down at his datapad and then back up at Halsey, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "There's also something I'd like to say, if you'll hear me out."

Halsey stared at him for a few seconds, as if her eyes were scanners and she was analyzing his thoughts. Then she pushed her dark hair away from her face and crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

"It's this mission." Sarkozy shifted his weight. "This candidate. I know you already argued the powers that be into the ground over this, but I have to say it. Aren't we hitting a little close to home? I thought the point was to... recruit from the colonies, to avoid suspicion."

"Reach is a colony," Halsey said simply. "I had one hundred and fifty subjects to choose from. Don't think I picked this one on a whim. He fits the criteria. My criteria."

"Yes, yes, but... Agnes and Gerard agree with me on this point: it's not the same. The idea is to cut off the candidates from their former lives completely. We're basically dragging this kid off to boot camp in his backyard. There could be complications. The probability of a successful escape is extremely low, but estimates can't gauge what these kids are capable of, not really. You know that from experience."

"What I know, Michael Sarkozy, is that Candidate Oh-Five-Two has not only one of the most robust genetic profiles of the lot, but that his psychological profile is unique as well. He's nowhere near the level of One-One-Seven or Oh-Nine-Two, but this program doesn't need an overabundance of leaders. What we need is soldiers, pure and simple. This child is perfect for the job."

"You're ignoring my point, Catherine. I'm telling you that we're taking an incredible risk, one that could jeopardize this entire project. Not to mention the kid, his family... as if we aren't going to traumatize both enough." Sarkozy brought up a file on his datapad and held it up defiantly. "You mentioned in your initial observations that Candidate Oh-Five-Two is extremely attached to his family, home, et cetera. And I'm not dumb enough to believe Gerard's claim that we can force or convince them to forget everything. These children are geniuses! I'm sorry, but I just don't think it's worth it."

"Your emotional sensitivity is part of the reason why I selected you for this job," Halsey muttered, "but this is too much. I admit, I am afraid there will be... incidents. But the reward is worth the risk. Too much is at stake for me to sit back and avoid taking chances." She consulted her own datapad, tapped it once, and then blinked. "There. It's done. Retrieval team Zeta is Oscar Mike."

Doctor Sarkozy closed his eyes and opened them slowly, a weary effort. He shook his head. "Look, we both know it was a stretch bringing in that kid from Dwarka. So far your risk-taking has paid off. But someday you'll come up suckered, and I just don't want a lot of good people to suffer for it. That's all," he said stiffly.

Halsey smoothed out a crumpled paper on her desk and idly perused the print. "Noted. And now that the deed is done, I'll explain it to you in detail, so we're on the same page. Loyalty, like any other ideal or emotion, is an asset; it can be used in our favor. If Candidate Oh-Five-Two demonstrates a particular attachment throughout the course of the training, whether it be to this planet or some other aspect, we will use it for our own means. If you make a soldier believe he's defending everything he's ever cared about, well, he'll fight to the death. Let us hope it does not come to that; but you understand my meaning. Everything he does, he will do because of his connection with this world, not in spite of it."

Sarkozy seemed to absorb this for a moment, a small frown appearing and then smoothing into a flat line. "I understand. I don't agree, but I understand, and I'll do as you ask, Doctor. Don't worry. We're all selling our souls here anyway."

"Don't be so fatalistic. Now, is there anything else you need to tell me?"

Sarkozy studied Halsey. Absently noted how she always tilted her head to the right just a fraction and leaned back when she wanted someone to leave her alone. His job was to figure out what went on inside people's hearts and heads, but he didn't really want to know what went on inside of Halsey. His own conscience was already seared enough.

"Nothing at all," he answered, backing out of her doorway. "I should get back to work. Trujillo's bringing in the shipment from Sector Three later; I need to get ready." It sounded so simple, referring to a bunch of kidnapped, terrified six-year-olds as a shipment, but that was the norm here. He wanted to get out of Halsey's office, maybe get some fresh air, try to forget how cold and methodical she sounded when she talked about destroying lives.

He glanced down at his datapad one last time before advancing through the narrow hallway. A child's face stared up at him, captured in a school photo; an average-looking kid with messy dark hair and enough meat on his bones to make him the prize of any tackle gravball team. The only thing that seemed wrong was the number in the age field. Any casual observer would have assumed the subject was at least ten.

It doesn't matter how big or smart they are, they're still just six and they have feelings, Sarkozy thought bitterly, quickening his stride. But perhaps, despite her tendency to dominate, Halsey was right. Perhaps Candidate Oh-Five-Two's weakness could be his strength, if properly managed. Perhaps Reach would be better off with one of her native sons in the Spartan ranks.

Either way, it was a one-way trip from here.