Proving True: A Sonia MacTaggert Novel

by Robert Culp

  “That Grangiere person is hailing us again,” the comm tech says.

  “Answer it,” I say. I’m tired. I need a nap!

  “Well played, Captain. Can you teleport armored troopers from your ship as well?”

  “That’s not important, Jack.” I answer. “The question you need an answer to is, can we teleport a reactor core from yours? Possibly. But in all honesty probably not. However, I’m reasonably certain we can snatch the shielding away. How long would it take for your ship to flood with radiation, making your systems—and eventually your bodies—useless?”

  He pauses. “Good move, Captain.”

  “His targeting systems have powered down,” Athena reports.

  “I must concede this round to you,” Jack says. “Would you care to join me for drinks and dinner?”

  I mute the comm. I pat Padilla’s pockets until I find my amulet and microfilament saber. They probably need to become parts of my daily uniform. I drop both items into cargo pockets on my APE suit and restore the channel. “Someone take her to medical. She’s sure to need some TLC and psychotherapy.” As one of the troopers picks Padilla up I open the comm channel and laugh mirthlessly, “Let’s replay events, shall we? You approach my ship without announcing yourself—in and of itself aggressive if not technically an act of war—you tell me you want to abduct and enslave any members of my crew you don’t kill, then you threaten to hold one of my crew hostage and now you want to socialize? You have nerve, I’ll give ye that! Let me think on that.” I pause and force a smile. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, sadly my current schedule won’t allow it. Wait for me at the Grand Duke. Make reservations under the name ‘Otis C. Fudpucker’ for let us say two years from last Wednesday. Wear a blue shirt and pink beanie hat. I’ll find you. Gallagher Actual out.”

  Ordinarily, Athena would be reporting on whatever movement the other ship is making, but we’re both looking at the monitor. I can see for myself that he’s moving away, and at a respectable rate of speed.

  I turn away and tell the communications technician, “Contact Oedipus, advise them…”

  “Contact is turning back,” Athena declares. “His weapons are still charged, his tracking systems are coming back on line!” She said his tracking systems had powered down but she said nothing about the weapons. She didn’t volunteer his weapons status and I didn’t ask. We will definitely have to re-evaluate our SOPs! If we survive!

  “All hands!” Athena yells into the comm system. “DEFCON 1, weapons free, condition red, prepare for depressurization!” The telltale click of APE helmets locking into place fills the bridge. The indicator ribbons on the air vents stop moving then reverse direction as air is pumped into the holding tanks.

  I seal my own helmet and yell into the comm, “Cannon, fire when you get a lock!” I don’t have to yell. The microphone is millimeters from my mouth! Blasted adrenaline! Yesterday’s maintenance report stated we were able to get a meson cannon installed. Getting it operational was scheduled for today. But circumstances have changed, we’re on the edge of finding out if it was done correctly. Four seconds later, the ship is completely depressurized.

  Somehow, we’re able to get a shot off first. And it’s from the meson cannon, which performs flawlessly. “Our cannon strike disrupted one of his turrets.” Great news, that means he can only shoot us with three. But it’s better than a complete miss.

  The wounded corsair fires from its remaining turrets. Athena reports, “Light ship to ship missiles are inbound.” Moments later Gallagher rocks from the impacts. “One miss, two hits. A minor strike to the vehicle bay. Our Transit drive took a hit and is off line. He is circling around for another pass.”

  “Gunnery, this is the Captain. Get that piece of shit out of my sky!”

  “Wilco,” replies the deadpan trooper. And his aim is true. The second meson blast strikes the rear of the corsair.

  “One turret destroyed,” Athena reports. “A second turret apparently sympathetically erupted. The remaining enemy turret is firing.”

  Gallagher rocks under another impact. “His missile has taken our cannon out of the fight. We are unarmed.”

  Jack’s voice slithers out of my helmet speakers, “Ready to discuss surrender? I give you the word of a gentleman. If you do not yield, on my next pass I will destroy your engines and life support. You said yourself there’s nothing aboard your ship worth dying for.”

  “I never said that. And if you are surrendering to me, I accept. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Otherwise, prepare for a two by four meter section of your reactor containment system to be teleported from where it is—protecting your crew from radiant energy—to where you don’t want it, maybe your medical bay? You continue to make thinly veiled threats about the fate of my crew that make me think your use of the word ‘gentleman’ is an insult to gentlemen throughout the universe.”

  “And if I promise to treat you and your crew humanely?”

  “You’ve given me no reason to believe you are capable or willing to keep such a promise. I am grateful though that given the time you have wasted in this dance you have no way of capturing Queen Alba Corinna. If nothing else, if none of us survive this encounter, at least she has been teleported to a safe, secure location.” Every eye on the bridge looks to me, all wondering the same thing: Who is Queen Alba Corinna? No idea, I made her up.

  There is no answer from Jack. But Athena speaks, “He’s making another run. Missile inbound.” In short order, a missile strikes Gallagher. “Transit drive again, a secondary detonation has degraded our computer capability by half. Hull breaches in sections one and nine.”

  Now Jack responds, “How about now, sweet cheeks?” I guess he didn’t buy my bluff.

