Proving True: A Sonia MacTaggert Novel

by Robert Culp

  I can’t help myself, I throw myself into a backwards roll and come to my feet. Then dance around clapping my hands and feet just like Gorb did when I met him. I’m ecstatic, but in the back of my mind I hear Uncle Angus say, “Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn from time to time.” So I set about doing it again. I resume my seated posture, facing the direction of where I started and repeat the process. And perform another teleport without incident. I go back and forth several times and decide to mix things up a bit. I sit facing starboard and imagine myself facing port when I…what’s it called when you arrive from a teleportation, “materialization?” Too bulky, I’ll go with “arrive”…arrive. In my engineer’s mind this should be harder as I’m rotating myself a half circle between departure and arrival. But in practice, there’s no difference. Which after I think about it makes sense; I’m disassembling myself and reassembling myself in the blink of an eye. Is changing which way I’m facing any harder? I do that a half dozen times as well. I’m starting to get tired and my rational mind tells me I should stop, but my adventurous spirit wants me to try one more variant. I sit on the mat again and dematerialize as I have been, but when I arrive by the door, I’m standing with my hand reaching for the knob. I draw my hand back almost in shock. Nothing feels out of place, but I run my hands over my gi anyway, just to verify that the material is not interwoven with my skin at any point. I’m pleased, but not surprised, to learn that I appear to be whole. My adventurous spirit is yelling, “Again, again!” but it’s shouted down by my rational mind and my flagging energy levels which are both saying, “Sleep.” By the time I get back to my bunk, it’s all I can do to untie the knot of my belt before falling across my cot and into a deep slumber.

  When I wake, there’s an email from Master Kreq.

  I have had a holotranceiver installed in the dojo. I am sending its counterpart into the quarantine area for you. You know the class schedule. This is not ideal and it’s very similar to trying to learn judo by reading a manual and watching a video. But with the holography system I will be able to see what the two of you are doing. I presume Lieutenant Landers will be with you as a training partner. We will also be able to communicate in close to real time. I’ll see you in class. –Kreq.

  I forward it to Shawna and compose a thank you note to him. The hard part will be carving time out of our schedules for it. Shawna replies almost immediately with a similar concern. I think for a minute and reply to her:

  Maybe we can convince Freddie that it’s a viable alternative to PT. We can do our “day jobs” while everyone else is at his grunt stretch and groan sessions. I think I can sell the idea to him.

  It turns out Shawna is a faster saleswoman than I, no sooner have I begun my sales pitch to Freddie at breakfast than he waves me off. “Shawna ambushed me with the idea this morning,” he says filling his coffee cup. “Given the way tempers are heating up, I’m concerned about further education in a martial art, but she made some very persuasive points. I’ll tell you like I told her: If either of you do anything to the other to jeopardize this mission, I’ll have your lungs for breakfast and your guts for garters. As long as we’re in agreement with that, you have a deal.” He holds out his hand, I shake it.

  “Deal,” I say, sitting at the table across from him. “Any updates?”

  Freddie holds up a finger as he closes his eyes and bows his head. Is he praying? When did Freddie get religion? But I’m not one to belittle others for their faith. In fact I need to work on my own. After about a half minute, he looks up and reaches for the salt and pepper for his eggs. “The brain bug has been identified which has been a big step. As of this morning fifteen people have been incapacitated because of it. The ship is also, as you know, on APE until they can figure out an immunization or something. Then finding a way to get the damn thing off the ship. On other ships it would be a matter of putting something on the air handlers, but some of this ship uses photosynthesis, so they’re going to have to find a way to exterminate them. Anyway, the medical types think that if they can kill the beastie in the host early enough, the damage can be undone. Well, not really ‘undone,’ but the brain may be able to rewrite itself back to a functional resemblance of itself. I don’t know the details, I kill people for a living, remember?”

  “Stow it. You can hide behind that mindless killer shtick with other people, but I know there’s a brain behind that butt ugly mug of yours.”

