but even the Captain would have thought twice about approach- ing seven Covenant warships in a single Longsword.
He risked feeding more ship's power to Cortana's systems. If they were going to make it through this, he needed her as effec- tive as possible.
"New contact," Cortana said, interrupting his thoughts. "I think it is, anyway. Whatever it is, it's stuck onto a chunk of rock, half a kilometer in diameter. Damn, it just rotated out of my view."
On the display Cortana replayed a partial silhouette of an oddly angled shape on the surface of the rock. She highlighted its contours, rotated the polygon, and overlaid this onto a sche- matic of a Pelican dropship.
"Match with a tolerance of fifty-eight percent," she said. "They might have parked there to avoid detection, as you suggested."
The Chief thought he detected a hint of irritation in her voice, as if she resented him for thinking of something she had not.
"Or," Cortana continued, "more likely, the craft merely crashed there."
"I don't think so." He pointed at the display. "The position of that wing indicates it's nose-out—ready for takeoff. If it had crash-landed, it would be faced the other way."
Another Covenant cruiser moved toward this new ship.
"Coming about, Chief," Cortana told him. "Brace yourself, and then get ready to retrieve the pods."
The Chief unsnapped his harness and drifted aft. He grabbed a tether and clipped one end to his suit, the other to the bulkhead of the Longsword.
He felt the maneuvering thrusters fire, and the ship rotated 180 degrees.
"Decompression in three seconds," Cortana said.
The Chief opened the empty weapons locker and climbed partially inside. He braced himself.
Cortana dropped the aft hatch, and the inside of the ship ex- ploded out; the Chief slammed into the door of the locker, denting the centimeter-thick Titanium-A.
He climbed out and Cortana overlaid a blue arrow-shaped NAV point on his heads-up display, indicating the location of the drifting cryopods.
The Chief jumped out of the Longsword.
He floated through space. He was only thirty meters from the pods, but if he'd guessed wrong about his trajectory and missed the target, he wouldn't get a second chance. By the time he reeled himself back to the Longsword and tried again, those Covenant ships were certain to kill them all.
He stretched his arms and hands toward the cylinders. Twenty meters to go.
His approach was off. He shifted his left knee closer to his chest and started a slow tumble.
Ten meters.
His upper body rotated "down" relative to the pods. If he spun just right as he passed the cryotubes, it would give him enough extra reach to make contact. He hoped.
He rotated back... almost standing "up" now.
Three meters.
He stretched his arms until the elbow joints creaked and popped; he stretched his hands, willed his fingers to elongate.
His fingertips brushed against the smooth surface of the lead- ing cryopod. It slid off and over and touched the second pod.
He flexed and failed to grab hold. He scratched the surface of the third and final pod—his middle finger hooked on the frame.
His body swung inward, curled, and landed on the pod. He quickly looped his tether through the frame, secured himself to it, and pulled their combined mass back to the Longsword.
"Hurry, Chief," Cortana said over the COM. "We've got trouble."
The Chief saw exactly what the trouble was: The engines of two Covenant cruisers flared electric blue as they accelerated toward the Longsword. The plasma and laser weapons along their hulls warmed from red to orange as they readied to fire.
He pulled as fast as he could, making minor adjustments with the muscles in his braced legs so his motions didn't send them into a tumble in the zero gravity.
The Longsword was a sitting duck for those Covenant cruisers.
Cortana couldn't fire the engines until he got on board. Even if he and the pods survived the thruster wash, any evasive maneuver Cortana made would snap him and his cargo like the end of a whip.
The Covenant ships were within firing range, lined up per- fectly to destroy the Longsword.
Three missiles streaked though space, impacting on the star- board side of the lead Covenant ship. The explosion splashed harmlessly across its shield, which shimmered silver as it dissi- pated the energy.
The Chief turned his head and saw the Pelican blast off from the asteroid where it had been hiding. It rocketed on a perpen- dicular course toward the two Covenant ships.
The cruisers came about, apparently more interested in hunt- ing live prey than the motionless Longsword.
The Chief gave one final yank on the tether. He and the pods flew through the aft hatch and crashed into the deck of the Longsword.
