Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy

by Mark G Brewer

  Orbital Envy

  Book Two in the Regan's Reach Series

  Copyright 2014 Mark G Brewer

  Published by Mark G Brewer at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  Other books by Mark G Brewer

  Prologue

  [Halloo! Can you hear me?]

  Silence . . .

  [Are you there?]

  Silence . . .

  [Shit, shit, shit . . . Are you there . . . Anywhere? Hello . . .]

  [Ham . . . ?]

  [Is that you Ham? What happened? Where am I?]

  And immediately there was a view. A woman's body, naked, lying on a gurney, face up with hands at sides. It was a right side profile, the body very still. Other than the woman the room from this perspective was empty. But it was the Medlab she knew. On second glance the tubes were obvious, from the nose and stomach. The skin looked very pale although the legs, arms and torso were well muscled, chiseled in fact. The woman looked familiar, very fit and healthy.

  [Ham . . . ? That's me isn't it! Why am I there, on that Gurney? I shouldn't even be in the Medlab]

  . . . No reply.

  [What's going on Ham?]

  [Ham?]

  A pause . . . the sense that he was going to speak, then . . . [I thought it best we start here . . . begin with the least disturbing view]

  [The least disturbing . . . ? I don't understand. Something's happened, I can . . . feel it, I don't like this, why am I on the Gurney?] [I can't remember . . .]

  Silence . . .

  [Ham . . . ?] [I'm looking at myself there aren't I? How can I be looking at myself on the Gurney? Oh shit Ham, what's happened, I'm looking at myself . . . I'm looking at myself and you're not saying anything]

  [I'm still listening; I'm just . . . giving you some time to process this. As I said, I thought it best to start with the least disturbing view, give you time to adjust like]

  [Give me time to adjust!] [That's my . . . body! I'm looking at it, I don't like this . . . I don't like it at all]

  [Ok . . . . now that you're adjusted, brace yourself ] He spoke calmly [there's really no easy way to go about this]

  The view began to pan, slowly from the right, sliding up over the prone woman. It was perfection in form, an athlete's body in the peak of physical condition. A body so familiar to the viewer she could be looking in a mirror, except for, as it came into view, the large section of head missing on the upper left side.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  "He gives me the creeps." The two men watched as the diminutive form padded down the long passage, muttering. As he ran he skipped occasionally, happily and unselfconsciously and his voice could be heard clearly until he disappeared into the maze of corridors that extended into the next Hillary development section, still to be occupied.

  "He's just a child; give him a break, most children talk to themselves when they're young." The Indian accent and proper diction spoke of old English, a descendant of colonial subjects perhaps, probably one of the wealthy elite, in fact he must have been to have secured a place here on Hillary.

  "Sanjeev, clearly weird to me is not weird to you, but it's simple, I'm right and you're wrong." A kiwi accent, probably a transfer from Base Camp or The Step, the second man would have enjoyed a much easier passage into space.

  Both men's eyes still lingered on the empty passage, concentrating on the dwindling chatter, trying to pick up anything of the one sided conversation which sounded so interesting.

  "He's got no other children to play with, so here he's made an invisible friend. Didn't you have one?" Sanjeev's mind was already drifting elsewhere.

  "Never, and he shouldn't be here anyway. This is a construction zone, in space! It's no place for a kid. He spends more time up here than on the ground, it's not right, he should be in school." The man's eyes were already drifting back to his work.

  "Maaate," Sanjeev used the term with a deliberate teasing drawl, "you just miss your own kid, that's all. You'll be off rotation next week, three weeks at home changing nappies and you'll be hanging out to get back up here . . . An-y-way," he drew out the word as he looked back wonderingly to where they last saw the boy, "he can't be in school yet, Meredith told me he's only four." He laughed and shook his head. The boy looked six, at least.

  They both turned back to their equipment, checking pressure seals on the meter thick ceiling windows. Behind and before them the windows stretched away at regular intervals for a kilometer in either direction. Through the glass and across the void thin lines of similar corridors could be seen lining the inside of the pipe and producing a fascinating visual effect as they dwindled into the distance then disappeared into the vastness that is space. Between the corridors raised bulges like ribs extended the full length of the pipe, one for every three corridors, tubes which would soon be operational, whisking the lazy or hurried from one end to the other. Looking across the kilometer gap there was no sense of the spin that held them to the floor. The 'Pipe', as snowboarders christened it, turned unobtrusively to all but those who approached by ship. Rotating about its central axis, end on between Earth and Moon it presented as no more than a stationary ring to ground dwellers with telescopes, just moon graffiti. On Hillary Station there was nothing to give the spin away, except if you looked far down the corridor ceiling where through the windows the glow of reflected light from Earth and Moon reminded of home, and the mission. That view might also reward you with an occasional hint of moving shadow the eerie effect generated by earth or moon, sunrise and sunset. And, of course, if you looked there were the constantly shuttling Sherpa's, spin already adjusted, dancing to match the station. They came now in a steady stream having grown in number over the last eighteen months, freighting in section after section for the expanding orbital. Sherpa's, interspersed with personnel carriers or diplomatic shuttles provided by the station and ADF's zipping about like demented bees.