  “Stop it,” he says picking his coffee up again, “I’m getting all misty.”

  I grin and wink at him. We finish our meals in relative silence.

  As it turns out, Shawna and I are only able to holoattend one class. We’ve received an accelerated departure time. We, the whole mission team, suit up and get the System Defense Boat loaded. Athena has downloaded and installed the specifications for the SDB as well as the 20-ton pinnace it contains. It’s essentially a lifeboat for the mission and if we have to use it as such, something very bad either has happened or something unpleasant is expected. Star Chaser will park outside the solar system for this planet rather than drop into orbit as initially planned. The Captain was concerned that whatever attacked Gallagher might be waiting for a bigger target. I can’t fault his conclusion. In fact, Freddie and I each kick ourselves for not having considered it before. As we finish the loadout, Shawna and Athena are in the command area for the SDB finishing the preflight checks. Freddie looks around the crew cabin with his hand out and his thumb up. Everyone returns the gesture. Satisfied, he takes his seat and buckles in. “Okay, girls,” he calls to Shawna and Athena, “let’s go!” The Boat separates from all its umbilici and flies from within the protective enclosure of Star Chaser.

  We’ve departed from protocol just a bit. Normally we would be in a mixture of APE and armor depending on our jobs. We’re all in armor for this trip. We have enough of each, the typical Strike Armor as well as enough wraith suits for each of us to use. But only one, once that one has met its twelve hours in the bad air, it will be considered non-operational and discarded. On one hand, that’s bad because we have only twelve hours to do whatever we’re going to do unless we can find or make a safe atmosphere. On the other, it’s good because we could conceivably be back en route to Star Chaser in twelve hours. The less time I spend away from the ship the happier I’ll be. I’ll leave the adventuring, exploring, killing and dying to Freddie and the other troopers. I’m an engineer. I’d rather be building or repairing something. Never mind showering before sleeping in my own bed every night.

  Once Shawna and Athena have satisfied themselves that the SDB isn’t going to explode any time soon, Freddie addresses us on the command intercom. “Okay team, it’s not notional anymore, this is the real deal. We’ve discussed the mission backwards and forwards for weeks now. The operations order is in your perComs. Not that I think you need to, but please humor me and at least skim it one more time. Thank you. Sonia or I will interrupt your naps as we see necessary. That is all.”

  I added an access screen to the wraith armor on the inside of the left forearm. I pull up the document. It’s really pretty straightforward, probably as a result of Freddie writing it himself. I understand that for military units, particularly brigade size and larger, an operations order can be several thousand pages once all the annexes, appendices, tabs and other junk is included. It appears that staff officers feel the need to write a small novel to explain—if not justify—their importance in the organization and how they and or their department will contribute to the accomplishment and success of the mission. Freddie is able to refer to other paragraphs in the order rather than repeat them. Our job is to find Gallagher and retrieve the QS-2 computer systems from the medical lab. We will also determine if any other equipment has been used. Of course that will require powering up the QS-2 and finding the inventory. And that will chew into our twelve hours. After turning off the perCom screen, I settle back for the trip. I pat my left cargo pocket, assured by the lump of my Amulet there. Athena retrieved it from our stateroom on one of he
r trips out of quarantine. It was thoroughly decontaminated.

  We fly for about seven hours. I nap for most of it. The sound of the attention chime wakes me. “We’re entering atmosphere,” Shawna announces. “Please fasten your safety belts, seal your helmets and return any crew members to their original, upright position.” We’re all awake now at any rate and we all snug our restraints then don and seal our helmets. One never knows.

  Through the forward view port, I see the planet creeping upward as our pilots increase the angle of our descent. The atmosphere is a decidedly unpleasant orange and apparently very turbulent. Our descent is not smooth. As we get lower we learn that what we had believed to be a smooth landscape is actually a planet-wide dust storm. “The concentration of suspended particles is four parts per billion and rising,” Athena reports. “Applying the polymer over coating was a wise move. A typical hull would be eroded at approximately one millimeter per hour.” I can’t take credit for that idea, it came from the astral science department. They spent a week painting a resin of some kind on the hull. My fear was that it would boil off as we came through the atmosphere. Hopefully, it will buy us enough time to finish here and return to Star Chaser.

