Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [79]
"Back us off," Fred told Will.
"Okay…" Will searched the controls. He grabbed an orange arrow and twisted it aft. "Answering full reverse," he said.
"It won't be enough," Linda said.
Linda placed both hands on her controls, and a new pair of spheres appeared in the field of stars. "That's our firing solution," she whispered, and her voice cooled to that detached liquid-nitrogen temperature that Fred had come to identify with her Zen no-mind state.
Fred consulted his console. "Thirteen seconds until plasma impact," he said, and his hands gripped the edges of his console.
"Slipspace vector calculated," Will said, "Capacitors charging… in twenty-three seconds."
Linda made tiny adjustments over her controls, and flicked her fingers forward. "Plasma away," she said.
The bridge lights dimmed. The main hologram showed Bloodied Spirit as its lateral lines flared and plasma detached and accelerated away, but not toward the enemy frigate, rather toward the rapidly approaching plasma bolts.
Steering spheres appeared on Linda's plasma lines. Her hands twisted and turned.
The plasma oscillated back and forth in response.
The enemy lines started to move as well.
Fred understood what she was trying to do: fight fire with fire. But at these velocities hitting one plasma beam with another was like shooting a bullet out of the air.
Linda's trancelike motions slowed.
The plasma bolts raced toward one another. The enemy's plasma veered out of the way
Linda brought her hands together in a blur—both of Bloodied Spirit's bolts spiraled about the enemy's line of fire, tighter and faster, and connected.
Three lines smeared into a blob and jets erupted across the dark of space, fading to a haze of red.
"Got it," Linda whispered.
"The other bolt still tracking," Will said. "Impact in two seconds."
"Shields?" Fred asked.
"Working," Will said. "No—they're down."
The holographic viewers spilled blazing red light onto the bridge.
Beneath the deck, the ship shuddered.
"Power loss across all systems," Will told Fred. "Slipspace capacitors draining from ninety-eight… trying to reroute."
"Jump now," Fred ordered. "Before we lose more power."
Underpowered Slipspace transitions were technically possible. Over the last thirty years UNSC ships had attempted such a maneuver, twice. Both times they succeeded transitioning… into atomized bits.
Fred hoped Covenant technology had a work-around for that problem.
"Aye aye," Will said. He tapped a control.
The enemy ships and stars vanished from the viewer.
The Spartans stood silent; Fred held his breath, unsure if they'd explode.
The viewers went completely dark. It was silent.
Slipspace parameters then streamed across Will's console.
"We made it," Will breathed.
Fred exhaled. "Good job," he told them. He stood there dumb and mute as he worked
through the undeniable logic of what had just happened.
"What is it?" Linda asked.
"We were in Slipstream space," he said, "and answered a distress signal from a ship in
combat in normal space."
Linda nodded and one of her hands nervously flexed.
"So?" Will asked. "The Covenant can send signals in Slipspace. So can we."
"But not hsten to those signals in normal space," Linda said.
"They could have heard Cortana's message and Dr. Halsey's," Fred told them. "They may know everything."
Ship Master Voro clutched the rail of his command platform and shouted, "Now! All thrusters answer new course one eight zero by zero zero zero. Divert engine and shield
power to the forward energy projector."
"Answering new course," Zasses said.
The Incorruptible spun about—its momentum continued to carry it forward—but now they
faced the pursuing frigate pair.
Uruo at his Operation station called out, "Projector hot, sir. Target solution ready."
"On my word."
Voro hesitated and listened to three beats of his hearts—one
for faith, one for family, and the last for honor—the ritual mediation of the Mendicant.
The leading frigate fired lasers.