Proving True: A Sonia MacTaggert Novel

by Robert Culp

  Two hours later, I’m in my armor workshop when I hear a knock on the door. A brunette woman with flawless skin is standing in the doorway. “Chief MacTaggert? I’m Mitra VanSuel, assistant to Professor Jenkins. He asked me to stop in and see how I can help you with some physics puzzles.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss VanSuel.” I hold out my hand to shake hers, she takes my hand for a second before pushing it to the side and wrapping her arms around me. I’m speechless but I put my hands on her biceps and push.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says as she increases the distance between us. “Professor Jenkins didn’t tell you I’m a hugger, did he? ‘Personal space’ is a novel concept I’m still working to understand.”

  “No, he did not. Uh, now that the bubble of personal space has been demolished, may I call you Mitra? If it’s just you and me, when we’re alone I’m Sonia, not Chief MacTaggert.” She nods assent, so I continue. “What I need from you is the science to make my vision—no pun intended—a reality. Specifically I want to bend light. Observe this suit of armor. I want to send light around it so that it is rendered effectively invisible. I can accept there being a shimmer, or a wrinkle, in the air. But that should only be visible when the brightest of lights is directed towards it, by which I mean on the order of high noon in any desert or on a glacier. The goal is to keep a sneaky trooper from being detected. Naturally, the unit would be deployed in low light and the trooper would use typical stealth measures to avoid detection. This isn’t license to be stupidly bold and walk into the lion’s den. Of course, if he were moving through a mist or smoke, eddies and whorls would be left behind him if he—or she—moves too quickly. And if the technology could be reproduced at a greater scale, perhaps to cloak a ship, would be ideal.”

  “Phase two of the project would be the armor not registering on typical sensors, either. I originally thought that might be more difficult, but then I realized that visible light and non-visible light all exist on the electromagnetic spectrum. So, what do you think, can you help me?”

  She taps her finger against her pursed lips. “Hmmm, tricky.” I recognize the thousand-meter stare and know that she’s not listening to me anymore. I pull my perCom out of its holster and tap a familiar name. He answers on the third ring.

  “Hey, Squats, what’s up?”

  “Freds, I need you to come by my workshop—Area Z, Level Four, Compartment Bravo six—and look over a suit of armor for me.”

  “The SoniArmor project? Forward me any documentation that needs reviewing, I’ll sign off on it. I know you, I’ve worn it, and I don’t need to see whatever you want approved.” We’ve come a long way.

  “I appreciate your confidence, but this one’s different. Remember me asking you about the recon suit on the flights to Atlas and Goliath? Sneaking around in shadows and what not? I want to talk about what’s going where so I don’t have as much rework.”

  “Oh, that one. I’m tied up in inventory this evening and tomorrow morning. I’ll call you in about 24 hours.”

  “That’ll work, I’ll talk to you then.” Our conversation ends with a click. Mitra is looking at me.

  “I think I understand what you want, your requirements and available assets. Is it your intent to deflect anything aside from the ordinary or is making the wearer hard to see the primary goal? I’m going to start some experiments to prove the concepts in lab 051. I’ll send you a link to the project notes document, will that be sufficient?”

  “It will indeed,” I tell her. “I’ll share the link to my progress log with you, as well.”

  “Rather than maintain two separate documents, why don’t we both keep notes in the same document?” Mitra offers.

  “That is a much better idea. As to further improvements, ultimately, I want the armor to avoid any form of radiated energy. Initially, we’ll limit that to visible light, but if I remember my high school physics correctly, that should defeat a targeting laser as well. The Mark II version should be invisible in the ultraviolet and infrared spectra as well. Pulse radar might be a tougher nut to crack, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. That’s the long answer. The short is ‘hard to see in visible light.’ Again, let me say thank you for your help, thank you very much.”

  “It’s what I do,” Mitra says with a smile. “I presume you’ll make the appropriate remarks to Professor Jenkins for my annual evaluation?”

  “Of course,” I assure her. She smiles. She moves to hug me again but I wave her off. She nods and leaves.

