Regan's Reach

by Mark G Brewer

  "Regan . . . Regan!" The voice broke through her stunned fuzz.

  She shook herself and stood quickly, turning to face the gurney.

  "Regan, relax, all your questions will be answered and the ship won't move until you are happy . . . well . . . at least comfortable . . . ok look . . . we'll talk about it later. You're safe, that's the important thing, now we need to get Marin to the Medlab. Please lift him on to the trolley then follow it. It will guide you there."

  Marin! Guiltily Regan focused on Marin's prone form for the first time since waking. With relief she noted his breathing was still regular and strong but there was still no other sign of life, not since that brief flash of consciousness in the pod while they were still in the valley. Regan reached down under his arms and around his back. She pulled him up into a seated position then bent and braced her knees before hauling him up into a full embrace. With his chest and arms over her shoulder she then shuffled backward into the passageway beside the gurney. Thankfully the trolley didn't move as she clumsily flopped Marin's body on to the surface. Long and ungainly, it took a few moments to position him and raise the short rails at each side and then although there was no clear movement she sensed they were already going down. They were in an elevator.

  A few seconds later the back wall slid open to a bright passageway again pristine, like new, the walls and floor all made from what looked like the same composite as in the Pod. The only sound she could hear was a strangely comforting hum. The trolley moved smoothly away and Regan followed, stepping out into the passage. Excited now, energized, she felt on a mission, focused and alert. Shock was giving way to exhilaration and she mentally checked herself. Stay cool, keep it together!

  Regan concentrated, processing everything and making mental notes as she walked. The floor was level as far as she could tell, not curved and she reasoned the inside of the sphere at least where she was, had floors that probably stretched from side to side. Why weren't they oriented around a core in concentric circles? Of course, the sphere's not big enough. Perhaps it has a definite top and bottom? And there's gravity. This is space yet I'm not floating! The thoughts raced through her mind. Everything feels normal, how?

  She stopped to compose herself and in the space of a few seconds determined her attitude. The impossible is possible. The unthinkable is thinkable. This floor under my feet is real. I am here. I accept this. I'm going to soak up everything I can. I don't want to miss a single thing!

  Deep in her thoughts Regan lost sight of the trolley as it slipped silently into a side passage on the left. She darted forward in time to catch it maneuvering sideways into what looked like a large laboratory or research room. The trolley plugged itself into a position clearly intended for it near the centre of the room beside another gurney. Empty, thank God!

  "Regan, Marin will be scanned for injuries, and then what treatments the ship can administer will be carried out. Hopefully, all will be well and if not, and an operation is required you'll have the best coach to help you with medical procedures . . . ha-ha just kidding! First, please remove the suit and drop it in the waste." A drawer opened from the wall to her left.

  Regan paused. Marin had been wearing that suit for several days. She felt filthy herself and she needed to both toilet and wash. She screwed up her face. God knows what state he's in!

  "Are there any cleaning products here, he'll be in a mess!" She asked.

  "He'll be mostly clean, the suit processes waste." The Irishman replied.

  "Really, how does it do that, it looks so flimsy?" She couldn't see any way the fabric could process waste.

  "Well, you have products that absorb odors don't you?"

  "Of course," Regan replied "carbon for instance."

  "Well . . . it's nothing like that. Reach into the front of the suit at the neck. You'll feel a small nub, a button. Press it and the suit unseals down the seam you can see in the middle. It separates to the waist. From there you'll need to peel it off.

  No other explanation was forthcoming and Regan looked up at nothing, with an icy glare. Sooo frustrating! She then reached inside the neck of Marin's garment and found the button, squeezing it between thumb and forefinger and sure enough it opened smoothly to the waist. Peeling it from his shoulders was a clumsy struggle and working it down under the weight of his body proved even harder. Once down to the waist she was able to bunch the fabric on either side, grip it in both hands and then, with a silent apology to Marin, haul it down and off each leg. It was like removing gloves.