Cortana immediately sealed the hatch and fired the engines.
The Chief climbed into the system-ops seat just as they accel- erated and turned toward the cruisers. He activated the weapons systems.
The two Covenant cruisers powered their engines and pursued the Pelican, but it had entered a dense region of the debris field, dodged a chunk of metal and rock, dived over an iceball, and charged through clouds of shattered alien metal. The Covenant fired: Energy blasts impacted on the debris and missed the Pelican.
"Whoever's piloting that Pelican knows their stuff," Cor- tana said.
"We owe them a favor." John fired the Longsword's guns, and tiny silver dots punctuated the trailing Covenant cruiser's shields.
"Let's settle that debt."
"You realize," Cortana said, "that we really can't damage those Covenant ships."
The cruiser slowed and turned toward them.
"We'll see about that. Get me a firing solution for the missiles.
I want them to target their plasma turrets just before they fire.
They have to drop a section of their shields for a fraction of a second."
"Working," Cortana replied. "Without precise data, however, I'll have to base my calculations on several assumptions." A string of mathematics appeared on the weapons ops panel. "Give me fire control."
John punched the auto override on the firing systems. "It's yours," he said.
The Covenant cruiser's plasma turrets turned to track them as the ship came to bear. They warmed, and Cortana fired all the Longsword's ASGM-10 missiles.
White vapor trails snaked toward the target.
"Let's move!" the Chief said.
The Longsword accelerated into the debris field, following the Pelican's path. The aft camera displayed the missiles racing to their target. Antimissile laser fire stabbed though space, and three of the missiles exploded into red fireballs. The Covenant's plasma turret glowed white hot—about to fire—when the last missile impacted. The explosion smeared across the hull.
At first the Chief thought it had hit the shield, but then he saw that the explosion was inside the shimmering envelope of energy. The plasma turrets fired; their energy was immediately ab- sorbed into the cloud of dust and vapor around the ship. Dull red plasma ballooned inside the cruiser's shield, obscuring its sen- sors. The ship listed to port, momentarily blind.
"That should keep them busy for a while," Cortana said.
The Longsword arced under a half-kilometer-wide metal plate—just as a plasma bolt impacted and boiled the surface, sending the plate sputtering and spinning through space.
"Or not," Cortana muttered. "Better let me drive."
The autopilot engaged, and the controls jerked out of the Chief's hand. The Longsword's afterburners kicked in, and it ac- celerated toward a field of tumbling rocks. Cortana rolled and pitched, keeping the hull mere meters from the jagged surfaces.
The Chief hung on to the seat with one hand and pulled his harness tight with the other. He moved the scanner display to the center viewscreen and saw the two nearest Covenant cruisers vectored toward his and the Pelican's position. The two UNSC ships might evade and dodge through the debris field for a few minutes, but soon their fuel would be exhausted, and the Cove- nant would move in for the kill.
And where could they really run to, anyway? Neither ship had Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engines, so they were stuck in this system and the Covenant knew it. They could afford to take their time and play with their prey before they pounced.
The Chief performed a sweep scan of the system looking for something—anything to give him a tactical advantage. No, think- ing of tactics was going to get him killed. There was no tactical advantage he could gain that would give him a victory in this mismatch. He had to change the rules—change his strategy.
He scanned the massive Covenant flagship—that was the key.
That's how he'd be able to turn the tables on the enemy.
He keyed the COM system and hailed the Pelican. "This is Master Chief SPARTAN-One-One-Seven. Recognition code Tango Alpha Three Four Zero. Copy."
"Copy," a woman's voice answered. "Warrant Officer Polaski here." Other voices argued in the background. "Damn good to hear you, Chief."
"Polaski, proceed at maximum burn to this position." He dropped a NAV point on the display directly on the Covenant flagship. He included an exit vector indicating a rough course.
There was silence over the COM.
"Copy, Polaski?"
"I copy. Plotting course now, Chief." The voices arguing in the background became loud and more strained. "I hope you know what you're doing. Polaski out." The channel snapped off.
