Halo_ Ghosts of Onyx - Eric S. Nylund [82]
"No radiologicals detected," Linda reported.
"Satellites?" Will offered.
"I'm reading two thousand four hundred twenty-three of these objects in orbit," Linda said. "That's overkill for a COM network. Wait, they're breaking orbit."
With a flick of her hand she shifted perspective in the central tank and Onyx drifted in the center. Bloodied Spirit was a glowing purple dash among the stars.
"Image enhancement online," she said.
A haze of red dots swarmed in the black of space and slowly drifted toward them.
"Shields!" Fred barked at Will.
"Responding. Full strength confirmed." Will rechecked the alien controls. "No error," he said. "They're up this time."
"If those aren't nukes," Fred told them, "there's no way something that small can penetrate Covenant shields."
Fred watched the holographic viewer as the hostiles approached. It was like watching a tide come in, and Fred remembered one of Deja's childhood lessons: jellyfish swarming the tide lines on an Australian beach. One sting from the tiny invertebrates caused tissue necrosis and paralysis. A hundred was overkill-lethal.
"Back us off. Will," he ordered.
"Something's happening," Linda said.
The image in the viewer zoomed in on a cluster of the spacecraft. Seven of them moved
into a line.
The view pulled back and revealed other identical formations. Seven of these lines stacked into an elongated triangle, and the spheres within the forty-nine-craft pattern glowed
red-hot.
"Hard to port!" Fred cried. "Emergency power to shields."
The deck tilted.
"Answering hard to port," Will cried.
A blast of golden light overwhelmed the image in the viewer.
The frame of Bloodied Spirit resounded like it had been struck with a hammer. The artificial gravity failed and Fred gripped the railing.
"Starboard side hit," Will said. "Shields destroyed."
Fred moved his hand over his console and Bloodied Spirit appeared on the viewer. A gaping crater of blue hull armor smoldered white-hot. Crystalline electronics crackled, and severed plasma lines spewed fire. As the ship turned, Fred saw the hole was five decks across and had punched clean through to the port side.
"Main plasma pressure nil," Will reported. "Cycling to fuel cells. Slipspace capacitors holding charge. We have enough power to jump."
Linda looked to Will and then to Fred and nodded.
Fred watched as more alien drones crystallized into triangular lattices. Individually they were no match for even a Covenant single ship. Combined they packed enough punch to atomize Bloodied Spirit.
"We're not leaving," Fred muttered. "We're moving closer. Will, get me a jump solution on coordinates to twenty-seven degrees north latitude, one hundred eighteen east longitude, elevation fifteen thousand meters."
"On it," Will said, and he stared at the Covenant math as it steamed over his console.
"Linda, go evasive!" Fred ordered.
Her hand melted into the holographic controls and Bloodied Spirit pitched forward, accelerating, which made the hull ping with stress.
The tiny alien ships easily tracked their motion, surrounding them.
Covenant ships could perform pinpoint-acurate Slipspace
jumps. But could the weakened hull of Bloodied Spirit survive an instantaneous change of pressure from zero to over one kilogram per square centimeter? And that was just accounting for the atmosphere. Their velocity in air would exert tremendous forces on the ship's leading edges.
"Course plotted," Will announced. "Only a second-order approximation, but the jump system is accepting the numbers. I'll have higher-order terms in a minute."
"Belay that," Fred ordered. "Linda, give me all power to the engines. Slave Will's jump coordinates through the NAV system and give us a thirty-second countdown."
"Done," she said.
"Let's move, Blue Team," Fred told them. "We're abandoning ship."
It was a perfect day on the jungle-swathed peninsula. The sky was crystal cobalt dappled with cotton-ball altocumulus clouds. Insect buzz and bird caw abruptly ceased and a hundred redwing macaws took flight as the world