Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy

by Mark G Brewer

  [. . . She's on to it; this is going to be interesting] His glee was obvious.

  [You're terrible, how can you corrupt her like that] Regan disguised her own delight.

  [What are you talking about? This isn't corruption, its education]

  [You just want her more like you]

  [And that's a bad thing?]

  [Hmmm, let me think on that]

  [ Regan, she runs a great orbital, but there's more to life than project management, and this is a human orbital, if she's going to thrive in the job she needs to know the dark side]

  [Well she's got a great coach then]

  [I take it that's a go?]

  Regan hesitated before answering, a suspicion growing. [You already know don't you?]

  [Know what?]

  [The traitor]

  [No comment]

  * * *

  Following a shared light lunch Bob Jarvis entered the Oval office, ushered through by Anne Marshall. He could see the President still on the phone as they took their seats. Does he ever rest? Accepting the proffered coffee he watched as the aide left the room and reflected on how life had changed. Knowing the reason he was here, in the office of the President of the United States reminded him of that fact. There seemed a pre Regan life and then post. No doubt about it, this is the Stein age . . . And what a ride it has been.

  Anne Marshall sipped quietly at her coffee and watched the President. It struck Bob what a remarkable woman she was. To have held the confidence of two presidents from different administrations and parties reflected well on both her and Cliff Johnston. I'm not sure I could do it. The President finished his call, gesturing apologetically as he made his way to the available single chair, his coffee waiting.

  Bob stood and extended his hand, the President taking it warmly in the classic two handed power clasp. They exchanged the usual pleasantries but for Bob it was all a blur. He could tell immediately from Johnston's demeanor, something of import was about to break.

  President Johnston took his seat then shifted forward in the chair. He leaned toward the Prime Minister, elbows on his knees, thumbs holding his chin and his fingers in the steeple prayer position. Each step seemed a struggle. He pursed his lips as if searching for words to say and as the silence extended so did the tension.

  "Bob, I'm not going to mince words here as there's no easy way to put what I need to tell you."

  "You've got me worried Cliff'," Jarvis stayed calm, while his mind raced. "Give it to me straight; we're not at war are we?" He smiled.

  Johnston ignored the joke, his face still radiating concern. "Bob . . . we have intelligence that suggests the Russian's are considering a nuclear strike." He paused and let the words hang for a moment. "They don't know we know of course, and we can't be certain how serious they are but nevertheless, our people believe the intelligence is good."

  Jarvis was taken aback. He stumbled for a moment considering how to respond."But why . . . What on earth are they thinking? And why are you telling me? He stayed admirably calm but couldn't help being concerned. They had that sympathetic look, as if they knew his calm would soon change. It chilled him, what wasn't he seeing?

  The President continued. "Let's start from the beginning. Sokolov is seriously pissed about missing out on Hillary and the Step." He raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know, they could have been there with us, but we all know they don't like to share the sand pit with anyone. When we negotiated with STEIN to gain space on The Step they tried to maneuver to gain Hillary Station on their own and that didn't work. As a consequence they've been getting more and more desperate.

  Now, low and behold this Coran vessel appears in orbit like manna from heaven. How the Russians lucked onto first contact is beyond me but whatever, it's created a dangerous situation. What they said to the visitors we also don't know but now the Coran's won't talk to us or anyone else. Believe me we've tried." Johnston paused for a moment, letting things sink in. "Listen Bob, the thing is we know the Coran's, for whatever reason, want Regan Stein. The Russians have said they can get her for them. However, as you know it's looking increasingly unlikely, regardless of what their courts decide, that they will be able to deliver on their promise. Our intelligence indicates the Coran leader's patience is running short. He is now starting to threaten dire consequences for Russia if they don't deliver and he's given them an ultimatum. He expects the Russians to front up or else."

  "So what does 'or else' mean?"

  "They'll destroy Hillary Station."

  "No . . . surely not."

  "And you can imagine what Sokolov thinks of that. He still wants Hillary, he hasn't given up."

  "Sooo . . .?" Bob was still searching.

  "So Sokolov has suggested they, the Coran's, threaten Earth; call on us to give up Regan or nuclear strike."

  "He's a madman!"

  "Was there ever any doubt? The point is Bob, Sokolov may be mad but he isn't completely stupid. He's recommended the Coran's threaten a strike in such a way that it sends a clear message, while limiting fallout. Bob, he's proposed Wellington first, then Hawaii as targets."

  Jarvis could feel a cold chill down his back. He sat for a moment considering the implications. Regan wouldn't let this happen. It puts tremendous pressure on her to give herself up. And people will panic when they hear regardless. Shocked at the cold calculated thinking and how far the envious would go, he nevertheless stayed calm. "Crafty bastards . . . So they've found a way to put the wind up everybody. A tactical strike on Wellington . . . who would have thought it? I guess we're relatively isolated down there in the South Pacific. Fallout yes, but contained. Not the largest population centre so minimal loss of life. And the world watches and trembles." He shook his head, taking time to consider the options.

  Finally he stood and offered his hand to the President. "Thanks for the heads up Cliff; you will understand I need to make some calls. And don't worry, this won't reach Hawaii. Regan would never let that happen. She'd give herself up first."

