Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy

by Mark G Brewer

  Merryl, incandescent, halted behind his communications officer, Terrin watched with horror as he bunched his fist, the tension building in the arm holding the baton, fury having consumed all reason. He brought the arm across his body, lining up for a backhand shot. She couldn't watch, wincing as she heard the crack and whimpering herself in shock. With him gone, she would be next.

  "Terrin, you have communications, find me those bombers!"

  She stared with panic at the blank screen, and then touched to open it using one hand to cover the flashing light she knew would be there in the corner. First accessing satellite imagery from the Dahlian probe she set her systems on finding images from orbit of the attack regions, then zoomed down, locating the bombers and tracking their progress. In only minutes she had the grim truth, if not the how or why. She sucked in a nervous breath.

  "They have them sir." It came out as almost a whisper.

  "What!" And she could feel him behind her.

  Still shielding the bottom corner she gestured to the screen, the enlarged view clearly revealing the Bomber in Wellington, six black shapes obscuring most of the fuselage. Unconsciously her shoulders scrunched up around her ears, bracing for a blow. Without being asked she changed the screen. Honolulu, Waikiki Beach, the second Bomber similarly draped and anchored on the road above the sand. Again she could not help wincing in anticipation. No blow came but she heard the clatter of the bar dropping to the floor. Turning, she saw Merryl had stepped back, a look of fierce determination on his face. He seemed about to speak when a crewman reluctantly squeaked from another station.

  "Sir, we have incoming . . ." his voice trailed off, not having the data at this point to elucidate. Instead, like a drowning man he grasped at his only option, diverting attention by activating the large screen. All eyes were drawn mercifully away from him as he zoomed in on the ADF, larger than the others they were tracking; it was creeping in at a steady one hundred meters per second.

  "There are life forms aboard sir, at least one. This isn't one of the drones they use."

  Merryl's attention switched to the incoming craft. "Can we tell if it's armed, has it locked on?"

  "It hasn't locked on sir" Terrin answered, grateful for the distraction. "No sign of any signal from the vessel."

  "Prepare forward tube and lock on."

  "Yes sir, preparing forward tube."

  Entranced they watched it creep inward, a nose to nose approach, a stare down.

  "It's stopped sir." Despite her best attempts Terrin couldn't hide the nervous sound in her voice. He ignored it anyway. "Sir, they are communicating."

  "Open up communications Terrin . . . What are they up to?" He didn't take his eyes from the screen.

  A split screen appeared. The ADF on the left, a woman on the right, though strapped in the small cockpit they could nevertheless see she was muscled and squat, ugly like the entire human race. She had no hair in the Dahlian style and she wasn't smiling. It couldn't be?

  "Commander Merryl I presume." She looked straight at the camera. Merryl felt she was boring into him alone and he resisted the urge to look away."

  "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" he replied icily, denying the obvious.

  "You know who I am and my name remains the same, Regan Stein Commander; I understand you have been looking for me."

  "That is true Regan Stein, and you know why yet you fight it. We merely wish to return you for a fair trial. Clearly fairness is abhorrent to you." He smiled, thinly.

  "You speak to me of fairness?" She looked surprised, "I'll give you fairness. Surrender now and I will let you live."

  Merryl laughed. "And you will do what? Come and take me? No, we will not rest until you are either returned to the New Coran Protectorate or dead. Justice must be done Regan Stein. I delight in being the agent of Justice."

  "Then you must come and take me Commander, you with your big bad ship."

  In the ADF Rod sat stoically. He followed the discussion, nothing more than an interested observer and intrigued with how Ham accomplished it.

  "Is that really Regan?"

  "That's her, only the visual is a mock up."

  "So she's speaking from . . ."

  "The beach, she likes to work in a relaxed space."

  "What do you think they'll do?"

  "They'll fire soon, they've already locked on." He sounded thoroughly relaxed.

  "Wonderful, and what do we do then?" Rod dripped resigned sarcasm.

  "I'm going to try something new."