  When I get back to the stateroom, Athena is there. They must have decided against a full shift in the medical section. “I’ve spoken to the Adjutant’s office about having you reassigned from medical to Engineering. I’d like you to become familiar with the Transit drives of Star Chaser and the functions associated with maintaining them,” I tell her. “With your chassis and composition, you can handle some jobs that would kill a human. But your brain can learn more than just that. I also want you to learn gourmet cooking and that’s something you can’t learn by reading manuals. You’ll be challenged to manipulate some pretty intricate equations in multiple variables. Have you any arguments or counter proposals?”

  “None at all, Sonia,” she says. “I will get to work in those areas. If you will allow me, I would also like to apprentice myself in the computer architecture lab with the goal of making some improvements to my operational systems.”

  “Improvements?” I ask. “You’re basically Ultima Humana, the ultimate human. What improvements could you possibly want or need?”

  “Contractions,” she answers. “And slang. I am familiar with some idioms, but contractions will assist me in blending among humans.” She makes an excellent point, one thing that I always noticed when talking to both her and Aria was that neither ever used contractions.

  “It’s okay with me, if it will make you happy…sorry, if it completes you, if it is beneficial to you, then I’m in favor of it. One other thing, I’m interested in one of those martial arts that is heavily into mental discipline. Can you find out if there’s anything like that available on this tub?”

  “Accessing.” Her eyes blink as she “reads” the listing from the ship’s central computer. “There is a class of Shra Kuhn taught every other day at 1500 by Master Kreq. The art consists of throws, strikes, joint manipulation, pressure points, healing as well as energy projection and manipulation. Shall I enroll you? As an item of potential interest: the physicist with whom you have been working, Mitra VanSuel, is enrolled currently.”

  “Definitely food for thought. I may ask you to enroll me in the future.”

  “I will be more than happy to do so.”

  Over the next three weeks, Athena learns the Transit drives from deck plate to overhead, fore to aft and port to starboard as far as physical construction. I have no doubt that she could disassemble and reassemble any one of them with a screwdriver and a set of box-open end wrenches. She’s also on loan to the kitchen staff and has prepared several meals—under Chef Pierre’s supervision—for the senior staff and has been getting rave reviews. I’m in my stateroom going over my armor design, trying to solve a cooling problem when my perCom trills, the caller identification indicates it’s Lorena DuQuois.

  Isis above, what does she want? “MacTaggert,” I answer.

  “Get your broad, pampered ass to my office, and I mean now!” The click indicates she didn’t even wait for a response before breaking the connection. I know what that means so I save open documents on my computer and beat feet down the companionway.

  I press the button to announce my arrival, the door slides open and I enter. I have no idea what I’ve either done that I shouldn’t have or not done what I should have that has earned me her ire. But I’m certain that I will find out soon. “Assistant Engineer Sonia MacTaggert reporting, ma’am.” I hope I can keep my job and my temper. I can feel my grasp on both slipping.

  She presses a button on her desktop, the door slides shut behind me. DuQuois stands, leaning on h
er desk, glaring at me. Her knuckles whiten. Her lip curls into a snarl. “I have good news, I have better news,” she rasps. I’m confused, if this is how good news is delivered, I don’t want to be anywhere close when bad news is about. “The Captain is very happy with your work, particularly your armor prototype. According to your reports, it is 90% invisible at 30 meters under indirect lighting conditions. You also indicate it should be capable of deflecting rocket propelled munitions up to 9mm in size.”

  “We haven’t…”

  “Shut your damned mouth!” she screams before I can explain we haven’t tested that yet. “When I want to hear you say something, I will use the command, ‘Speak’ is that clear?”