  Freddie’s voice is in my right ear. The flat tone indicates an encrypted signal. “FR14 troopers are in the disabled turret. I’ve got three more we can tether to the hull and let them take pot shots. It may be our dying act, but all of my guys would rather die than be slaves.”

  Athena intones, “He’s coming about for another run, much closer and slower. He means to destroy us. He’s targeting the bridge.”

  I thumb the encrypt switch and tell Freddie, “Make it happen.” I would like nothing more than to make good on my threat and teleport away a piece of his shielding. But I’ve never seen it and I have no way of finding out its exact configuration in time. It would be a complete shot in the dark and right now there are better uses for my concentration. He’s trying to take us more or less intact. Destruction of the bridge will have a minimal impact on the rest of the ship. He wants me to surrender. He has painted us into a corner and not left us an escape route. So the advantage is ours. We have to go through him. So be it. He probably hasn’t read many of the classics on military strategy and theory.

  The great thing about man portable weapons is they can usually be aimed faster than their mechanical hydraulic assisted counterparts. Jack’s corsair makes a low, slow pass overhead, apparently waiting to fire on the bridge until range is point blank and taking any guesswork out of his targeting. Freddie’s FR14 troopers couldn’t ask for a better target. The ones from the disabled turret and those tethered to the hull have a point blank target just begging for incoming fire—such as open missile bay doors—and they are happy to oblige. The aft half of the corsair is engulfed in a huge plasma explosion. The corsair instantly goes dark and begins to drift before his missile can launch.

  “Cap’n,” Freddie says, “unless you say otherwise, I, Cooper and Black will shuttle over there and finish killing those sonsabitches.”

  “SLAP, SarMajor.” I’m doing it now! “And if that jackwagon is still alive, you may indulge yourself in emasculating him before you put two in his brain housing unit. But don’t rush anything on my account. Your only limit is your imagination.”

  “Roger.”

  I turn on the allCom, “Damage reports to the XO!”

  Reports come streaming in to Athena’s station. I ask her, “Casualties?”


  “Surprisingly light. One death, Adrienne Tucker; two wounded, Lieutenant Landers and Engineer’s mate Orson McPherson.”

  “Lead the damage control effort.”

  “Yes, Captain. To that note, multiple hull breaches, damage to the main computer, transit drives and power plant. I have sealed off the appropriate sections and will repressurize the rest of the ship.”

  Freddie is calling again. “Do you want that ship for any reason? That will tell me how much restraint to employ.” I look at the status board. Their shuttle hasn’t left yet.

  “Not in and of itself, but hold fast. I’m coming with you. I have a bit of rage to work off and the aforementioned jackwagon will make an excellent practice dummy.”

  “Captain,” Athena begins, “I do not recommend that course of action. At this time we don’t know anything for certain about the enemy vessel or the composition of its crew, much less their capabilities.” Air flows back onto the bridge.

  I hate it when she’s right. “All of that is true. But I’m leading a scavenger trip. That bastard is a pirate, pure and simple. We need patching material and tools at a minimum. And whatever he’s stolen is up for grabs. Fair is fair.”

  “Even so…” she begins. I stop her with an upraised finger.

  “XO, you have the bridge. I have advised you of where I am going and what I will be doing when I get there. My decision is not subject to discussion. I will, as always, take great steps to assure my safety as well as that of the excursion party.” Without taking my eyes off her, I open the comm channel to Freddie, “And if everyone isn’t in marauder armor, they need to be. I’m on my way and will suit up when I get there.”

  “Roger that, ma’am,” he answers. “We are preparing one for you now.”

  In the locker room off the hangar deck I change from my coveralls into the second-skin undergarment of the marauder armor. The Amulet of the Ancients remains around my neck. I consider putting it inside the garment for only a microsecond. There’s a reason we tell everyone to take out any piercing before donning the garment. The amulet is between the armor and the singlet. Once I have the armor on, aside from the helmet, I slide the microfilament saber into a cargo pocket. With my helmet under one arm, I join the others on the flight deck adjacent to one of the shuttles.

  “Good,” Freddie says, “now that we’re all here I’ll brief the operation. Silver Saber—Athena finally got a report on their USC—has been adrift for about twenty minutes. We don’t know how many people are aboard, much less their skill sets and equipment or training levels. We do know that the typical complement of a ship of that model is twenty people. We estimate that many plus a minimum of ten troopers if he was planning to board and search us. We also believe a portion of the cargo area to be filled with captured people he intends to sell as slaves as well as an unknown amount of materiel he has stolen either for his own use or to be sold.

  “We are going to a) verify that ship is no longer capable of traveling under its own power, b) identify and acquire any materiel we can use to affect our own repairs and/or repurpose for our mission on Dubus III, and c) liberate any personnel being held against their will and offer them sanctuary on Dubus III and/or passage to our next port. We do not anticipate any opposition other than small arms for our flight over, but don’t discount that. The weapons we used to knock their dicks in the dirt are classified as small arms. We will be going into a potentially hot zone, so the side cannons of our vessel will be manned and will be prepared to light the area up before we open the hatch. Once the shuttle leaves Gallagher we will be breathing bottled air and we will continue to do so until we return to Gallagher. Anything to add, Captain?” I shake my head. “Anybody have any questions?”