  Rod looked startled. "Try? Try! . . . You are kidding me! You haven't even tried your scheme?"

  "Well, it only occurred to me after the action started. It's a great idea, it's bound to work."

  "Shit you know how to take liberties." He slumped back.

  "Rod, it's not a liberty, sometimes you have to make executive decisions. I have a lot of experience in this area. And I'm almost always right."

  Rod just groaned and decided he did, after all, desperately need a toilet.

  Merryl stared at the muscled figure. "We will confer Regan Stein, you may run if you wish but we will follow." he turned and with a gesture indicated for the connection to be cut. The image of Stein disappeared from the screen leaving only the ADF, still clearly not moving.

  "Engineering, power up, I want to be ready to move, maximum thrust in five."

  "Maximum thrust in five Commander." The reply came swiftly.

  "Weapons . . . Are we still locked on?"

  "Yes sir still locked on."

  "What have we got in that tube, I don't want to nuke ourselves if we hit."

  "Not a nuke sir, conventional."

  He looked around, taking in the room. "Listen carefully! This is the plan. Terrin, when I give you the word, bring them back on screen . . . Weapons, when you hear me say surrender, you fire. No questions just do it. And Terrin, zoom in on that craft, we need Intel; I want to see what they're doing with the missiles. Then we escalate."

  "Escalate sir?" Terrin asked

  "Yes Terrin, we ram them, full power.

  She looked shocked. "And if we miss sir?"

  Merryl glared dangerously at her and she quickly focused on her screen.

  "Wait and see Terrin, wait and see. Are we all ready . . . ?"

  The calm commands had settled things, everyone nodded, alert now at their stations.

  "Make the contact Terrin."

  The screen split, an image of Regan appearing on the right. Eerily she was still looking straight at the camera as if she hadn't blinked.

  "Regan Stein?"

  "Yes Commander?"

  "We have conferred and provided you agree to our terms we may consider . . . surrender."

  "They've launched!" Ham drew Rods attention by zooming in on the approaching missile. As if its approach speed wasn't enough the rapidly enlarging view was and Rod ducked instinctively.

  "It's still coming doofus."

  Gathering himself Rod accepted the inevitable and stared down the missile as it grew in the viewer. Finally, only when it seemed impossibly close did he see the bubble snap forward like a frogs tongue, and the missile disappeared. The residue of its presence remained as a haze blurring the view of the warship beyond.

  Ham's admiring voice rang out. "Oh . . . I . . . am . . . good."

  On the warship Merryl squinted at the screen. "It disappeared," he whispered. "How did they do that?"

  "I can't believe it. It's still there sir," Terrin replied, "look at the distortion."

  He peered at the screen. There did appear to be distortion in front of the craft, a haze through which the ADF appeared blurry. What technology do they possess that can hold a missile?

  "RAM NOW!" He barked, and engineering acted instantly. Maximum thrust. The Behemoth shot forward, impossibly agile and reduced the gap instantly, seconds later the screen was dominated by a massive explosion, then blackness.

  "Hmm . . . now that was a surprise. Regan will not be pleased."

  "Ham, so hel
p me . . . enough of the surprises, what the fuck are you talking about?"

  "Well . . . I had to leave the missile behind. They hit it and, well, she might not be happy that I've pranged the car, she has plans for it . . . Rod, what's that strange odor?"

  "Yes you bastard, I've pissed my pants. At least do me the courtesy of keeping it to yourself. So what happened to the ship?"

  "I'm chasing it now, if it sustained serious damage it's not showing in engineering, they're still accelerating."

  "Where are they going?"

  "Who knows, we're still under the influence of Earth's gravity, but if they're intending to slingshot it could be anywhere, and fast."

  "Can you catch them?"

  "There's not much I can do, even in this, we don't have . . ."

  "A gun! I told you, every fighter needs a gun, a missile, something! Now what are we going to do?"