  “The sensors still aren’t responding though,” Shawna reports. “We’ll have to get lower before we can even hope to find Gallagher. Hang on, boys and girls, we’re going to angels thirty. Everyone prepare for depressurization, just for fun. Athena, launch the reference beacon.” Typically, depressurization is only done if there’s a concern of hull breach. I haven’t heard either of them say anything concerning such, so I presume she’s erring on the side of caution. My visor is already sealed. The pressure bladders inflate inside my suit. I don’t start the exposure timer, she’s not letting the outside air in, just the inside air out. The overhead lights switch from white to orange. The ship is now at effectively zero atmospheres. The ship shakes like a maintenance crew is pounding on it with sledgehammers looking for soft spots in the armor. There’s a thump as Athena launches the small rocket towards the surface. Once it makes contact with the planet, it will continuously emit a signal for reference. Once a starting point is established—which the probe will do—we’ll begin our search. Shawna pulls the craft out of its dive and into level flight.

  “Angels thirty,” Athena reports. “The sensors are coming on line and are scanning. The reference beacon is in place and operational.” We fly a polar search pattern, searching bands of the planet from pole to pole, for what feels like half an hour. Without preamble, Athena announces, “Found it, 39 degrees 42.113 minutes north by 44 degrees 17.899 minutes east, 5,137 meters altitude.”

  “Marked in the navigational computer,” Shawna declares. “Freddie, I recommend we get out of this soup. I can maintain a geosynchronous position without risking the SDB.”

  “Do it,” he says then turns to me. “Take seven people, I don’t care who aside from Athena, I want her to fly for you. So her and six others. I want you to take the pinnace down and do an aerial recon of that area. You are specifically looking for landing zones big enough to accommodate this boat. If you find one and feel you can investigate the wreck, get it done. But if you need to return and regroup, that’s cool too. What are your questions?”

  “I think I’m good. I know the basic parameters of the mission. Aside from me and Athena, I’m taking a medic, a computer type, two troopers in wraith armor, and two heavy weapons troopers in marauder armor.”

  Freddie nods, “I’ll make an infantrywoman out of you yet. Make it happen.”

  I call out the appropriate names over the intercom. The heavy weapons troopers are already in marauder armor but the other two will have to change to wraith as soon as we reach orbit and repressurize the ship. I don’t have to worry about teaching them how to use it. We all had plenty of practice while we were cross training in quarantine. Once we are above the atmosphere, Shawna does in fact order the boat repressurized and the indicated troopers strip out of their marauder armor trading it for wraith. While they’re doing the fitting and function checks, the rest of us are loading the pinnace with the two maintenance robots, the tool kits, individual weapons and the heavy weapons. Of course, once the big weapons are loaded, the marauder troopers verify that they will do what’s expected of them. I keep hoping they won’t be necessary, but I’d rather have them and not need them then need them and not have them. Athena is busy with preflight checks and engine warm-ups. Within the hour, the pinnace is loaded and we’re all ready to go. I make the decision that we’ll travel depressurized, it will eat into our loiter time a little bit as the armor doesn’t have a connection for external air, but after the rough ride the larger system defense boat had, this dinghy is going to get kicked around like nobody’s business.

  The descent is worse than before, there’s no way for Athena—good though she is—to keep the ship from rocking. We all try to press ourselves into our acceleration couches but for Beebles, the computer tech, it’s not enough. I reach for her wrist controls and try to shut her coms down as the first retch hits. Her last meal is violently projected all over the inside of her helmet. I wasn’t fast enough. I avert my eyes hoping I don’t join her. But the sound of her vomiting is broadcast over the intercom, and that’s the lit fuse that triggers it for the rest of us. Athena is the only one of us not sick. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Da used to tell me that the only people who didn’t get seasick were the ones who didn’t spend time on the water. Sooner or later, it’s going to happen. And motion sickness is motion sickness, whether it’s on a boat, in an airplane, on a roller coaster, or in a rocking chair. Beebles gets a little excited before the life support system—which recognizes vomition—kicks in and sucks all the mess from her helmet. On my wrist unit I tap out a quick text message to the team that we’ll get an opportunity to rinse out our mouths and helmets after we touch down.

