Regan's Reach

by Mark G Brewer

  Lastly Mitch, Ezas will probably escape all of this but we need to create some spin. We need to create separation of your division from Arteis and protect your business in the USA. I'm not sure how to go about doing that so consult with Kev, Mary and Marcus.

  Guys, I know you'll be in the war room so think about it, this is only one battle and it doesn't mean we've lost a war! I'll be back as soon as I can and I'm hoping to bring some cavalry solutions with me. Until then, take care."

  Kev killed the screen and looked around the room. Only a few days ago they had been celebrating in this very room. Now they sat silently, subdued.

  Kutch spoke first, "Those cowardly bastards - how could they?" He stood and walked to the window.

  "Where is Regan," Mary asked, "and how did she get that to us?" She looked confused. "Steph, did she say anything to you?"

  "Nothing," Stephanie replied, "last time I saw her it was the morning after our celebration, with Kutch. She was excited about the ADF but I could tell she was on the edge. She needed a break, mentally more than anything, and now this happens."

  "Well, I'm bloody angry!" Marcus broke in, "On the legal side rest assured, subject to your agreement Kev, I'm going to get blood from these crooks. They won't get away from this one without scars."

  Kevin stood and stretched, cracking his knuckles in front. "Guys, let's get down to business. We can't waste any time and we need a plan. No one leaves here today until we're all sure of our roles and the steps we need to take over the next few weeks. I want an action plan to win a war. We will get through this on top and we won't need the cavalry!"

  Everyone settled into their seats, grim determination pervading the room. No one suggested coffee.

  *

  The Ship

  Regan woke fresh and surprisingly happy. Sending a personal message to the team had been strangely liberating. What more could she have done? Three days had passed and she wondered what their reaction had been. It wasn't like Regan to stand on the sidelines and she missed being there now. Having said that, it surprised her how quickly after squirting the message she felt the problem lift from her shoulders. She hated to admit it but it did feel good to have warned them and then flown away.

  Damn! I must be tired, she thought.

  After dressing she immediately headed for the large storage area on level five for her first run. With only the padded feet of her one piece for protection it was uncomfortable and she made a mental note to talk to Ham about shoes. Laps of the small circumference soon became monotonous and after forty she gave up. Only about five kilometers but it'll have to do or I'll go crazy.

  Back in the room Regan showered and headed for the mess. Having walked the ship several times now she already felt comfortable finding her way, certainly in all but the lowest levels. It was like settling in at camp, establishing territory as her own, and it was starting to feel good.

  Other than a brief "Good morning" she hadn't spoken to Ham since waking. Now, munching on mashed roughage and sipping at her water, Regan launched as usual straight into conversation - Ham was always there.

  "Is it possible to make coffee here Ham, I'm dying for coffee!" Stretching back against the table she looked up as she spoke. It was becoming a habit, as if an invisible man was there.

  "A bit melodramatic don't you think? Have you ever considered that anything you want that bad might not be good for you?" Despite the lecturing tone she could tell he was considering it and stayed mum. "Anything is possible." Ham continued, "I might be able to synthesize something, what it will taste like I can't say."

  She quickly encouraged him. "Hey, it might be fun, trial and error and all that. I can be your test subject." She stood and started to clean up.

  "Ham, I was running this morning and remembered you were going to say something about Marin. What was it?"

  "You haven't noticed the smell?" He sounded surprised.

  "Smell?" She sniffed the air.

  "Not here, the smell in the Medlab, its Propionic and Butyric acid."

  "You've lost me, I'm no chemist and I haven't noticed anything unusual."

  "The air conditioning probably disguises it but trust me it's there."

  "So . . . acids, is something leaking, dissolving, what?"

  "Regan, the smell is body odor. Marin produces it, so do you. Look, normally there would be crew here, a medical officer for example, someone else who would take care of everything, moving sick or injured crew members, lifting, that sort of thing."

  "So getting to the point, he needs washing, that's what you're telling me?"

  "It's been nine days since he showered. The suit absorbed waste while he was wearing it but even the suit isn't intended to clean, or for long term use. He badly needs a wash, and he needs it regularly."

  "Is that all? You had me worried. I'm OK with that. And now that you mention it I did notice, I just thought it was, you know, 'alien', I mean, how would I know how he's supposed to smell? I'll make it part of my routine. Let's face it; it's not as if I'm flat out with work. Just tell me where I can find cloths or a sponge down there, and come to think of it, even I'd like to have a towel."

  "Everything is in the Medlab."

  "I planned to check on Marin anyway." she said and set off, looking forward to doing something useful. Water and soap were available and there would be basins there she was sure.

  Entering the Medlab she could see that on a side bench small pieces of absorbent cloth along with larger sheets of the same material were already there. Once again she could see no indication of how they arrived; it was another mystery. She picked up a piece of cloth and rubbed it between her fingers. Perfect. Gathering a few of the cloths and a large sheet she walked to the gurney and stood over Marin's form considering what needed to be done.

  "Will the tubes be OK?" she asked, sounding doubtful as she touched Marin's forehead and noted his steady breathing.