  "I'm not sure at this stage. It's too big to swamp with ADF's, even if we could catch it, which I suspect we can't. The STEIN would run it down no problem but to what end? They may just live to fight another day."

  "Somehow I don't think that's their plan, they were mad enough to ram us," Rod shifted nervously in his seat. "Where's Hillary from here?"

  Ham didn't reply.

  "Ham?"

  "Shut up Rod . . . I'm talking."

  On the Coran command deck an eerie calm had settled. Merryl's features were hard to read, his facial expression something between a smile and a grimace. What had changed was his demeanor. He was chillingly neutral. He had clearly decided on a course of action and he was in no mind to share. He fondled the baton, occasionally rapping it on his thigh.

  "Navigation!" He barked it, as always, not looking up.

  "Yes sir."

  "Locate their precious orbital, and plot a course there . . . Terrin, get a forward view on that screen back up quickly . . . and someone, I want a damage assessment now!" He remained fixed in his chair ruminating.

  "We're still accelerating sir, breaking orbit in twenty; if we're making for the orbital we'll slingshot away at speed with not much opportunity for maneuver." A voice from behind him, engineering probably he thought, points scoring.

  Minutes passed in silence, tension building unbearably.

  The screen lit up, it was a view from further back on the ship. Merryl looked at the blackened bow edge, then off into space. It will do, not quite the whites of their eyes, but it will do.

  Terrin nervously approached his chair. The bitch pilot was gone, perhaps he might listen. "Commander . . . what do you plan?"

  "Yours is not to reason why Terrin, just follow orders."

  "But . . ."

  Merryl swung around swiftly slashing her with the baton, opening her cheek with a gash that sent blood spattering over Rymans empty seat beside. She staggered back whimpering, pressing down on the bloody wound. She could feel it open up, almost through to her mouth and a tooth rested loose inside the cheek. She spat it out onto the floor.

  "STATION!" He yelled it, hardly bothering to give her a look and she staggered back terrified to her place, one bloody hand fighting to stem the flow.

  No one looked at her, curled up before her screen, the light still flashing in the bottom corner.

  "Sir, we have systems failure." The man sounded desperate, panicked. "Navigation is down, It wasn't me, I didn't do anything!"

  Merryl uttered a growl of frustration rising to storm over and view the man's screen. It was flickering, on and off. "What can you tell me about our position?"

  "Sir," and the man literally cowered away. "At this speed we can't rely on anything that screen is showing."

  "Can we go manual until we get systems up?"

  The officer seemed to go deathly pale. "Where will we go sir?"

  Merryl turned to the big screen and pointed. "Look you idiot! Go manual; you're now on the helm."

  On the screen the moon shone bright, framing the pipe perfectly, a dark circle, something to aim for, a target.

  * * *

  With increasing frustration Rod watched the warship dwindle. "You know where they're headed don't you?"

  "I know . . . you need more faith young skysnorter."

  "I guess that means you have some grand plan?"

  "More like we're working on one, actually three or four, best to be prepared for anything."

  "We . . . ?"

  "Yes, we . . . and by 'we' I mean Regan, Hilary and I."

  "And how's that working for ya? It looks to me like the Commander is planning on giving Hilary a fresh filling."

  The normal wisecrack didn't follow. Rod pushed himself upright, concerned. "Ham . . . You are actually concerned, I can tell."

  "They're still accelerating Rod. They're beyond slowing down; even turning is a slow process. If they're accurate it's going to be close, what can I say?"

  "But you do have a plan right?"

  "Truthfully, we have possibilities, but it's out of our hands now. I didn't expect him to take out the ship. It's very un-Coran."

  * * *

  Behind him the young helmsman could hear the slow slap . . . slap . . . slap of pipe on palm. The skin of his neck crawled and tingled. The tension down each arm as he made manual adjustments, tiny but potentially significant, was unbearable. It felt like muscles on the edge of cramp. At least twice in the last brief period he had felt faint but somehow pulled himself back each time from the brink. Slap . . . slap . . . slap.

