Regan's Reach (7 page)

"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"

"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.

"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.