Regan's Reach

by Mark G Brewer

  Regan kept her eyes fixed on the Pod. To her surprise she heard no sound or powering up and she sensed rather than saw it begin to move. It simply grew in her vision, rising smoothly toward her. As it neared their ledge she could make out a curved upper surface, around three meters wide with no evident screen and at it was at least nine or ten meters long. Still nearer and she could see it was squared off at one end with a flat bottom.

  She snatched up the SatPhone. "It won't fit on this shelf; it's way too big."

  "Don't worry; the Pod will hold level near you." The voice sounded calm now, in control.

  Regan looked at the brush around her, clearly bending in the stiff breeze and then looked back at the Pod; it seemed completely unaffected. Eerily silent it was unsettling watching the shape turn and rise, growing quickly bigger in her vision. Soon it was positioned with the square end facing the ledge and it towered over her by more than a meter.

  Two centre sections slid apart leaving a meter opening into the interior. Regan stood and looking through the opening could see a white interior with one seat to the left and a swivel console. The space was around four meters long and 2.5 meters wide. Head room seemed minimal for someone Marin's height, not much over two meters. The roof looked about half a meter thick. There was no one inside.

  "Where are you?" she said into the SatPhone.

  "With the ship." The voice, a gentle Irish/American blend now, emanated from the pod and no further pleasantries or explanations were offered.

  "Please bring Marin in; you can rest him on the floor to your right. The Pod will secure him."

  Regan hesitated then again grasped Marin from under his arms and dragged him to the entrance. She looked nervously behind her at the opening and then tentatively extended one foot back to test her weight. The floor didn't budge. Not for the first time she became aware her mind was becoming detached and aloof, as if she was somewhere else monitoring everything. She knew at some point she'd switched off, just suspended disbelief, she couldn't have proceeded otherwise. Now, questions began tumbling out in her mind with no obvious answers. She shook her head to clear the confusion. Over thinking this won't help. She suspected thinking too much might even paralyze her.

  Dragging Marin into the small space she arranged him as best she could on his side to protect his head. Taking off her jacket she then arranged a pillow of sorts and stood back. Already the floor was adjusting, molding to the body's form so that it appeared Marin was sinking into a mattress. Nothing could surprise me now she thought.

  Then, as if to make a liar of her a blue shimmer filled the right side of the cabin. Reaching out she found her hand could pass through it, with a sensation like passing through thick goo, a gel without wetness. She pulled the hand back with a shudder. He still seemed to be breathing freely.

  Moving back out on to the hillside events caught up with her and she suddenly dropped to her knees gasping for giant breaths. Gathering her composure Regan picked up the SatPhone from the ground.

  "Ms Stein, you can take the seat on the left."

  "Whoa!" She protested "Let's get some things straight. I don't know you, either of you, and I don't know what's going on. I've done what I could for Marin. You were right, he needed help, badly. But I'm not a doctor and I don't take rides from just anybody, particularly when they clearly don't want to contact the right authorities."

  "Please Ms Stein, you're an intelligent woman. You already suspect why contact wouldn't be wise and your suspicions are correct. This is asking a lot of you, but Marin still needs your help."

  She felt sick. Things were coming to a head. "I understand your concern for him, but I'm nothing to you, perhaps even a threat. How do I know . . .?"

  "You are not a threat and you won't be harmed. True, it would have been desirable to avoid this but it has happened, and you've helped. This may change everything. Please, Marin is unconscious, he still needs someone and there is no one else."

  "What about you?" she protested.

  There was a long pause. . . . . . . "This ship doesn't have arms Regan."

  She remained rooted to her knees, hardly feeling the pain from the cracked rock beneath her, implications of the reply swirling through her mind. A sinking feeling came over her. This was a situation of her making. From the moment of first rolling the man over she'd known. While his features were familiar enough, they were also immediately, obviously, clearly, different. Otherworldly! It was seriously weird.

