Proving True: A Sonia MacTaggert Novel

by Robert Culp

  They all follow Kreq’s lead in a ceremony of some sort, he kneels, they kneel. He bows, they bow. He stands, they stand. He summons the student in the front rank on the far left to the front. I guess he’s the senior student. They exchange a few words and Kreq leaves him to move among the rest of the class. The student leads the class through some exercises to get their heart rate elevated and to get them stretched out. While that happens, Kreq helps the newer students, correcting mistakes where he sees them, always with a smile as he shows them what they should be doing. The exercise session lasts for about twenty minutes then Kreq takes over.

  He lectures the class on a technique then summons the three largest students in the class from the front rank. Of the remainder, the front two ranks kneel to allow the ranks behind them to see. Of the selected trio, all roll their eyes and moan to a certain degree. I guess they get picked on a lot. Before they join him at the front, each picks a two-meter pole from a bin. One end of their poles is painted red and they all orient that end towards him as they surround him. He looks to each in turn; each nods to him. Kreq barks, “Attack!”

  I’m not certain exactly what happens next, but it happens at lightning speed. I see one student fall, his legs knocked from beneath him. I presume the red end of the pole is supposed to represent a blade, the other two blades attack Kreq, one is high the other low and he dodges both. Suddenly he is behind one of the remaining attackers, propelling him into his confederate. Each tries hard to avoid “stabbing” his fellow, Kreq kicks the butt end of the staff nearest him and the red “blade” strikes the other attacker in the neck. To his credit, he “plays the game” and falls pretending to be slain. The first to fall is getting to his feet, but as quick as he is, Kreq is quicker and kicks him in the chest, sending him back to the mat.

  The standing attacker lunges at Kreq who evades the cut and uses the staff as a tool to throw the attacker to one side. Kreq kept hold of the staff and uses it to keep the sitting attacker at bay. All three of them raise their hands in surrender. Kreq smiles and helps them to their feet. I expect applause, but there is none. The three students return to their place in the class.

  Kreq then divides the class into smaller sections and has the senior students, now armed with similar staves, tutoring the junior. After a short period of time, Kreq is satisfied with the progress of the class and approaches me. “So, Miss MacTaggert, what do you think?”

  “I think,” I say slowly, “that I’d like to know where to get one of those uniforms before your next class.”

  His smile broadens.

  Chapter 12

  Shore Leave

  Two weeks from now Star Chaser will put in at Demris Station. Even if I had a star chart and an almanac I’d be challenged to find it. On the up side, I’m learning a great deal in the Shra Kuhn class. Of course I’m also spending a lot of my spare time nursing sore muscles and wounded pride. And, of course, DuQuois continues to make my life miserable.

  This problem has been festering for too long. I turn on my holoCom and enter the code for Shawna. When she answers I say, “Hey girlfriendly, I have a problem that I need your help with. Can you stop by my stateroom when you get a chance, please?”

  “Sure, what’s up?” she asks as I knew she would.

  “I’d rather we be face to face, I have a huge favor to ask.”

  I can see the concern and wonderment on her face fortunately she doesn’t press the point. “Okay, I have a simulation flight from 20 to 2200, will after that be too late?”

  “Not for you, sweetie,” I say. “I’ll see you then.”

  At 2214, my door chime rings. The holoCom verifies it’s Shawna, still in her flight gear. I open the door and let her in. She’s still a beauty, but it’s pretty obvious that she has been flying, even if it is a simulator. She has the sweat stains, helmet hair, and muskiness that are the trademarks of the joystick jockeys. She’s running her hands through her hair, trying to get some of the bigger tangles out. “Hey, girlfriendly,” I say as she walks in. “It’s good to—what have you done to your hair?” The last time I saw her, her locks were like spun gold, now it’s the color of strained peaches.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “A slight mishap I guess?”

  “You might say that,” I turn on my captain’s voice. “All right you, out of that flight suit and into the shower. You’re going to get some lessons in the finer points of hair care.”

  She fell into my lounge chair when she came in and hasn’t moved since. “What are you saying? If you wanted me out of my clothes all you had to do was say so.”

  “Like I’ve told you, my door doesn’t swing that way. Lieutenant, get in the shower. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She says petulantly. She removes her boots and socks, stands and walks wearily to the ’fresher, unzipping her flight suit and leaving a trail of garments as she goes. I pick them up and drop them into the laundry chute. Everything has a locator chip sewn into it, so it will end up where it belongs. She can wear one of my coveralls to go back to her stateroom. I hand her my shampoo and conditioner, but with the shower going, water is spraying all over me. The most sensible thing is to get out of my own clothes, so that’s what I do. She wipes the soap from one eye, “Be honest, you’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I tell her. “I don’t want a wet uniform any more than you want a funky one. Put the conditioner in your hair and leave it there while you wash the rest of you.” When she finishes, we both towel off. I slip into a nightgown. She puts on some of my sweats. I brush out her hair, its natural color hasn’t returned but it is starting to peek through.

  “So,” she asks, “what is this problem you have? Surely it wasn’t just my hair?”