  Which is mercifully quick. As soon as Athena shuts the drive down, she repressurizes the pinnace. We all have our hands on our helmet seals. Without being asked, Athena moves through the passenger compartment passing out bottled water and rags, which we all accept.

  As soon as we’re all more or less cleaned up I address them. “Okay, you in the wraith suits, I want you to step out and do a hasty recon. I don’t expect you to be gone twelve hours. In fact I would prefer you return in no more than two. But that’s probably an unrealistic goal. And while I do want you in full stealth mode I also want situational reports every thirty minutes. If you run into any trouble, sing out, break contact and we’ll be on our way as quick as we can get there. Our primary concerns are any organic and/or unfriendly things in the area. Questions?” There were none. “Good. Keep your heads down and your eyes open. Athena, start the mission clock. Sound a recall at now plus five hours.” That gives us a two-hour cushion.

  As soon as they’re out I move up to the Command area and do a system check with the helmet cams on the wraith suits. The cameras will be useless while they are stealthy. Their forearm computers are already loaded with the silhouettes typical of the Grazer science ships, hopefully they’ll be able to determine if the wreck we detected is a candidate for Gallagher or not. If it isn’t, we can cut this trip short. And we will have wasted a tremendous amount of time with very little to show for it. “I wish we could have gotten closer,” I mutter.

  “There is an open expanse around the derelict,” Athena answers. “But it is ice and untested. If our ship becomes marooned as well, our mission is compromised.”

  “Agreed,” I say, “but it still would have cut down on their exposure and our wait.”

  The first Situational Report, or “SITREP,” has a golden lining. “Pinnace, this is Strider,” Jerry reports, “We’ve found it.” The video feed from his helmet cam fills the monitor on the flight deck. “Boss, this is one ugly wreck, are you seeing it?” He must have shut down his stealth system, the images and the audio are very clear.

  “Roger,” I answer. Ugly is an understatement. The ship entered the ice at roughly twen
ty-five degrees and looks like it’s stuck at about the midpoint. “Any clue on how thick the ice is there?”

  “Mean estimate is three meters,” Jerry answers. “And as much as I’d appreciate you moving the boat to here, I’m seeing cracks and fissures all over the place. It would be bad if the pinnace got mired in as well. Eyeballing the wreck, it is Grazer class. We don’t see any markings, so I can’t say if it is or isn’t Gallagher but the odds favor it.”

  “Strider, walk around it as close as you can, see if you can find an entry for us. Although, I suppose if we absolutely have to, we can enter through the engine nacelles and cut through the…”

  “Negative,” Athena interrupts me. “There is energy radiating from the nacelles, most likely the containment field for the propulsion or another system has degraded. I have plotted the effective downwind pattern based on prevailing weather conditions. While the protection offered by the wraith and SoniArmor—excuse me—marauder suits should be sufficient, it is being degraded by the toxic atmosphere.”

  “Salient point,” I say. “Strider, find us a place to cut through. Put out a welcome beacon, we’re on the way.”

  “Wilco,” he says.

  “Saddle up, team. It’s time to earn the big bucks.”

  “You mean we’re getting paid for this?” Beebles asks. “I would’ve done this for free!” She’s trying to put on a casual front, but I see right through it. She’s just as scared as the rest of us. We all seal up our armor and take turns cycling through the airlock. I’d like to have Athena with us, but if nothing else returns to Star Chaser the pinnace and what little data has been collected must, and nobody else knows how to fly the silly thing.