  She wasn't stupid, empty headed or gullible. The only conclusion she could come to at that point was too shocking, numbing, and unthinkable. The only certain thing was that the need of this person was undeniable. The decision she made on top of the mountain was to help in any way she could . . . nothing had changed.

  Inclined to go with her gut in most situations, Regan always acted with instinct. It had served her well in the past and the STEIN success was evidence of those qualities. Now, intuitively she knew this was a defining moment. It could prove to be the most terrifying and exciting moment.

  Where is this going to lead? You simply can't miss this, you can't! Just roll with it. Before even thinking the question she knew what she would do and her hesitation was brief. Without another word Regan entered the Pod and took the seat. It didn't surprise her that immediately she could feel it shape and mould to what felt like a perfect fit.

  She took a big breath, "What now?" She asked.

  "Nightfall is still seven hours away and the Pod won't lift until then. For now try to sleep, you need rest. Marin's vital signs are stable and there is nothing else you can do for the moment."

  The craft was already drifting downward to settle in its earlier position, the movement imperceptible to her. Drained, mentally and physically, she felt comfortable and warm for the first time in almost two days. Dear God, she thought, what am I doing? Exhaustion finally overcame her and she slept.

  Eyes still closed; a dream lost in an instant. Regan felt herself spark to life as she woke and listened. She could hear nothing, only silence.

  For a moment she rested perfectly still, savoring that floating sensation as if detached from her body. She opened her eyes and examined the surroundings, goose bumps breaking out on her arms as she did so and a shiver passing down the small of her back. I'm still in the Pod.

  She took in more detail, noticing the ceramic look of the walls, the comfort of her seat, the absence of any spaceship type paraphernalia . . . Oh shit, shit, shit, shit! The walls seemed hard and smooth although not plastic or metal. It looked and felt like some kind of composite, even the front.

  "Does this thing have a screen?" She spoke.

  "Of course," The Irishman replied immediately.

  The forward wall suddenly resolved into a view so clear it took her breath away. How did that happen? It just looked like wall a moment ago. The detail was almost too much, the content rich. Looking out she could see they were still on the ground and although still light, darkness wasn't far away. Regan checked her watch, six seventeen p.m.

  Do or die! She thought. . .

  "I have questions."

  "Fire away."

  She paused at the reply . . . "Your language is distinctly . . . colloquial."

  "Is that a problem?"

  "No . . . just . . . not what I would have expected."

  "How so?"

  Regan smiled wryly at the response and chose to ignore it. "Why the German?"

  "German?" The voice replied.

  "You know, when you first called, you spoke in German and something else."

  "Ahh . . . Your name, Stein; it has German and Norwegian roots."

  "Hmm, how did you know my name?"

  "The SatPhone registration."

  "That was quick work." Regan sped through the process steps; scanning, picking up the signal, checking the number, then registration, identification, deciding on the approach, composing the words, making the call to her, all before she herself had time to dial. It was more than impressive, it was impossible! They are NOT f
rom anywhere around here!

  She drew in a big breath. "Where are you from?"

  "Regan, you're going to think you're being suckered here, but you're not. These are important questions and there will be time to answer them later. But the Pod will need to move soon and Marin needs hydration. Look up, there's water behind the panel you can see there. The tube will extend to him. Please attend to his needs then retake your seat, and Regan . . . thank you."

  The small courtesy took her by surprise and for a moment she considered something to say. She decided no, it could wait and reached instead for the panel above. It ratcheted down like a shelf and she could see packets, sealed tubes like toothpaste and yes, a long thin tube with a tap end similar to that on her Camelbak. Turning to Marin she saw the blue goo had disappeared. Stretching the tube to his lips she released the tap and trickled liquid to his mouth. To her surprise his lips closed on the end and he began to suck and his eyes opened. He froze, and then made some unintelligible sounds. Were they words? His eyes were wide, startled, and then they glazed over as he lapsed back into unconsciousness. Disturbed she took a moment to calm herself then tentatively reached out and stroked his forehead, using a sleeve to wipe his chin. She then rearranged his jacket pillow and stood.