"Get us there, Cortana," he said, tapping the NAV point. "As fast as you can make this thing fly."
The Longsword rolled right and pitched toward the moon, Ba- sis. The chief's safety harness groaned as gee forces increased.
"You do know what you're doing?" Cortana asked. "I mean, we're headed straight toward the largest and most dangerous Covenant ship in this system. I assume this is part of some daring and brutally simplistic plan you've cooked up?"
"Yes," the Chief replied.
"Oh, good. Hang on," Cortana said. The Longsword rolled to port and dived under a rock. An explosion detonated aft of the ship. "Looks like your 'plan' has gotten their attention. I'm reading all six Covenant cruisers moving to overtake us at flank speed."
"And the Pelican?"
"Still there," Cortana reported. "Taking heavy fire. But on trajectory to the NAV point. .. moving slower than us, of course."
"Adjust our speed so we arrive at the same time. When you're in range for a secure system link, let me know."
The Longsword decelerated; it shuddered to starboard and then to port, and laser fire flashed along either side.
"You never told me," Cortana said in a voice that was equal parts irritation and calm indifference, "precisely what your plan is."
"Something Captain Keyes would approve of." The Chief summoned the navigation console on the main display. "If we survive long enough, I want a course from here"—he tapped the NAV point over the flagship—"into the gravity well of Basis to slingshot us around."
"Done," Cortana replied. "I still— Hey, they've stopped firing."
The Chief tapped the aft camera. The six cruisers continued their pursuit, but the tips of their weapons cooled as they pow- ered down. "I was counting on this. We're on the same line of fire as their flagship. They won't shoot."
"Pelican now twelve hundred kilometers and closing. Within range for system link."
The Chief hailed the Pelican. "Polaski, release your controls.
We're taking over."
"Chief?"
"Establish encrypted system link. Acknowledge."
A long pause, then, "Roger."
Cortana's hologram appeared on the tiny protection pad. She appeared to listen intently for a moment, and then declared, "Got them."
"Synchronize our courses, Cortana. Put us right on top of the Pelican."
"Maneuvering to intercept the Pelican. Five hundred kilome- ters to flagship."
"Prepare to alter our course, Cortana, as we pass the flagship.
Also get ready to direct all scanners at the flagship if we pass."
'"If?" Cortana asked.
The flagship's turrets turned to bear on the Longsword and Pelican. They glowed like angry eyes in the dark.
"Three hundred kilometers."
Light sparkled along the length of the Covenant craft as it pre- pared to fire; dull red plasma gathered; three torpedoes extruded and raced toward them.
"Evasiv—" the Chief said.
Cortana banked hard port, starboard, and then hit the after- burners and pulled up. Streaks of hell&e brushed close to the hulls of the Longsword and Pelican—then were gone behind them.
The Chief had hoped for this: Their extreme oblique approach angle combined with their speed made them hard to hit, even for the notoriously accurate Covenant plasma weapons.
"Ten kilometers," Cortana announced. "Scanning in burst mode."
They flashed over the three-kilometer-long ship in the blink of an eye. The Chief saw gun turrets straining to track their ap- proach. The alien craft had sleek lines, relatively flat top to bot- tom, but it curved from stem to stern into three distinct bulb sections. Along its hull ran glowing blue conduits of super- heated plasma; surrounding the ship was a faint shimmer of sil- ver energy shields.
He eased back into his seat. The Chief hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath, and he exhaled. "Good," he said.
"Very good."
"Burning into a high slingshot orbit," Cortana announced.
The Longsword's engines rumbled. The acceleration played hell with the Chief's inner ear. He wasn't certain for a moment which way was up.
"Bring us closer to the Pelican," he said. "Right on top. Give me a hard dock on its top access hatch."
Cortana set her hands on her h*ps and frowned. "Readjusting burn parameters. But you know a linked-ship configuration dur- ing an orbital burn is not stable."
"We won't be linked long," he said and slipped out of his harness. He drifted aft, pulled himself down to the floor and opened the Longsword's access hatch. Green lights on the intervening pressure door winked on in succession. He removed the safeties and popped the seal.