  Even from this distance those who looked could clearly see shimmer from the inside field screen of the earthward flight decks. Although the decks were open on both sides with a matching field earthward, the shimmer prevented looking straight through. As a consequence the remaining view through the nine hundred meter gap appeared to be framed by a light blue ring.

  Mid pipe above them, hovering central to the station would be 'The Keg', so tagged for its shape sans Saucer, pods and interceptors. Rarely were all its parts in attendance thus returning the keg to its full sphere presence. Instead they either shuttled back and forth from Earth, the preferred transport of STEIN executives and visiting dignitaries or, as with the Saucer now, off on some system mission or other. Showing no lights and reflecting little the keg was at once both a calming and intimidating presence.

  The men knew the boy would return there when he had finished playing although no one knew quite how. No vessel ever seemed to travel from pipe to keg or vice versa. Perhaps, it was thought, he had some way of rendezvousing with one o
f the little ADF's although as the months went by and he steadily grew in size that seemed more and more unlikely.

  Hillary station stage one, two thirds completed, one third occupied and already home to four thousand. Researchers representing all the sciences including astronomers, mathematicians, physicists, chemists, engineers and biologists mixed shoulder to shoulder with construction crew and support personnel. Twenty seven nations with leased space and working on a myriad of different projects with more queuing to join by the month. In addition, those private individuals and companies able to establish worthy cases for inclusion, and able to cover the substantial costs were working on projects as diverse as Mars colonization, asteroid mining, space farming and bioengineering.

  Quarter pipe earthward the USDynamics shipyard hummed on its inside rim, a hive of activity, fabricating, assembling and dispatching the vast array of high tech gadgetry required by the tenants and partners. Pipe sections, shuttles, Sherpa's and effectors, by the tens of millions, soon to be billions, churned out for who knows what end.

  Only three years, nearly four in fact and Hillary Station, as Regan liked to put it, was steaming!

  * * *

  "So young Jared, where are we going?"

  "To the innermost ring, in the new area, I've worked out a way to switch off the gravity plates. You can't float but boy can you jump, you'll love it Ham, it's fun." Despite the kilometer jog the boy hardly panted, his short breaths more excitement than tiredness.

  "Jared, there are some things you need to learn about weightlessness; one of them is that I lend new meaning to the term . . . Have you told your mother about this?" he sounded doubtful.

  "No of course not, and you shouldn't either, she wouldn't be happy with you letting me be here."

  Ham pondered on that thought for a minute. The boy was clearly speeding up he noticed, not far from his goal. "Rabbit, clearly you have yet to grasp another important fact . . . mother's know everything."

  "Ham, please do keep up, I'm not a rabbit anymore, I'm a Jackinabox," and he was through the last door honing in on a wall panel, already suspiciously open.

  * * *

  Riverside Hutt Valley, New Zealand

  [He's still there!] Embarrassingly, even subbing, Regan found herself whispering. Leaning on the third floor railing of Riverside she looked down into the foyer.

  Marcus Jackson, STEIN legal council was late, if he would get here at all. It wasn't fair; she knew to pull him out at all hours, especially on such short notice, even if it was for something like a UN Security Council meeting . . . But at that moment, her mind wasn't on Marcus.

  [Ham, Marcus will be wild but message him will you, apologize for me and tell him we won't need him at the moment. Tell him if things get sticky at the meeting we'll call him then]

  [It's done] Ham sighed [You know, I think he fancies his chances]

  [Who Marcus? . . . No way!]

  [Nooo . . . handsome down there, head of security, he's not even on shift, he doesn't really need to be there]

  She returned her gaze to reception. [He has been rather friendly] There followed a long thoughtful pause [When does Marin get back?]

  [Just Marin dear? Not, when does Steph get back, or Aaron?] He continued after a telling pause [They're not expected back for three more days, and that's only if the warp modifications work. You know this, why are you asking me?]

  [Ham sometimes I think you take great delight in this questioning process, a little too much delight in my view] It was an affected school marmish response and already she was moving to the open stairs.

  [Not taking the lift I see?] Ham mocked and she ignored him.

  Taking her time, exaggerating every step, she could tell the man's eyes were following her every movement, professionally of course. She smiled as she approached the front desk.

  "Ms Stein," He stood quickly, "how are you . . . and how can I help?" He smiled gorgeously.

  "I'm fine, thank you for asking. Has there been any sign of Marcus Jackson, I'm expecting him."

  [Oh please! Spare me!] Ham couldn't bare it.