  "For a moment there he came around, it was a bit of a shock for him to see me I think."

  "You're not that hard to look at."

  She laughed spontaneously, a surprise even to her. "You're way too quick. I'm talking to a computer aren't I?"

  "Hmmm, beautiful and quick, you're living up to your reputation."

  A thrill passed through her so quickly it made her shudder. She hugged herself in delighted shock. This was a dream, something that had proved so elusive. Oh sure, she could use voice commands . . . even have basic conversations with her own system, but nothing like this. True artificial intelligence . . .? Steph, Kutch, they won't believe it!

  "How do you know about me?" and suddenly this felt like a game, a computer game, it was comfortable ground.

  "Three days, plenty of time to access information from your web. Data update is why we come here. Unfortunately . . . Marin tends to depart from strict mission protocols."

  "Uh . . . huh, so where are you now?"

  "Here, there, the ship, in orbit."

  "But can't you be seen?"

  "Normally the ship comes and goes quickly, but Marin . . . ."

  "Say no more," she interrupted, "Men and children." She continued, "So, have you been detected yet?"

  "Certainly, but what can they do? Those who know we're here hold off reporting and the ship transmits signals that mimic Earth's encrypted communications. It gives them pause to think. They're all convinced they might be looking at a satellite or some vessel of a competitor, or another nation. Of course the ship is way bigger than a satellite and looks nothing like any shuttle from earth so it's stupid really. So far there's been a lot of related traffic in messages but not much insight."

  "Good thinking on the encryption thing. I like it. Have you been here before?"

  "Naturally, researchers have been here many times. We're here to update our data. The ship trawls for all information possible which is studied by Marin and his colleagues, and compared with past records. Only . . . Marin can't resist feeling soil under his feet. And because its 'verboten', he comes on his own to do it. This trip may turn out, to put it in your wonderful colloquial style, a complete fuck up."

  She smiled. "Why New Zealand, why come to this place?"

  "Why indeed? What is that famous quote? Mine is not to reason why, mine is but . . . . well, you know the rest. Why this place? There is low possibility of observation, very low aircraft traffic, easy to deceive with false aircraft signals etcetera, etcetera."

  "You're quite a joker aren't you?"

  "A joker?"

  "Yeah, you're quite a joker, a ham."

  "Ms Stein . . . really . . . a machine, remember?"

  She snorted embarrassingly, "I've never met a machine with a sense of humor."

  "You haven't met Marin's mother then."

  Regan couldn't hold back a laugh and it felt good to relax, part euphoric geek, part stunned observer.

  "Enough of this Regan, it's time to move. Better take your seat; you won't feel anything but this may be a bit disorienting."

  She looked back to Marin. "Do you think he'll be ok?"

  "Thanks to you he's alive, nothing is more important. When he's back on the ship all will be well." The blue again shimmered around him. Regan let her gaze linger, unable to shake the impression he was in a tank. As she turned back to her seat she saw darkness had settled.

  The view presented by the full wall high definition screen was too much and combined with dim light she felt incredibly vulnerable. It already felt unsettling sitting stationary only a meter or so from what appeared to be clear window, so she felt certain it would be terrifying once they really started to move, like falling forward.

  "Could you reduce the view on the screen, just the top half maybe?"

  Instantly the outlook changed to the more familiar windscreen view. She looked first at the composite wall underneath then drew her eyes upward to the screen. The transition was seamless with no difference in the surface. At the same moment the Pod lifted, accelerating alarmingly down the valley before banking upward and streaking toward the clouds. Regan found herself holding her breath. It was like watching a rollercoaster ride on Imax as she had as a child. The visual movement was fast and smooth but she could hear and feel nothing. In only a few minutes she could feel the muscles in her cheeks aching and realized her teeth were grinding tight.