  “Yes…”

  “I didn’t say, ‘Speak.’” She snarls as she walks around the desk, invading my personal space. Her nose is within an inch of mine. “You are a talented engineer, but you are going to start slacking off a little. You’re not going to file these Wonder Girl reports anymore. You’re not going to have another success on the, what are you calling it?” She looks at the report on her desk. “Ah yes, the wraith project. You won’t have another success for the next two weeks. In short, you’re not going to show me up. You are not getting my job do you understand me? You are not Dynamic Woman, Engineer Extraordinaire. You are now Wendy the wrench wench! Do we understand each other?” It takes everything I have, but I manage to keep my jaw clenched. “Speak!” she barks.

  “Ma’am,” I say as calmly and evenly as I can, “I have no designs on your job. You say the Captain is happy with my work, and I believe that when you say it. I did not know the research documents had been made public. I mean no disrespect, but I don’t want your job. I can only imagine the headaches that come with a ship this size and a staff as diverse as yours. I’ve been an Engineering department head and I was managing fewer people then than I am now. When I commanded Night Searcher my primary staff was smaller than yours. You may not believe me, ma’am, but I am content where I am, doing what I’m doing, which is working for you. I do need some guidance and clarification though, where is it you want me to ‘slack off?’ You told me on my first day to do as I wished as long as the Transit drives continued to run, which they have. Yes, I have had some success in some side projects, but those will go with me when I leave and I anticipate doing that as soon as we get back to Atlas.”

  “You’re damned right you will,” she spits at me. “The one thing you do not have on this ship is a future. When the Captain compliments your work, and he will, you’re going to say that I taught you a lot of what you applied to that project. It will be in your best interest as I have a lot of impact on your final evaluation and that determines your final paycheck. If you want to get paid half of what you signed on for, you need to keep me happy.” She moves back behind her desk. She is about to sit when she appears to remember something. “Oh, and one other thing, I need a new love puppet and your pilot friend, Landers, in the SDB squadron is nominated. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make it happen. Dismissed.” She activates the door control. The door slides open and I back out through it—too flabbergasted to protest. As soon as I’m clear of it, the door closes. I am so confused and angry I couldn’t even mount an appropriate response, and I know I desperately need to. I stand in front of the door, dumbfounded. I can’t decide if I’m more irate because she wants me to do less than my best or she wants me to pimp out one of my best friends.

  My perCom trills distracting me, it’s Commander Nimyitschi, the First Officer. “Miss MacTaggert, I see you have requested the use of the hangar deck for a live fire exercise. I’m sure you understand that I have some safety concerns, for personnel and materiel.”

  “Yes sir,” I say. Given what just happened with the boss, it’s time to throw her under the Magtrain. “I ran the request and the risk analysis worksheet through Chief DuQuois en route to you.” Which is true, it’s not my fault if she didn’t read them.

  “I noted that. I will be having a meeting with both of you, be prepared to allay my fears. She will notify you of the time.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Nimyitschi, out.” I put my perCom in my pocket, I’m sure I’ll hear about when that meeting is from her in a few days. But for right now, I’m going back to my workshop. There’s another trill from my perCom, a text message.

  XO’s office @0700 tomorrow. Wear something revealing.

  It’s from DuQuois. Just what I need, an overbearing bitch trying to not only turn me into a pimp, but feels threatened by me enough to tell me to play the whore.

  I press the announcement button on the office of the Executive Officer fifteen minutes ahead of time. When I was commanding Night Searcher my standard was, “to be early was to be on time, to be on time was to be late.”

  The door slides open. The First Officer, Commander Alexander Nimyitschi, is standing at the food service kiosk of his office. The decorations in his office are scarce, but presumably very personal. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee is heavy on the air. As is the lingering tell tale scent of pipe tobacco. I wonder how Angus is doing I muse. He waves me into the room pointing with his coffee mug to an empty chair in front of his desk. There are two chairs. I presume the other is for DuQuois. He takes a seat behind his desk, sitting a cup of coffee on it, and opens a page on his holoCom. “You’re early,” he says, blowing on his coffee. “I like that. Ms. DuQuois should be here soon, we’ll hold off on your brief until she gets here. So, I know what you were hired to do, why don’t you tell me if there’s anything else you want to accomplish aboard Star Chaser?”