  "No ma'am, he hasn't called in, but . . . if he's stood you up?" There was a pause with a laughing smile, "Only kidding of course," but his eyebrows were raised, questioning, and he smiled again, disarmingly.

  [Oh he is good . . . and outrageously confident!]

  [Shut up Ham] She laughed and held his eyes. "You never know . . ." she leant forward to read his name tag, ". . . Martin. I might take you up on that, but for now I'm off to a meeting, perhaps some other time," and she joined in the game, smiling broadly before returning to the stairs, slowly.

  She allowed her thoughts to drift, considering the situation. [Would there be any legal implications?]

  Ham sighed, long and knowingly. [There are none . . . you contract his company, and as the boss he can do what he wants] [That doesn't make it a good idea!]

  She didn't answer and continued up all flights to the roof where the STEIN Interceptor waited.

  * * *

  Stockholm Sweden

  "She is seriously scary!"

  The comment was somewhat ironic coming from the young woman speaking in hushed tones. To the other half dozen senior diplomatic staffers she looked somewhat intimidating herself, all 'power dressed' in severe office garb, glasses with that 'intelligent' look and needle sharp high heels.

  Huddled together they stole discrete glances across the foyer, trying to take in the tall figure, Regan Stein no less, a legend at twenty eight. The dark trademark body suit and boots left little to the imagination.

  "Well I think she's gorgeous," replied the man to her left, clutching his briefcase to the front. Not quite as discrete as the others, he was drinking in the image, his mind clearly distracted.

  "My God Francois, you're not hiding anything are you?" The severe blonde looked down on him from her lofty steeples and smiled with amusement.

  "What are you talking about?" he replied and shuffled quickly away, the group laughing in his wake.

  They resumed their less than surreptitious observation.

  Much thought had been given to the Stockholm venue for this meeting, Regan was sure of it. As a valued partner leasing space on Hillary the Swede's would be seen as neutral by most and as temporary members debuting on the Security Council they would also provide the veneer of fairness needed for the proceedings that would follow. Nevertheless her intimate knowledge of backroom dealings between the big six left her in no doubt as to their purpose. They wanted in.

  But of course, and she sighed, nothing is that simple. They want in on their terms and they'll want it for nothing. Oh, and they'll all want to captain the ship, even if they haven't yet admitted it to each other, as if that were necessary. Bob has his hands full at that table today. Eyes closed she leant back on the leather couch, stretched out her long legs, clasped hands to her chest and via wifi continued monitoring the proceedings in the opulent room beyond. She focused on The Chair.

  "Ladies and Gentleman, as acting chair I think we have covered off main points of concern with the China Seas crisis. The council expects that negotiations over the next few weeks will resolve the standoff between our friends Japan and China. The meetings as agreed today will be hosted by the United States in Hawaii. I'm sure they will go a long way to reducing or even eliminating tensions in that region."

  Neither the Chinese nor Japanese representatives looked happy but clearly, they too wanted to move on to the key matter for discussion. The Canadian Prime Minister cleared his throat and continued. "As you know the main item on our agenda today, by request of the American and Russian Presidents, is the matter of Hillary Station. If there are no objections I'd like to hand over to President Johnston. He has, in negotiation with President Sokolov agreed on a summary of concerns as they see them and recommendations as to the best way forward. These are of course open to discussion and debate. Are there any objections?"

  None were offered and attention switched quickly to the American President, a man w
ho seemed supremely confident and comfortable in his own skin. Sleeve cuffs turned up, shirt unbuttoned at the neck and up until this moment comfortably slouched back in the ample chair. He now curled forward slowly, sitting up, his elbows resting on the desk, hands clasped as if in prayer. He paused, dropping his head to his hands, appearing to kiss the golden eagle ring on his finger, and then raised his head to slowly make eye contact with each member around the circular table. It was pure and beautiful theatre.

  "Gentlemen," At the word the German Chancellor, latest in a number of formidable women, clearly bristled!

  "The concerns I will raise with you today are those of many. They are concerns that need a voice, and a considered response, a response that will be acceptable to the members of the Security Council here present, and be for the good of the world and our ongoing well being." He paused, relaxing back in his seat and smiling disarmingly. "Now, there would be no one present here who has more admiration for what USDynamics and Regan Stein have accomplished in three short years. We are in their debt for the huge leap forward they have made into space and I think we are all aware the platforms they established will be the staging posts for countless missions into our Solar System and even beyond. All humanity stands to benefit from this opportunity and I'm sure we agree it should not be the preserve of just a few. Having said that," and he again leant forward, taking on a grave expression, "We now also know we are not alone. As our people venture further out into the unknown who knows what forces we might be prodding and who knows what responses that prodding may draw. Farfetched you say? I think not. The very presence of the alien Marin in our system, the fact that one of our own has journeyed with him to his system, these truths remind us that we are under observation from afar. For what purpose you might ask?"