  "They should be fine," Ham replied, "The feeder is the one to be careful about. It's effectively free to move and could irritate but you can't really do any damage. The two stomach tubes are waste. They're glued and sealed. They shouldn't break free, even if you roll him."

  She nodded and considered how to approach the task. First she pulled up a trolley to use as a side table and settled it next to the gurney. Taking some of the cloths she then selected a medium sized basin from a compartment under the bench and entered the bathroom to half fill it with warm water. As the basin filled Regan soaped up several of the cloths, resting them on the rim. Then, after washing her own hands in the sink, she carried the basin and cloths to the trolley.

  Taking one of the large sheets she rolled Marin carefully on to his side and positioned it so that it would soak up any drips. Then she took a cloth, squeezed out most of the soapy water and began at Marin's shoulders, gently wiping him down and regularly returning to the bowl to rinse out the cloth. In this way she worked her way down his back and then began again at his feet working her way back up. Taking a fresh cloth she then washed his buttocks, carefully cleaning. With one hand she prised them apart and wiped him as if he were a baby.

  Pleased with how calm she felt Regan settled into the task and it surprised her how satisfying the experience was. It felt good to be doing something for someone else. Having thoroughly washed his back, she then rolled Marin so she could wash the front and the side she had been unable to reach. Arranging the towel under him was a struggle and she could tell there was a knack to this she needed to learn. Once she had him comfortable she stepped back and considered the next step. First she changed the water and prepared fresh cloths. Then with a fresh warm cloth she began softly bathing his head, being careful around the laceration which already seemed to be healing well. The skin was glued together and she could tell the scar, if there was one, would be so fine as to be invisible. She washed around his eyes and face. No beard, even after six days? Following Ham's advice she paid no particular attention to the waste tubes, quickly washing Marin's chest and stomach before beginning ag
ain at his feet. She lingered there massaging his soles and toes then working steadily up, washing and rinsing in a rhythm now. Above the knee her eyes were drawn to his genitals. She tensed, considering her approach. Taking the cloth she spread it over the palm of her hand then used it to cover him as she worked it, cleaning as best she could. She paused, then on an impulse soaped her hand and reached under the cloth shyly hiding what she was about to do. She washed him briefly before removing her hand and the cloth then rinsing the area. Lastly she dried him off and then stood looking, first at his limp penis then up to his face. She reached out nervously with her hand, letting it hover. Then extending her middle finger she gently touched and drew it down the length of him . . . nothing. She should have been relieved but instead a wave of sadness swept over her and for the first time the thought occurred that Marin might not come out of this.

  "Regan." Ham's voice broke her melancholy and she realized she'd been standing silent for some time.

  "That wasn't so bad Ham. I lost it for a moment there." she said sadly. "It occurred to me that he might not come around, do you think that's likely?"

  "These are early days Regan and don't forget, I have him sedated at the moment anyway. We can try slowly bringing him around in the next few days, who knows?"

  Regan blushed. He's still sedated! Of course he is! I knew that.

  "You know Ham, honestly, it was a privilege. I'll come down each day. Tell me, do you have any oil I could use that won't harm the body? It would be good to massage his arms and legs and keep them moving. This can't be good for him just lying there." She put her hand under one knee and lifted the leg, considering how physiotherapy might help stretch and work his muscles.

  "Check the lockers under the bench. There should be everything in that room a medic would need."

  She explored the shelves. Nothing made sense to her but by trial and error she found a silky, oily substance that seemed perfect. She worked some onto her forearm and on to Marin's calf as a test. She could check it again tomorrow.

  What now? Since the first day onboard the ship it had been troubling Regan that she'd been unable to go below level six. She was curious now and had free time so having finished with Marin she went straight to the lift and directed it downward. Taking one level at a time to confirm her position she knew when the doors opened at level six there had to be two more below. No point in sneaking around she thought, Ham's everywhere after all, so she simply asked.

  "Why couldn't I get to the levels below here Ham?"

  "You can go anywhere. I stopped you earlier because your vital signs indicated you needed rest. You're it Regan, Marin's only hope. I couldn't have you collapsing down there or pushing a button you shouldn't."

  "Uh-Huh. Please don't do that again ok? I know this is your ship and I am aware you're everywhere, but I'm hardly likely to try and do anything improper and I'm no test rabbit to play with in a maze."

  "I'm suitably chastened!" He didn't sound offended. "The levels are all open to you, including the craft on level one. Any questions just ask."

  Am I being too stroppy? She worried . . . but not for long. Regan punched to go down. The doors closed and a moment later opened to the familiar passage around the elevator shaft. Walking around the shaft she could see that unlike the other floors where the passage was square, here the elevator shaft became rectangular and instead of doors there were four narrow corridors, one on each side, appearing to extend about two thirds of the way to the hull. They were clearly access ways to whatever machinery powered the ship. Looking down each she could see no point in exploring. She was no fan of tunnels and there really was nothing to see, only flat walls. As with every other room it was almost impossible to discern where a panel or access door might be. Here though, the constant hum was stronger, almost tangible. It conveyed a sense of tremendous power and stirred a memory of a feeling she had had visiting an engine room of an old Inter Island Ferry at home with huge diesel motors throbbing away. But it was different here, contained, controlled and yet more potent. A thought came to her, strange but nevertheless perfect, that here she was surrounded by muscle, engineering muscle of strength she had never encountered before. It made her shiver.

