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ERIC NYLUND
263
"Analyzing now," Cortana replied. "Plasma turret offline. Stand
by, sir."
"I can move my fleet to engage the enemy," Jiles said
uncertainly.
Admiral Whitcomb surveyed the forward screens: Jiles, the
approaching Covenant cruiser, and the asteroid field full of
rocks floating on invisible currents. He narrowed his eyes, then
said: "They'd blast you out of space before you could sneeze,
Governor. And you don't have a weapon that'll get through their
shields. No—I'll draw them off. Evac your people."
"Understood, Admiral." One of Jiles's eyebrows gracefully
arched, and he bowed. "Thank you."
"Fred, move us at best speed. Haverson, come to course
zero-nine-zero. Get us closer to that moon-sized chuck of stone,
twenty thousand kilometers to port."
"Flank speed," Fred said. "Aye, sir."
"Course change, aye," Haverson replied.
The Gettysburg-Ascendant Justice glided toward the large
rock, and the Covenant cruiser rapidly closed on them. The
enemy ship vanished on the displays as they rounded to the dark
side of the asteroid.
"New course. Come about to one-eight-zero," the Admiral or-
dered. "Full emergency power to the engines and answer all
stop."
Thrasters spun the ship around, and vibrations rumbled through
the weakened hull as it slowed and came to a stop, hidden behind
the rock.
"Answering all stop," Fred announced.
"Sir, we are dead in space," Lieutenant Haverson said and
nervously ran his fingers through his slicked-back red hair. "Tra-
ditional tactics advocate speed and maneuverability in
ship-to-ship combat."
"Not in this asteroid field," Admiral Whitcomb replied. "But
you make a good point about staying maneuverable. Align our
nose toward the center of mass of the planetoid, and back us up,
one half reverse. Keep us out of the enemy's gunsights as long as
you can."
"Firing ministers. Answering one half reverse," Fred said.