  While he isn’t an old man, he’s older than I. I feel quite comfortable around him. If a starship were compared to a family, he’s kind of like an uncle. The Captain would be the stern grandfather. I’m formulating my answer when the announcement chimes. “Hold those thoughts, we may get to them later.” He presses the opening button to admit who is probably DuQuois.

  She enters in mid rant, “Sir, I’m sorry but I don’t know where MacTaggert…” her eyes find mine. “Oh,” she says trying to recover. “You’re here.” And where else would I be? I don’t know what this woman has against me, I wonder if I’ll find out before I leave this ship.

  Commander Nimyitschi takes control of the meeting. “Ladies, thank you for being on time. I understand that Ms. MacTaggert has developed a suit of Strike Armor that will change physics in its local area. Is that an accurate description?” He’s not looking at me, but at DuQuois. It’s her department so that makes sense.

  “I wouldn’t give her that much credit, sir,” she says. “With some help from a student of Professor Jenkins she manipulates physics and applies some interesting techniques, but ‘change physics’ is a pretty high praise which I don’t feel is merited in this instance.”

  “So, the armor,” his gaze shifts to me, “is it a standard issue suit?”

  “Not exactly, sir,” I say. I’m beginning to say more when I get interrupted.

  “We had to take a bit of the shell in order to apply the apparatus that bends light,” DuQuois explains. “And the backpack unit has been plussed up in weight a bit to accommodate the needed equipment to power the apparatus. That led to a minor reduction in the direct fire resistance capacity of the armor.”

  “Oh?” The Commander’s eyebrows go up. “How minor, Miss MacTaggert?”

  “Sir, the reduction…”

  “I asked her, Ms. DuQuois.” I would never have described the First Officer as “laid back,” but I certainly don’t want to be on his bad side right now. “Miss MacTaggert?” his gaze comes back to me.

  “Sir, any trooper worthy of the title would say the suit is unacceptable for a straight-up fight,” with my peripheral vision I see DuQuois looking daggers at me. But I’m not covering for her in this situation. “But it was never meant to be directly engaged. The mission I built it for is stealth and reconnaissance. I have a trooper friend, a combat veteran, who was willing to help me with the requirement parameters. This is the sort of
tool that would be employed singly or in pairs, depending on the nature of the mission. If they do their jobs correctly, they’ll never be detected, much less directly and decisively engaged. To answer your question, the armor can take a direct hit from most sidearms, but a direct hit—straight on—from a combat rifle will likely penetrate it. Those are my projections, anyway.”

  “I see,” he sits back. “Tell me about your test plan.”

  “Static tests, sir,” DuQuois says. “We’ll put the armor on a frame or mannequin and shoot at it. Hence, our request for the flight deck.”

  “Unfortunately,” I say, “that doesn’t test the greatest strength of the project.” DuQuois wants to strangle me. I can feel it radiating from her. “The only way a test like that would be useful would be to set the mannequin in place, turn the lights off and invite in a shooter to look into a dark room for a target. I would recommend someone wear the suit and walk away from the shooter. He or she would then tell the evaluator when they could no longer see the target well enough to shoot at it.”

  Now DuQuois turns to me, “And who would you recommend to wear an untested suit of armor to intentionally draw fire?” She glares at me.

  “I will,” I return her gaze.

  “No,” the First Officer says, “that’s not happening the way you described it. But,” he holds up his finger for emphasis, “what we will do is let your…chameleon walk to the end of the hangar and we’ll turn out the lights. The ‘shooter’ will have a non-firing rifle but the sighting systems will be functional. The test ends when the shooter engages the target, the target engages the shooter, or the target exits the AO. You,” he points at me, “said the armor could survive a sidearm shot. If you’re still willing, you’ll have an opportunity to prove that. The shooter will be armored as well in conventional Strike Armor to employ the integrated sighting system, since the mission of the—what do you call this,” he refers to his holoCom. “Wraith armor is to avoid confrontation, you will not be required to defeat the shooter, just avoid getting shot yourself. When will you be ready?”