  It took only a few steps and she was back to the elevator entrance. Regan stood there a moment soaking up the feeling of raw potential, before entering and tapping for the last level. Nothing changed inside the elevator but something did in her insides, she felt it.

  The doors opened but with the odd feeling she hesitated. "What happened then Ham? Something happened, in the elevator."

  "You're now in the Transport, so called because it will carry the most people. It's effectively at the bottom of the ship so the elevator capsule spins to bring you the right way up."

  "So I'm now standing upside down to the rest of the ship?"

  "Upside down to the ship but right side up for the Transport, yes."

  Don't think about it! The doors opened and she stepped out into an area similar to the control room but with eight seats more closely together. There were four in a row at the front, each with swiveling consoles and generous space between. On either side in a second row were two pairs of seats. All faced the large front wall; it was blank at the moment but she knew how large and clear that screen could be. Regan began a circuit of the level finding bathroom, galley, meeting room and two small bunkrooms. She returned to the control area and sat down.

  "Is it possible to see what this thing looks like Ham, from the outside I mean?"

  The screen lit up. "Brace yourself. I think you'll recognize it." he said it with a chuckle.

  It was a recording. She could see a slice of the sphere smoothly moving away toward the starscape. The view zoomed closer and rotated. She could only laugh.

  A flying saucer! Hilarious!

  "So," Ham asked, "what do you think?"

  Regan sprawled back in the chair with a look of sheer delight on her face. She shook her head in disbelief. "I think this is the most exciting experience I'm ever going to have. I think I simply can't believe it. How do I top this? I . . . want . . . some of these! Seriously, what does Marin do with all this?"

  "This was his father's ship; it serviced a much larger crew in his early missions. It's not really designed to be crewed by one. In your terms Marin inherited the family car and now he can use it as he likes, within protocols of course. Huh! So much for that! Do you want to see the Interceptors?"

  "Nah, I'm finished here Ham. It can wait so I'll head back to the mess. Are you up for more questions?"

  "No problem," Ham replied, "And you mentioned coffee? Well, don't be offended but I do need a test rabbit."

  She laughed and with one look back at the saucer, headed for the elevator.

  Exiting the elevator on level four Regan walked round the shaft to the mess, composing her thoughts and considering where to begin with questions. The first thing she noticed on entering was a wonderful aroma and a new pipe over the sink. "Coffee I presume?" she asked.

  "Just touch the nozzle to make it start or stop, you can manage that." He sounded happily smug.

  Regan took a cup from the cupboards and stood over the sink. The nozzle looked ceramic and at her first touch it felt warm. The resulting flow of hot dark liquid surprised her but not as much as the rich full aroma that immediately made her mouth water. She touched it again and for a moment closed her eyes just savoring the bouquet as if sampling a fine wine. Then, unable to hold back any longer she positioned the cup, touched the nozzle and poured. Carrying it to the nearest table she sat and held the cup in both hands, holding her head over the gently steaming delight.

  "Ham, even if it tastes terrible I could live with just this smell. It's perfect!"

  She raised the cup to her mouth and gently blew across the surface. Tentatively she brought it to her lips and drew in a small sip, drawing air over the surface to vacuum the liquid gold into her mouth.

  . . . And gold it was. The familiar, no, better than familiar, wholly new and gorgeous flav
or overwhelmed her senses and a warm flush of satisfaction washed over her. She sat there for a moment savoring the moment before lifting the cup to her mouth again.

  Before she could ration the next sip Ham broke her rapture.

  "Well?"

  Regan placed the cup lovingly on the table. She stretched her arms out wide with hands palm down on the tabletop and then drew them back, her nails dragging, her shoulders hunched up around her ears and eyes closed, an action so like a cat stretching on a favorite resting place no words were necessary.

  "It's good huh?"

  Until she had drained the cup she didn't speak again. As she unconsciously began to lick the dried stain at the lip Ham could take it no longer.

  "There is more you know!"

  Regan stood with a smile and walked back to the sink. Placing the cup under the nozzle she stroked it on. "It's called delayed gratification Ham, and you, that's right you, are very, very good! It . . . is . . . wonderful. Suddenly a long journey has become manageable, thank you." For the next few minutes questions were forgotten as she savored, literally, the moment and then refreshed she gathered her thoughts.

  "You were going to tell me about faster than light travel." Taking the fresh cup she moved to a stool nearer the wall so she could lean back comfortably.

  “That's true but I'm afraid it could sound patronizing. You might find as a woman of average . . ."

  "Careful!" she broke in.

  "You know Regan, it's taken a while but I think I'm starting to find your limit, it's been fun!" She shook her head and Ham continued.

  "I said we surfed and while only an analogy it's as good a description as any. The ships’ warp drive stretches space-time in a wave. We contract space fabric ahead and surf the wave of expanded space behind enabling incredible speeds. These are things your scientists have theorized about for decades but Earth lacks the exotic matter required for a warp drive."