  Rivers raises a hand, “Rules of engagement?”

  “If it doesn’t have its hands up, shoot to kill. Accept, neutralize, and immobilize anything that surrenders. Any others?” There are none. “Good, let’s get this done, then.” We six, Freddie, Cooper, Rivers, Lundeen, Black, and I board the shuttle. As soon as the hatch is sealed, Freddie orders, “Helmets on. Pilot, let’s go.”

  We all comply.

  Silver Saber is adrift. Visually, we can only identify it due to reflected light. The ship is dark. There are no running lights. There are no lights of any kind. The engine exhaust ports are dark. We approach an open airlock on the top of the ship. It is just large enough to accommodate our shuttle. But as we glide in, the side-mounted cannons on our craft are silent. There are simply no targets. A true monstrosity occupies of the small craft holding pens. I can tell it’s a weapon of some sort but I can’t tell what it is from here. But I think I’m pretty happy it wasn’t involved in the fight we just had.

  Our pilot speaks, “Setting down…3…2…1…down.” There’s a thunk felt through the shuttle as it makes contact with the deck plating. “No pressurization in the landing bay or…” there’s a short hiss of escaping air “…in the shuttle. There’s no indication of any power system operational on the ship. Door opening.”

  Freddie says, “Everyone out! Pilot, as soon as we’re gone, seal up and get the bird back outside.”

  “Wilco, SarMajor.”

  Everyone exits the shuttle. Their combat rifles ready to engage anything. I didn’t grab one before we left. Freddie hands me a rifle as I approach the hatch, “I’ll feel better if you have this.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I charge the weapon. Round in the chamber, selector on safe but ready to rotate.

  He points at the behemoth beside us with the muzzle of his own rifle as the shuttle backs out of the landing bay. “Any idea it is?”

  “Let’s see, that’s a…” I run down the components as I can identify them. “I’m not sure, SarMajor, but it looks like a homebuilt particle accelerator. It’s uglier than a family vine, but if it’s functional—or even close to functional—we’ll take it with us.”

  “If it were functional, I think he’d’a shot at us with it.”

  “Agreed, maybe a log somewhere will tell us about it.”

  “Sounds good, let’s move out.” And of course, closed iris valves stymie our exit from the hangar deck. There’s no power to anything, apparently not even backups for these. “Lundeen,” Freddie barks. “How long to cut through the iris valves?”

  “Hard to say, Boss,” the trooper drawls. “If it’s as hard as what they’re usually made of, probably twenty minutes with the torches we have. There’s usually a manual crank and gear system, for times just like this. Yeah, see that? That’s where the crank goes in. Now we just gotta find it.”

  “And if we do, how long are we looking at then?”

  “Eh, it’s about as broad as it is long. I’m saying twenty minutes either way.”

  “Fine, we’ll look for the crank while you get the torch. Which is of course, back on the shuttle, which will have to come back in. Great. Just peachy.”

  “Hang on, SarMajor,” I say. “I have an idea. Maybe we don’t need the exact crank handle. One of the systems I built into the armor was enhanced strength. If we can wedge something into the socket that will provide enough purchase without distorting too much…”

  “We could crank it open by hand. Or,” he pulls a grenade from its holder, “we can just blow enough of a hole in it and rip it off by hand.”

  “That might work too.” I have to cede the point. “You’ll want to make a depression in the door…”

  “Way ahead of you. Black, hold my rifle.” He hands his rifle to Black and transfers the grenade to his left hand. He cocks his right arm back and before I can yell, “Don’t do that!” he punches the center of the closed door. It makes sense, that’s where the weakest part of the individual slats making up the door would be. But we don’t know how wide or thick those slats are. His gamble pays off, the material bows in about an inch. “Somebody hand me a few strips of tape.” He holds the grenade in the divot while Lundeen tears off a few strips of adhesive tape and the two of them secure the grenade in place. Black starts to return Freddie’s
rifle but Freddie waves him off. “Take cover,” Freddie says as we all move away. Once we’re all at a safe distance he pulls the pin. “Fire in the hole!” He announces and walks away. Never run from a triggered demolition charge.

  Of course, in a vacuum there’s no boom. The vibration of the explosion is felt through the deck and walls though. And of course, we see the flash as it fires. A significant portion of the energy released is dissipated. Just like anything else, it follows the path of least resistance. But the iris petals absorb enough of the energy and shrapnel. The obstacle is breached. The petals, as it happens, are about an inch thick and three inches wide. They are now blossoming inward thanks to the explosion. Of course, with the blast went the shrapnel of the grenade. Like the energy, a significant portion of it went into the landing bay as well. Fortunately, none of us was hit.

  By the shrapnel, that is. One of the troopers, Rivers, looks in the hole. Freddie kicks her legs out from under her as a barrage of small arms projectiles flies through the hole.

  She swears for a second then says, “Thanks, SarMajor.” She’s more embarrassed than hurt.

  “You forgot the first rule of obstacles, trooper. Always cover them with direct fire systems. You didn’t see the targeting laser?”