  "Bob, we want to send a carrier down there." Johnston stood and clasped Jarvis hand. "They need to understand that if they go down this path we're in it together. It's an attack on the whole free world."

  "Thanks for the thought Cliff, that you made that offer first means a lot to me. Let's hold that though; I have a feeling that if they go down this path New Zealand might be one of the safest places to be."

  Anne Marshall was already calling for an aide to guide him out. Standing with the President they couldn't resist following Jarvis progress on the big wall screen, out of the building, down the White House steps and across the lawn to the modified Sherpa. Not a particularly attractive craft it was a still a joy to watch as it silently rose into the air and then shot away skyward.

  "Not heading south . . ." Anne muttered.

  "Looks more like 'up' to me." Johnston replied.

  "Hillary?"

  "Without a doubt Anne . . . How do we get some of those?"

  "Stand with them Mr. President"

  "Hmm . . ." He turned back to his desk."We would have regardless."

  The old phone was already ringing.

  * * *

  Sokolov shifted nervously in his seat. To meet with Merryl alone seemed somehow more intimidating than when Ryman was present. It was hard to pick why, Ryman had hardly seemed a calming influence. He listened to Popov explain the legal option of demanding an appearance from Marin. It was impossible to read Merryl's thoughts.

  The Commander allowed Popov to complete his presentation before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. He stood and began to pace the room, taking his time before speaking. Sokolov and his Prime Minister exchanged nervous glances, neither choosing to stand. It would only serve to emphasize the enormous height differences. Finally Merryl planted himself before them, arms crossed, firm and immovable.

  "We prefer our other option. If they will not give her to us we will strike. Let your world know. Let us see who will support the murderess when they face death over her." />
  Popov's distress was obvious.

  Sokolov remained calm. "When you say strike, I take it you don't mean the Station?"

  "We will strike where we choose."

  "Commander Merryl, you are more likely to get action if you follow our advice. A limited strike on Earth will crystallize thinking more powerfully."

  "Sokolov, we do not make limited strikes. Our weapons will leave little, but such is the price of justice. Unless . . . ."

  Popov and the President looked at each other then back up at the Coran leader. "Unless . .?" Sokolov asked.

  "Our weapons are of a scale that will leave widespread destruction. You, I understand have many hundreds of thermonuclear warheads that may be useful. While ours may destroy the planet, yours may contain the damage. We are a reasonable people."

  Popov swallowed hard. "What are you suggesting?"

  "You will transfer to us warheads from your arsenal. These we will incorporate in our own missiles and allow a more limited strike capacity. Does that not sound reasonable?"

  Sokolov didn't hesitate. "Provided we can gain agreement on the Status of Hillary Station after you have the woman, I am sure we may be able to assist you in limiting damage to this planet." He looked at an outraged Popov, "That seems most responsible."

  Merryl gave nothing away, his expression neutral. "My officer will contact you to arrange details. Convey my message to your media immediately. They have seven of your days to hand over the woman or we strike. It would pay for you to move swiftly in making available your warheads."

  "Will that officer be Ryman?" Popov couldn't resist asking.

  Merryl turned slowly. "Mr. Ryman displeased me, he won't be communicating again." he fixed the Russians with a cold glare. The message was clear. Don't do the same.

  Popov waited. He pictured the alien walking with his aide to the lift, the doors closing and the lift moving upward. Only then did he feel able to talk again. "Andrei . . . is this a dance with the devil?"

  Sokolov laughed, "You know me too well Vasily, do you think the Commander realizes?"

  Popov sat speechless for a few seconds. Not you idiot, God preserve us!

  * * *

  The mood was sombre in the Stein lounge. News of the Russian President's speech had come as no surprise, but it was a disappointment. All had hoped the madness would not eventuate. As the BBC newsreader led in, Regan looked around at her key team. Everyone was gathered including Rod and Aaron she noticed with surprise, clearly Ham invitees. Everyone was expecting the worst.

  Regan chose to watch BBC and catch the English translation. Not everyone had her language advantages. Sokolov's familiar grim face soon appeared on screen, a sheaf of papers clutched in front and unsmiling as always. Perhaps today the look was appropriate.

  Sokolov read slowly, in his usual affected grave monotone, the English translation playing over the top. "It is with much sadness that I bring this news to you today. Who in our world cannot be aware that our visitors from far away, our Coran friends have crossed the Galaxy on a noble quest? They have travelled far for justice and just retribution. Our visitors come on behalf of their Empress; at great risk to themselves to avenge the deaths of her sons. They rightly seek the killer Regan Stein, one of our own who let us down, all of us, by her actions in another's realm." He took a slow breath, taking on an even more grave expression.

  "The Russian Federation has done all within its power to ensure our visitors obtain justice while paying due respect to Earths own rights, laws and customs. Though Regan Stein admits her guilt, that she did indeed take the lives of these men, and another, still she hides behind legal argument and interpretation.

