Sam hefted two medium-size backpacks—“damage packs.” They were filled with C-12, enough high explosives to blow through three meters of battleship armor plate.

“You have enough of that stuff?” Kelly asked him wryly.

“You think I should take more?” Sam replied, and smiled. “Nothing like a little fireworks to celebrate the end of a mission.”

“Everyone ready?” John asked.

Sam’s smile disappeared and he slapped an extended clip into his MA2B. “Ready!”

Kelly gave him John a thumbs-up.

Fred and Linda nodded.

“Then let’s go to work.”

1210 Hours, September 14, 2525 (Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Eridanus 2 space dock, civilian Cargo Ship, Laden (registry number F-0980W)

“Spartan 117: in position. Next check-in at 0400.” John clicked off the microphone, encrypted the message, and fed it into his COM relay. He triggered a secure burst transmission to the Athens, the ONI prowler ship on station a few AUs distant.

He and his teammates climbed onto the upper girders. In silence, the team rigged a web of support nets so they could rest in relative comfort. Below them lay a hundred thousand liters of black water, and surrounding them, two centimeters of stainless steel. Sam rigged the fill sensor so the reservoir’s computer wouldn’t let any more water flow into the storage tank. The lights in their helmets cast a pattern of crossing and crisscrossing reflection lines.

A perfect hiding spot—all according to plan, John thought, and allowed himself a small grin of triumph. The tech specs that ONI had procured on the Laden showed a number of hydroponic pods mounted around the ship’s carousel system—the massive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship’s space-grown crops.

Perfect.

They had easily slipped past the lone guard in the Laden’s main cargo bay and into the nearly deserted center section. The water tank would mask their thermal signatures, and block any motion sensors.

The only risky element entered the picture if the center section stopped spinning... things could get very messy inside the tank, very fast. But John doubted that would happen.

Kelly set up a tiny microwave relay outside the top hatch. She propped her data pad on her stomach and linked to the ship’s network. “I’m in,” she reported. “There’s no AI or serious encryption... accessing their system now.” She tapped the pad a few more times and activated the intrusion software—the best that ONI could provide. A moment later the pad pulsed to indicate success.

“They’ve got a nav trajectory to the asteroid belt. ETA is ten hours.”

“Good work,” John said. “Team: we’ll sleep in shifts.” Sam, Fred, and Linda snapped off their flashlights.

The tank reverberated as the Laden’s engines flared to life. The water tilted as they accelerated away from the orbital docking station.

John remembered Eridanus 2—vaguely recalled that it once was home. He wondered if his old school, his family, were still there—

He squelched his curiosity. Speculation made for a fine mental exercise, but the mission came first. He had to stay alert—or failing that, grab some sleep so he would be alert when he needed to be. Chief Mendez must have told them a thousand times: “Rest can be as deadly a weapon as a pistol or grenade.”

“I’ve got something,” Kelly whispered, and handed him her data pad.

It displayed the cargo manifest for the Laden. John scrolled down the list: water, flour, milk, frozen orange juice, welding rods, superconducting magnets for a fusion reactor... no mention of weapons.

“I give up,” he said. “What am I looking for?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Kelly replied. “The Chief smokes them.”

John flicked back through the list. There: Sweet William cigars. Next to them on the manifest was a crate of champagne, a Beta Centauri vintage. There were fast-chilled New York steaks, and Swiss chocolates. These items were stored in a secure locker. They had the same routing codes.

“Luxury items,” Kelly murmured. “I bet they’re headed straight for a special delivery to Colonel Watts or his officers.”

“Good work,” John replied. “We’ll tag this stuff and follow it.”

“Won’t be that easy,” Fred said from the darkness. He flicked on his flashlight and peered back at John. “There are a million ways this can go wrong. We’re going in without recon. I don’t like it.”

“We only have one advantage on this mission,” John said. “The rebels have never been infiltrated—they’ll feel relatively safe and won’t be expecting us. But every extra second we stay... that’s another chance for us to be spotted. We’ll follow Kelly’s hunch.”

“You questioning orders?” Sam asked Fred. “Scared?” There was a slight hint of challenge in his voice.

Fred thought for a moment. “No,” he whispered. “But this is no training mission. Our targets won’t be firing stun rounds.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to fail.”

“We’re not going to fail,” John told him. “We’ve accomplished every mission we’ve been on before.”

That wasn’t entirely true: the augmentation mission had wiped out half of the Spartans. They weren’t invincible.

But John wasn’t scared. A little nervous, maybe—but he was ready.

“Rotate sleep cycles,” John said. “Wake me up in four hours.”

He turned over and quickly nodded off to the sound of the sloshing water. He dreamed of gravball and a coin spinning in the air. John caught it and yelled, “Eagle!” as he won again.

He always won.

Kelly nudged John’s shoulder and he was instantly awake, hand on his assault rifle.

“We’re decelerating,” she whispered, and pointed her light into the water below. The liquid tilted at a twenty-degree inclination.

“Lights off,” John ordered.

They were plunged into total darkness.

He popped the hatch and snaked the fiber-optic probe—attached to his helmet—through the crack. All clear.

They climbed out, then rappelled down the back of the ten-meter-tall tank. They donned their grease-stained coveralls and removed their helmets. The black suits looked a little bulky beneath the work clothes, but the disguise would hold up to a cursory inspection. With their weapons and gear in duffel bags, they’d pass as crew... from a distance.

They crept through a deserted corridor and into the cargo bay. They heard a million tiny metallic pings as gravity settled the ship. The Laden must be docking to a spinning station or a rotating asteroid.

The cargo bay was a huge room, stacked to its ceiling with barrels and crates. There were massive tanks of oil. Automated robot forklifts scurried between rows, checking for items that might have come loose in transit.

There was a terrific clang as a docking clamp grabbed the ship.

“Cigars are this way,” Kelly whispered. She consulted her data pad, then tucked it back into her pocket.

They moved out, clinging to the shadows. They stopped every few meters, listened, and made sure their fields of fire were clear.

Kelly held up her hand and made a fist. She pointed to the secure hatch on the starboard side of the hold.

John signaled Fred and Kelly and motioned them to go forward. Fred used the lockbreaker on the door and it popped open. They entered and closed it behind them.

John, Sam, and Linda waited. There was a sudden motion and the Spartans snapped their weapons to firing positions—

A robot forklift passed down an adjacent aisle.

The massive aft doors of the cargo hold parted with a hiss. Light spilled into the hold. A dozen dockworkers dressed in coveralls entered.

John gripped his MA2B tighter. One man looked down the aisle where they crouched in the shadows. He stooped, paused—