  “No,” I say. “I have a problem with my bitch of a boss. She did all but give me a written order to pimp you out to her. I told her all I can do is ask you if you might be interested in her, I don’t have any command influence over you so I can’t issue an order. But even if I could, I wouldn’t. That would just be wrong. If you decide to do this though, if you can and will, see if you can find out why she hates me. Understand, it makes no difference to me one way or the other. I can take whatever she wants to dish out, I have no illusions about spending the rest of my life working for her. This gig is temporary. But she’s making my life unnecessarily difficult, you know? Can you sleep on it and maybe help me out?”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. Her eyes meet mine, but I can’t keep it. I’m too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. She breaks the uncomfortable silence. “That was hard for you to ask me, wasn’t it?”

  “You know it, sister,” I say with a knot in my throat.

  “Why?”

  I lift my head and make eye contact with her again then look away to wipe away a tear. “Because you are my dearest friend, actually you may be tied with Freddie for first, but be that as it may, I feel terrible asking you to do this for me. You’re a pilot on this ship, not a courtesan. Not that you wouldn’t be a great one,” I say, which elicits a smile from her.

  “You’re damned right I would.” She leans back and looks at me. “I don’t need to sleep on it, I’ll help you out. Like you’ve said and demonstrated, friends help each other if and when they can. You just leave her to me.” She stands and wraps her arms around me, drawing me into a tight sisterly hug. “Now, if that’s out of the way, it’s late, I’m tired and my stateroom is a fifteen minute walk from here. And if I hadn’t come here, instead of going straight there, I would already be showered and snoring. Are you,” she points a finger at me and grins, “going to send me away, into the cold, cold night like the heartless person you want me to deal with on your behalf?” She points her thumb at herself and her forefinger at me for emphasis.

  I look around the stateroom, there’s only one bed but the chair does recline a bit. “Okay,” I say with a waver in my voice. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep in the chair.”

  “You will not,” she replies. “You will sleep in your own bed, I will
share it with you.” I take a breath to argue with her and she says, “Or the deal’s off.” I’m speechless. “I’ll keep my hands off of you.”

  “Promise?” I ask.

  “No, but I’ll do my best.” She grins at me. She’s enjoying this too much. I hope she’s just yanking my chain. But she crawls into the bed, scoots to the far side to make room for me. I lie down and pull the sheet and duvet up to my chin, then reach above us and turn the lights out. “Sonia?” Shawna asks in a yawn. “You know you’re going to owe me big for this, right?”

  “No doubt.”

  Good to her word though, when I turn the lights on she hasn’t touched me, aside from her hip bumping into mine from time to time. When I climb into the shower, she heads out for her stateroom.

  When we are two days out, I organize a maintenance schedule to implement for the down time we have, it will go into effect as soon as the drives are safe enough to work on. I forward the schedule to DuQuois and ask if shore leave will be authorized. For me. I’ve heard some of the other crewmembers talk about the grand times they’ve had on Demris station, but for leadership on the DuQuois crew, it’s been business as usual. We’re all starting to show wear. Even Roy isn’t smiling as much as he usually does. I asked him about it and he just said, “SLAPPY.” Which he later explained translates to Sounds Like A Personal Problem, Young’un. An hour later I’m reading the latest TMs for maintenance procedures when I get a holoCom from DuQuois. Among other things, she tells me that shore leave is authorized, and she doesn’t want to see me on Star Chaser until the recall is sounded. Works for me. I bet she’s hoping I’ll get arrested for something.

  In my stateroom I pack a weekend bag out of sheerest optimism and load the patent application Athena wrote up for me onto a portable memory crystal. It isn’t planned, but Roy, Mitra and I are on the same shuttle over to the station. The schedule is the ship will be here for four days, hence my bag. But I’ve learned anything can happen.

  It’s not a planet, so we’ll still be breathing recycled air. That’s unfortunate, but it’s far from being a showstopper. Demris is a gigantic space station, I think it’s easily as big as Rigg’s Station, but I’m not sure. I still find it challenging to believe that I’ve never heard of this place. There’s an enormous area called the Promenade with a great number of storefronts. A map of the Promenade installs itself on my perCom, making it easy to know what can be had, where it is, and how to get there. And there is just what I need: a long-range communications café.

  I put my name on the queue and wait for the alert on my perCom in the coffee shop nearby. I sip a mocha latte and watch passersby. They are all races, all species, and if clothing is any indicator, all occupations. I’m just guessing that the rules here are pretty simple: Don’t start any trouble, if you do there will be consequences. As I finish my drink, I get the “my turn” alert. Great timing. I throw away the cup and check in with the attendant before making my way to the holoCom unit he indicates. I slot my credit chip and the meter starts running.

  I draft a quick message to the lawyer that is helping me with building that trust fund for Catherine Sinnair, daughter of my deceased boss on Night Searcher.

  Mr. Jules Rickerback, I hope this message finds you well. Attached you will find a patent application for a suit of reconnaissance armor. I am including a letter of credit to cover the filing fees. Also, the last I knew the courts were obstructing the creation of the trust for Catherine Sinnair, I was disappointed to learn that but I suppose with the patient being on Atlas and the nearest relative being on Goliath, such things are difficult. If more money is required, the separation agreement I got from Night Searcher was very lucrative. To suggest a course of action would be pointless, as I am much farther away from Goliath and not an attorney.