  Terrin couldn't look. Her own fear was palpable. We're going to die, oh mother we're going to die. Her thoughts, panicked and irrational seemed locked in a cycle of negativism. Nothing was positive, just statement after statement of strength draining doomsdayism. She dropped her head to her hands, elbows on the desk contemplating the sweat patches on her suit, the clamminess of the fabric on her soaking back. Slowly her eyes drifted up to her secret terror, the flashing light.

  She looked across at the large screen, the looming pipe looking impossibly close in the expanded view. Not much time. She thought about Merryl's secret orders, the bitch pilot, her own lost hopes, and touched the icon. The message had changed. REBOOT NOW!

  She looked around at Merryl, eyes locked on the pipe. Slap . . . slap . . . slap. We're on manual, will he notice? Turning back to her screen, irrationally calm now, she quickly tapped in her security codes. Her private home screen dashboard opened up. Selecting the system settings she step by step worked through the stages of approving a system reboot, only hesitating at the final hurdle, Commander Merryl's personal code. This would sign her death warrant. Beginning to cry quietly she tapped in the code, a number she had given to him herself . . .

  He would notice how could he not? Lights all over the ship dimmed, and flickered, screens dwindled to pinpricks before powering up again, lights flashed in warning. Everyone heard the unusual sound 'OOooouummuuooOO', of machinery winding down then powering up. Alarms rang erratically in the background.

  Merryl turned slowly toward Terrin. Her lack of reaction told him everything. Striding across he screamed at her, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!" She didn't cower, or turn; simply dropped hands to her sides and pushed herself up, sitting tall in the seat. In a rage he swung back the pipe, teed up and in one considered killing sweep cracked her skull like an egg, scalping off a flap from the top of her head and spraying more gore around the room. Her chin slammed down onto the desk just as the system began to power back up. The room suddenly darkened, black as the blackest night and air systems momentarily shut down. Silence reigned. The ship hurtled on.

  * * *

  Bomber secured and now in transit to Base Camp, Regan rocketed skyward. The two awestruck Coran's, well strapped in and secured by Leah, now sat either side of them in the outside seats. Eyes wide, glued to the Interceptor screen the two were in shock. It displayed a small screen in screen view of their forward passage while most of the picture was dominated by the live feed from Rod's ADF. It revealed their mother ship, merely a dot on the screen now; it was clearly aiming for the pipe. The
knowledge was too much for the navigator, she burst into tears and from the other side of the cabin the pilot hissed at her. Leah cuffed the woman sharply across the nose. "Shut up, we're working."

  At her side Regan, eyes closed, was in conference.

  The handsome, beautiful Ham and the tall, gracious woman known as Hilary sat across the table from her in The STEIN Traveler war room. This war room had an unusual ambience, calm and peaceful with plants and pictures on the walls. They chatted as they regarded the widescreen view of the behemoth approaching.

  [Is it just me or does it appear to be turning?] Regan mused as she sipped her coffee experimentally. Very good!

  [I think your right, it does look like it's turning, but at that speed it makes little difference. It's going to be close] Ham too lifted the brew to his lips and sipped genteelly.

  Regan smiled. Putting on a good impression it seems.

  [Nothing to worry about] Hilary reached across and patted the beautiful man's hand. [I've got it covered]

  [Did I say I was worried?]

  They continued to watch in silence as the ship grew in size, clearly trying to turn, the effort minute in impact but definitely there.

  [What are you going to do with the Coran's Regan?]

  [Hmm, it depends, whether we have a lot . . . or just a few] her eyes were wide, fixed on the screen.

  Hilary hardly seemed to notice.

  [Ham] Regan subbed him privately [Are we good here?]

  [She's got it, don't worry] he seemed confident.

  The warship filled the screen, growing at an alarming rate until only the ship was visible impact imminent . . . and . . . then . . . it was gone.

  They could see nothing but Earth

  [Wow!] [Wow!!] Regan blurted, most impressed [You moved that monster?]