  She couldn't resist examining the patient and paused, staring at Marin with the garment dangling from her hand. Wow! Clearly male, "My god!"

  "Regan . . . for goodness sake, haven't you seen a male before?"

  "Yes of course! I wasn't . . . . oh shit! What would you know?" Regan examined the long limbed body. Skinny wasn't a fair description as Marin was lean and well muscled, like a marathon runner. He had low body fat and seemed fit, strong. He could be human she thought, if strangely tall . . . humanoid? His body shape was of a type she didn't recognize.

  Hell, she thought, we do have a wide variety but this, is, unusual. Very tall in fact, about two point one meters she guessed, close to seven feet. NBA players could be that tall but they were an exception, not the rule. Are all his people this tall, or is he really human?

  "Why doesn't he have body hair?" she asked. "Apart from eyelashes and eyebrows he has none at all."

  "No head hair is just fashion and convenience. It's common amongst his . . . tribe. Having no body hair is a choice that makes the suit more comfortable. Nothing worse than an itch you can't scratch!"

  Regan laughed.

  "You've done enough for now Regan, leave him to the ship. The bed will change pressure points continually and the room is warmer than ship normal. Everything possible within the constraints of the equipment available will be done for him. You need a break now. Go back to the passage and follow the ceiling lights, they'll lead you to quarters where you can wash and refresh. Then we'll talk."

  Regan hesitated, then turned and with one last glance back at Marin, moved through the doors which then shut behind her. Her last image was of something passing over his body and equipment positioning around his head.

  She shuddered involuntarily and walked on following the ships’ lead.

  Climbing via elevator to the floor above, the lights led her to the right, around a passage that circled the lift shaft. A doorway slid open to her left and Regan paused outside looking cautiously into a surprisingly large room. She could see a long wide bunk at the rear, a locker of some kind on the right and a narrow doorway. A desk built into the wall featured on the left. Everything was clean and bright but not exactly welcoming with no decoration. It seemed very military.

  She stepped in to the room. "Well, it seems I'm here. What's the plan?"

  "Get cleaned up Regan. On your right is a small bathroom. Everything you need should be there. It's probably best you work things out by trial and error. You can't do any damage so don't worry. All water is recycled on ship and with the present crew status there is no shortage. Take your time and when you're ready to talk, just say so. When you're finished showering, something to eat and drink will be waiting. Until then you won't be bothered further."

  Regan heard the door swoosh shut. Another flash of panic passed through her but she quashed it quickly, already moving to the door on the right. Peering through she found the bathroom was a wet room with toilet on one side, shower on the right and something that would pass as a vanity with mirror in front of the toilet. No paper or towels, but there was a dispenser of something, soap no doubt, on the wall.

  Well, no time like the present. She peeled off her clothes, realizing as she did so how filthy she was. Lifting the thermal shirt to her nose she winced at the smell. Her long hair, matted and mud caked, felt disgusting as she tried to run her fingers through it and looking down she saw her legs were blood stained, bruised and scratched. Her hands looked little better with broken nails,
small cuts and skinned knuckles although at least they were clean.

  One look in the mirror was enough and she immediately turned to figure out the shower. Only a pad was visible on the wall although an obvious nozzle in the ceiling indicated where water would probably come from. Regan reached out and touched the pad triggering an immediate stream of warm water from the nozzle and she stepped under the flow. At the same time a soft hum emanated from under her feet. Pump, she assumed, and tested the pad again. It was a rocker of sorts. If she applied pressure to the right it increased the heat, to the left and it cooled. The flow remained constant, a gushing volume that felt like thousands of huge droplets pouring over her head. Wonderful!

  Pressing on the dispenser produced a paste thicker than she was used to but the result was the same. She lathered up and soon her hands were massaging sore muscles, carefully kneading, washing, stroking every centimeter of her bone weary body. She rested her forehead on the wall and luxuriated in the heat, washing her hair with delight while massaging the scalp and then just stood there for a while, transported to another world. Another world . . . That thought was enough and another flash of panic passed through her, sending shivers down her back. She ignored it and rotated once more in the heat.