  What the fuck is this? It hovers, climbs, maneuvers, accelerates, all without sound or any G force. She could feel her heart pounding. From somewhere in her unconscious words popped into her head, 'There is no real difference between fear and excitement.' Well, I'm damn excited now! It was draining. Questions, God, so many questions! She gripped the sides of the seat for dear life and forced herself to keep her eyes open.

  The view via the forward screen proved bewildering. They were travelling so fast that clouds, if that was what she could see, appeared only as a fuzzy blur. It wasn't possible to focus on anything specific as they shot into the sky and she considered how this would look from the ground.

  "Can you tell me our altitude?" She asked.

  "Five thousand meters . . . . . . . . . . seven . . . . . . . . . . ten thousand . . . . . . . fifteen."

  "Unreal! Are we being tracked by anyone?"

  "We had company, very briefly, United States F Twenties. They have a carrier off Australia but we passed through their air space too quickly for response. That's now twenty five thousand meters and reducing climb rate . . . and twenty six thousand."

  "Ham, I have to ask, because this is so far out of our league, how do you do this? It's faster than anything we could imagine other than with a rocket."

  "Regan, it will keep. For now the important thing is to get Marin to the ship and not be shot down."

  "Really, you think there's a chance someone would shoot at us?" She couldn't believe it.

  "In every movie I've ever seen someone seems to get shot. You people seem to have a policy don't you, shoot first and ask questions later?"

  "Ham, frankly if you learn about us by watching movies, that's disturbing. It doesn't happen like that."

  "Now you're the one disturbed. I've not just seen the movies but reviewed the data. You'd be shocked to know how many people are killed by friendly fire on this world. You should really do something about that."

  She decided to drop it; it was shaky ground. "Why am I not feeling G force, or hearing anything?"

  "Later. There'll be plenty of time to talk, and yes, there's a lot to discuss."

  "O . . . K. Where's your ship?" She wanted an answer to something!

  "We'll dock with the ship in three hundred and fifty three seconds. Your view will change so that you can observe the approach for the last two hundred seconds"
r />   "Why does it change?"

  "Because the Pod will dock from the rear . . . view is changing . . . now."

  It was overwhelming. "Ho . . . Ly . . . Shit!"

  Following the initial reaction Regan was struck speechless. From her perspective it still appeared that they were moving forward although she knew the view was from the rear. What filled the screen was a sphere. It seemed to loom, huge, black, intimidating. With no reference point the size was difficult to assess until it became clear they were orbiting, sliding around the face. Into view appeared a gap on the surface, like a coin slot and they were clearly aimed at the gap. Regan realized the Pod would slide into that spot completing the surface, like a piece in a puzzle. A rough guess from the size of the slot and her knowledge of the Pod gave Regan an estimate of the diameter.

  She took a quick guess, "Thirty-five odd meters diameter?"

  "Pretty close. It's forty actually. Less the outer hull and engineering space, around twenty five thousand cubic meters of storage and habitable space, divided of course by walls and access ways and different functioning departments, and of course specialist vessels of which there are five. Two Pods, two Interceptors and a Transport, the flying saucer Ha-ha! This ship would normally be crewed by six for more complex missions."

  "But not for this one?" Regan asked nervously, mind racing. It's not a trap surely.

  "Nooo, Marin prefers to work alone, for reasons I have explained . . . bless him."

  The approach to connect was almost complete and silently, so smoothly that Regan could scarcely believe it, the Pod slid into the gap. Moments later as her view was completely obscured there was a discernible 'clunk'. It shocked Regan how the sound affected her, it was the sound of permanence, a lock. Never usually short of a word, they failed her now and not for the first time on this journey a cold shudder passed through her shoulders and down her back. Behind her Regan heard the hiss of doors opening . . . to what?

  She hunched her shoulders, closed her eyes and steeled herself, then slowly turned. Beyond the doors she could see a pristine room, three meters by three meters, light blue/grey floor, white walls with a mid height horizontal pattern of swirling blue. There waiting in the room was a trolley, some kind of gurney.