  The patience of our Coran friends has come to an end. We have argued long, in the face of a much superior power, to protect the peoples of our planet and to find a peaceful solution to this crisis. Unfortunately, the arrogance of Regan Stein and her council, the intransigence of her country and its allies has led the world to this point.

  The Coran leadership called on me to advise the world, they now demand Regan Stein be handed over to them. Those who know her whereabouts have seven days to produce her. If the Coran visitors do not have Regan Stein in their custody in the time given, they insist they will launch nuclear strikes on specific targets, beginning with her home province Wellington, New Zealand. Thereafter each day they will strike in order Hawaii, Perth Australia, The Republic of Madagascar and then Sri Lanka. If they do not have Regan Stein at that point they will escalate the destruction, thereafter targeting main population areas." He paused and looked straight into the camera. "Consider carefully these words today. No one person should take precedence over the many. If you have her, the only responsible course of action is to give her up. This is self evident."

  The camera shot returned to the BBC studio, a small group of international experts already assembled for comment. They looked ashen. The interviewer opened. "Well, it seems the stuff of science fiction horrors has become real . . ."

  Kevin killed the screen. "Well, the first question is, are they serious?"

  Ham answered. "Of that I think there is no doubt Kevin, they have been transferring Russian warheads to the Coran warship. I estimate several hundred at least. I can only assume they have done this to obtain lower yield weapons. In their arrogant rational approach they probably think a contained strike is the responsible thing to do."

  "Why would they need Russian warheads, shit they're a superior alien power."

  "Kevin this is going to sound strange to a citizen of this planet. Yes, they have enormously powerful warheads but if they are typical of Coran warships they would only have around ten or twelve of them. In their system they realize a few is enough for a deterrent. For some reason here each nation with nuclear weapons needs enough to destroy the Earth several times over."

  "Ok, but why not just use one of their own?"

  Regan interrupted, "Kev, who knows really but I'm guessing they don't want the planet so dirty with radiation they can't exploit it later."

  "Can't we just take out the Coran ship?" Rod asked.

  "You already know the answer to that Rod, we don't have any weapons and even if we did we wouldn't start a war. Let's not forget in a nuclear war it's a case of whoever shoots first everyone loses."

  "I think we should hear the recommendations of our Minister of Defense." Leah suggested.

  "How insightful of you Leah, I thought everyone had forgotten." Ham activated the wide screen. "We need a short term solution and plans for what will inevitably follow. Short term I propose we station flights of ADF's over Wellington and Hawaii. We have one hundred and fifty ADF's so that will be fifty over wellington and fifty over Hawaii. Nothing will get through those screens and provided the missiles they fire have enough fuel we can redirect them anywhere."

  "And what about the other fifty . . .?" Kevin asked.

  "They will be stationed watching the Coran vessel."

  "For what purpose?"

  "In case they turn out to be typical Coran's"

  "Which means . . . ?" Kevin drew it out.

  "Which means they act like dirty shifty lying bastards and go for a different target altogether."

  "You say that's the short term plan, what's next?"

  "Once they realize our mode of defense they're likely to spray things around a little more randomly, and something might just get through. So, once we know they've shot first I can go to my next step."

  "Which is . . . ? Shit Ham, it's like pulling teeth."

  Ham paused before replying. "I can't say at this stage, except it involves Rod, it's got to stay a secret."

  "From us?" Kevin asked in surprise, looking around the room.

  "No . . . from Rod."

  "Eh!" Rod squeaked.

  "And no one seems to be mentioning the elephant in the room." Regan looked around, "You can you know."

  "That's because it's not remotely on the table, Capiche." Somehow Ham made the last word reverberate around the room. No one spoke.
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br />   "Ham," Regan broke the heavy silence, "I appreciate your support and I know you all support me, but I will not allow one person to suffer for me. I can fight my own battles." They knew she meant it.

  "Regan, it's bigger than you now." Ham wasn't giving in. "You said yourself they have their eyes on a bigger prize. Sure Beria wants revenge, but the Coran's have their eyes on the system. Giving yourself up won't save anyone in the long term. And anyway, you don't have to; no one is going to be hurt."

  * * *

  I'm running, in the outer ring with Leah, the pipe stretching away to the right with a waxing crescent view of blue Earth, to the left a magnificent moon, huge, bright and beautiful. Pounding along the track, the pipe above our heads and Sherpa's, they seem close enough to touch as they exit the moonward end shuttling sections to the spoke. I imagine I can see people working on the stub, their families in the pipe, their friends at home, my friends in Wellington, the team at Riverside, the dog walkers on the river, the hundreds of thousands in the city, it all seems very real. Then I hear a shout, "Regan!" like a call for help but I'm distracted, I see Kev and Mary and the twins, "REGAN!" I hear the shout again, then it's mom and Jared, Bob Jarvis, the people of the Wairarapa, of Kapiti, of Hawaii, the oceans, the radiation, "REG . . . . . ." And I'm sprinting now, running desperately away, I'm like a hamster in a wheel, I can't escape, this crushing sense of terrible responsibility bearing down until I stumble, falling against the glass, a giant crack opening, sucking me through, I'm fighting for breath and then I feel arms pulling, dragging me back, and I wake up . . .