  An indulgent age later Regan reluctantly middled the pad and the flow stopped. A warm downdraft immediately emanated from the ceiling combined with a gentler blast from the drain in the floor. She again rotated, sharply flicking off water from her arms and legs, slowly drying as she regarded her form in the mirror. The reflection revealed someone who looked as if they'd been in a battle. Other than that she was happy with her shape. Breasts, not too small, just right she thought. Strong swimmers shoulders and arms, narrow waist and, though not visible in the mirror, she knew long athletic legs were there, fit from regular running around the Hutt River trail. She stretched one leg out then the other, again noting with concern the bruising and scratches, especially on the knees.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and hugged, staring into the mirror as if into the distance, eyes glazed and thinking. She wished for a towel, not sure at all if she liked air drying, then refreshed and alert, all business now, Regan walked naked back into the bunk room. She found herself speedily processing detail. Temperature warm, around twenty degrees Celsius she guessed. Air fresh and clear, no obvious technology, no lock or switch on the door that she could see, Am I trapped? She touched the door and it slid open so she stepped into the passageway. Nothing happened. She stepped backwards into the room again and watched as the door closed. She relaxed. One look at her clothes and she was determined not to put them on again if she could help it. She sat on the bunk surprised at its comfort and the feel of the fabric sheet cover. Hauling it off the bunk she wrapped the cover around herself and sat on the desk chair.

  "Ham?" . . . Silence . . . "Ham, are you there?"

  "You are talking to moi?"

  "Very funny . . . you give me no name, I no play your game. That's the way it's going to be. You haven't given me a name to work with so until I know different, Ham it is. Think of it as a friendly gesture." She noticed the tray on the desk. When did that appear? There were tubes on it, probably food and a bulb of liquid. This should be interesting.

  "Anyway," she continued, "Ham's a good name."

  "Regan, this is the ship remember? But if you insist, then 'Ham' it is."

  "You don't fool me a bit Ham.

  Reaching to the desk she grabbed a bulb, shaped like a pear with a nipple at the top. She looked at the thin top wondering what to do with it then put it into her mouth, biting the end and wresting with it trying to break the surface. It wouldn't break so she hauled at it and twisted until it broke off in her mouth. She spat it away then considered drinking from the jagged end.

  "You could have just squeezed it you know but I guess that works too, in an apish kind of way."

  Regan cocked her head and looked wryly at the ceiling, as if she would find the speaker there. She sighed, "It's time to come clean with me. I have questions, not the least of which is how we're doing this, we're talking? How can you communicate with me clearly when what I heard from Marin was unintelligible? You clearly know my language like a native. Also, I'd like to know," and she took a long nervous breath ". . . will I be going home?"

  There was silence ". . . Ham?"

  "Regan . . ." he hesitated.

  "Oh shit!" She interrupted. "I heard it, a pause . . . you paused . . . I know the pause!"

  "Regan, stop it! It's almost certain you'll get home. This has been discussed . . ."

  "No it fucking well hasn't!"

  "You committed to help Marin and that commitment isn't over. It's obvious. You've known this, if not from the beginning then certainly from the time you stepped into the Pod. Marin came on this trip on his own. Foolish yes, but what's done is done. He now needs crew as does the ship if he's to get home. He's been lucky so far. The scans reveal he had no major body damage but he did have swelling on the brain and a brain bleed. He's still vulnerable. At this point it's a guess how serious the damage is or when he will come out of the coma. All that is certain is that getting him home takes approximately two earth months. In that time there are things only crew can do for him. Once home, well, he can probably be restored. It's very unlikely your part in this would be disregarded. The responsibility is Marin's."

  "Ham, do you know what I heard in all that? . . . . Almost certain . . . It's very unlikely." Regan put her head in her hands and neither spoke.