  Sincerely,

  Sonia MacTaggert.

  I peruse the local websites for news while waiting for the “delivery confirmed” message. When I get bored with that, I start playing Solitaire. I’ve finished four games when the message arrival charm signals my LR COM went through. I copy it to the memory crystal for my records. I’ve spent about as much as I want to spend anyway so I log out of the machine and leave the café.

  I could have sent it from the ship at no cost, if I didn’t object to leaving a trail. And I do.

  Having nothing better to do, I continue window-shopping. Through the window of a sporting goods store, I see Master Kreq. He’s wearing street clothes so it takes me a second glance to recognize him. I’ve only ever seen him in his gi, but now he’s wearing khaki slacks, a yellow shirt, a blue cardigan and a pigskin cap. However, he is wearing the same sandals he wears in class. I guess some habits die hard. Without scanning the area, he looks right at me. After a double take his lips then curl up in his signature grin and he motions me to join him. I enter the store and make my way to where he is. Standing in front of several racks of Bara wood staves of various lengths.

  I bow, out of habit, he laughs and returns it. “The bow is only necessary in the dojo but thank you for the honor you do me. I’ve been meaning to ask you, you have teleported. Who taught you to do that?”

  How in the worlds does he know that? “To be fair, I haven’t learned it, sir. It was quite by accident. I don’t know exactly how I did it and honestly I’m afraid to experiment with it. I was wearing an amulet at the time, I presume that was where the power and technology for teleportation came from, but of course I don’t know.”

  He strokes his unshaved cheek, “Very interesting. When we get back underway, perhaps you will tell me more. I shall be happy to assist you in this very complex operation.” He knows about stuff like this? Before I can ask he says, “While you are here, perhaps you would consider some purchases for your Shra Kuhn training. If you wish to advance—and I suspect you do—you will benefit from having your own pads and protective gear. Come, I will help you.”

  He leads me to the protective gear and helps me pick out a mouth guard and sparring pads for my hands and feet. In the clothing section, with the assistance of a saleswoman, I pick out a higher quality sports bra than the one I have and another gi. I reach for a new belt until I note him giving me The Look. I put the belt back in the bin. As I walk towards the checkout counter, I ask Kreq, “The staves you were looking at, I presume we’ll be seeing them in class?”

  “Now, Sonia,” he says, chiding me, “that would be telling. Wait for the surprise.” I must be frowning. He laughs and adds, “The advanced class will see them, yours will not.” Well, that’s good news. I hope.

  As the cashier finishes ringing up my purchase my perCom chirps, it’s Shawna. “Excuse me, Master Kreq, I really should take this.” He smiles, waves and continues about his business. I walk out into the promenade with my bags and answer the call. “Hey, chick, what’s up?”

  “Hey ex-boss, we—me, Freddie, Athena and Mitra—are going for chow and dancing, you coming?”

  “Chow sounds good,” I tell her, “but only if you let me buy. Where and when?” She tells me the name of the restaurant and I end the call, they’re only a few minutes away and we’re soon all together. I look for public lockers and find none. As there's not really any alternative, I carry my bags. Or at least, I was until Athena takes them from me when they find me. As we walk towards the restaurant, we pass a lingerie shop. Athena points at the mannequin in the display window.

  “Sonia, you said I need more clothing. Should I dress like that?” Athena asks.

  “Not in public,” Freddie answers. “I mean, you’d look fantastic in it and I don’t think it would need any altering.” We all stop walking and stare at him. “What? Oh, none of you was going to say it, or am I just not allowed to have an opinion on women and lingerie?”

  Athena ends the silence, “I was not aware you had such a conception of my measurements.”

  Mitra adds to the conversation, “Or would say so out loud or in public.” She turns from Freddie to Athena and continues, “But there are sometimes laws against exposing too muc
h skin. Personally, I think to do so would be tacky and show less class than I believe you have.”

  “I’ve always felt that lingerie should always be worn only in the bedroom,” I mention. “And typically—unless your lover is away—it isn’t worn for very long anyway. That’s why anytime I’m undecided about a piece, I take it off the hanger and throw it on the floor. Although, the salespeople get pretty torqued about me doing so, especially after I tell them that’s where it will spend most of its time. If I don't like it there, I don't buy it. If we could continue?” Shawna and Freddie each flank Athena and start giving her fashion tips. I pull Mitra back a little and say quietly to her, “I have something for you to cogitate on. The cloaking technology we put in the wraith armor, have you thought of applying that on a ship-size scale? Oh and by the way, I took the liberty of putting your name on the patent application, so once it goes into production you’ll be receiving royalties, about ten percent if I remember correctly.”

  “No, I haven't…wait, you what? Holy crap! I don't know what to say! That’s awesome, I mean, thank you!” she spouts, desperately trying to regain her composure. “Uh, cloaking a ship, I’m not sure. It should work, I mean, the numbers are there, the math is solid, but we’ll have to do some experimenting and run a few simulations. The lattice would have to be beefed up, the power requirements would increase significantly as well.”