  Several minutes passed, then Regan broke the stalemate, "Ok, you're right, I guess I have known, it's just now the moment is really here. Clarify things for me will you? If it takes two months to get where we're going, I guess I could be back in say, five months?"

  "There are no guarantees but yes that's possible, more likely a few months longer, there could be a trial."

  "A trial for what?" Another flash of panic swept through her.

  "Regan, sorry to repeat this again but we can discuss this later. We must move, and soon! Already two of your private operators have launched their shuttles and others will surely follow, this is the news scoop of the century after all. You understand it would be preferable to avoid that contact."

  "How long have we got?" This was the defining moment she knew, it was now or never.

  "About ninety minutes but it would be best to leave sooner, please." Regan had the sense Ham was trying to be patient but she could clearly hear tension, from a computer! Patience was running out.

  "Ok, I'm ready, but first I need to make some calls, can you organize that?"

  "Please make it brief. Who do you want to call?"

  *

  "Hello, this is Kevin Stein."

  "Kev, it's me."

  "Regan, is that you already?" He laughed. "I knew you couldn't hold out! Shit it's only been a couple of days, we're ok . . . . you're all right aren't you?"

  "I'm fine Kev, it's not that, it's just . . . something has come up, something out of this world. It's an opportunity and I've got to go for it. I can't tell you more now in case someone is listening in."

  "No one can listen in, you know that."

  "It's not that simple Kev, just trust me on this. Listen, I've left my pack just off Gouland Ridge."

  "I knew it; you went to see dad without me." He sounded disappointed.

  "Yes, I'm sorry . . . but I didn't get there. Look Kev, just listen, I need you to find and collect the pack as soon as you can. If anyone else finds it they're going to assume the worst no matter what you say and we can't afford for the press to get on to it. They'll have a field day."

  "But you can just let them know you're ok."

  "No Kev, I can't. I'm going to be off the radar for at least five months. I'm . . . working on a project. I can't tell you anymore at the moment. Please, just get a copter and pick it up, urgently."

  "Ok, ok, jeez, I'll get it."

  "Also Kev, look after Steph and Kutch, get behind them, prioritize it. The shuttle and ADF pro
jects, I think they're going to be even more important than we imagined. Listen Kev, thanks for everything, I love you bro, you're the best."

  "Hey, sis . . . what's up? I don't like the sound of this."

  "No, no it's fine; I just wanted to tell you. Look, I need to move, look after Mom won't you? Now, do you have a pen?"

  "These are the coordinates . . ."

  *

  "Hello Marcus? It's Regan."

  "I know who it is; I'd recognize the voice of my favorite client any day!"

  She smiled, despite the tension. "Flattery will get you anywhere Marcus. Look, I'd like to talk but I don't have much time and I need you to act for me in some business transactions, share market stuff."

  "O . . . K. What's up then?"

  "Right, do you have a pen? Get this down . . . ." They continued to talk for thirty minutes while an annoying beep grew steadily louder on the line. It was Ham.

  *

  "That's it, I'm done!" She spoke to no one in particular.

  "Interesting plans . . ." The disembodied voice filled the room. "It's remarkable that in the chaos of the last twenty four hours you've managed to dream up such cunning sharemarket plays. If it all pans out as you plan someone is going to very rich indeed. It's also encouraging your hope of return has clearly not diminished. Perhaps I'm a better con than I thought, no?"

  Regan shrugged and leant back in her chair. "Perhaps, you're a lousy con and I'm simply a fool. And Ham . . . it didn't escape me, that for the first time you used a personal pronoun to refer to yourself. Can I take it that the charade is over and we can agree you are an 'I', not an 'it'?"

  "I think therefore I Ham, is that it?" He continued. "Regan, this is just another of the many things we'll have to discuss soon or 'Ham' being 'Am' may be short lived. I'm not avoiding it ok? But first, our orbit cowboys will be within viewing range soon and I'd rather they got our best side, that's our backside by the way. It's time to move so are you ready? If so, I suggest you make your way to the control room."