Confluence Point (7 page)

In one last attempt Regan turned back. "Mitch if you ever need anything please, just call, we love you."

He didn't look up or bother to reply.

It was a quiet walk back to the Interceptor.

[Damn it Ham
-
and I wanted to bring more fun into my life . . . where did I go so wrong?]

[What was I saying about understanding human motivation? There's a perfect example right there. I've let you down too Regan, I haven't been keeping an eye on him. Maybe I could have warned you he needed more attention.]

[Ham, you can't do everything, and neither can I, but maybe there is a lesson for me here.]

They reached the roof and she stood for a minute, one arm linked tightly with Marcus and she could tell he was equally shell shocked. Brian stayed detached, eyes constantly roving the area as they continued on to the Interceptor doors and he only seemed to relax once they were inside.

"Do you mind?" he looked at Regan and nodded to the bunkroom.

"No, you go ahead, and thanks for coming Brian . . . before you go, I feel like I should say something . . . that's not Mitch, he's not himself, we are all friends you know and . . ."

Brian just nodded and his look said it all, you don't need to explain. He slipped away without a word.

She turned to Marcus, "Mitch was right you know, I did take him for granted. Not in a bad way, it's just that he has always seemed so solid to me. It was the one area of the business I felt I didn't need to worry about, so I left him to it and concentrated on all the other shit storms that were raging around me. And then when things settled down
-
I guess I just didn't take the time to pick up the contact again."

"I hear you Regan but you shouldn't blame yourself, you do have a team, and we're all his friends, and anyway, he's an adult - he could have said something. Plus, Mary contacts him all the time."

"Hmm, I know, but it's different. We were close friends and we got the whole business firing together. I guess he wanted to have the relationship we'd had in those early years and, you know, I kinda understand that, it wouldn't have hurt me to call him more often." She sat back in her chair thoughtful. It makes me think about a lot of things," and she suddenly looked up at him. "How is Barbara?"

Marcus grimaced. "Best secretary in the world . . . I've hardly been in the office all week and she'll still have things running like clockwork. How is she?" He smiled, "I'm thinking I should give her a call."

Regan smiled too, but sadly. "You do that; I'll get us a coffee."

Ham worked away silently in the background, negotiating passage with air traffic control and communicating with the military, they always exchanged greetings when in American air space. Soon he had them soaring out over the Pacific. Ham didn't bother returning Marcus to Wellington, Regan had already subbed him instructions. It was straight to Hillary . . . for a wake.

* * *

Piesetsk, Northern Russia

The huge new manufacturing facility buzzed with activity. Located on the outskirts of the Piesetsk Military Cosmodrome, the newly built twenty seven acres of warehousing, manufacturing and accommodation was unusual in several respects. First, none of the eight hundred and thirty six staff had left the site in six months. On top of that deliveries to the fenced and gated facility proceeded no further than the Cosmodrome proper. There they were exchanged at the gates in an operation that reminded guards of their service in the days of a divided Ukraine. Even the current General Director of the Russian Federal Space Agency had never passed the gates of the new compound. He joked with anyone who asked that that not even the President could get in.

But in this modern age perhaps the most unusual aspect of the facility was its complete isolation in terms of communication and internet connection. The plant, doing whatever it did, seemed to operate in complete isolation from the rest of the world . . .

. . . And from Ham, to his great frustration.

Following an initial burst of site activity involving warehouse construction and occupation there followed extensive deliveries of materials and electronics. Then planeload after planeload of containers, all sealed and secret. And then the shutters had gone down, firmly.

Roskosmos Administrator Yuri Perminov peered through his military binoculars from the main Cosmodrome offices, scanning the worksite as he did regularly. Today he watched the strutting figure of Major General Lebedev taking his customary post lunch walk inside the wire.
Damn you Lebedev! It is an insult to Roskosmos. What are you doing in there?

Lebedev strolled casually inside the fence, sucking on a foul smelling Turkish cigarette, his personal favorite to the disgust of all who had to endure the residue of his pleasure. Today he was a happy man. Cutting across the new grass between the main manufacturing facility and the massive warehouse beyond he slipped inside canvas covers that screened the gap between the two. He had to step back quickly as another trailer passed, one of the many over the last week as everyone rushed to meet the deadlines set. It was a risk mass manufacturing everything without even a single test, but then the plans were proven,
it will go well, it will!

Falling in behind the shunt unit he tailed it through the warehouse, then diverted off to the training rooms where seventy five of Russia's best, all VVS air force pilots, were sitting in lectures undergoing a crash course in space operations. To the side, the simulators, twenty five of them in all, were also occupied with a changeover due in the next twenty minutes. They were operating twenty four seven now, sifting out the very best of the best to pilot the new fighters. The craft would be the first wave of Russia's ground to space fighters, able to refuel in orbit and function at their most lethal for however long they were needed.

Lebedev strolled on, entering the main warehouse and passing the draped shapes on his right, fifty of them lined up down the five hundred meter wall. To his left toward the warehouse end, he could see three much larger shapes, craft that would offer a considerably greater payload capacity. His eyes lit up with excitement as they always did on sighting them. They were the first of ten such examples and his most likely ride to orbit.
I will be remembered as the first space military hero in the new Russian domain.

Pacing himself now he strolled on toward the nearest of the craft. They looked so different to a shuttle, the delta shape almost sexy and he found himself contemplating flight to space in one with almost orgasmic anticipation. He paused where he could best take it all in, and then continued on to stroke his hand along the fuselage of the silver delta beast. He lingered toward the rear, considering the new power plant housed there, its reported performance and capability and salivated at the prospect.
We only needed to get on equal footing; we already know how to fight. Now we are there.

* * *

The STEIN Traveler, Hillary Station

It was morning, two days since the painful divorce from Mitch and they were all still in shock, stunned and disbelieving. Needing friends around her Regan joined Marin in a walk to check on the recovering Leah.

As they talked in hushed tones by the gurney, Leah flicked open her eyes, some spark of recognition sparking her to life. She still looked groggy after fifty three hours of induced coma while the web continued its work, insinuating its strands and beginning the process of connection. Regan could see the tubes had been removed, the skull reattached and scalp re-glued. She could hardly see any difference.

[She still has her hair.] Regan subbed to Ham.

[Yes, it's a different process to your original operation; remember you needed the photoreceptors then to power the . . . device. In her case the web is like Marin's. No need to remove the hair so I delicately scalped her then reattached it after the operation. No improvements were necessary and not bad for a scalping wouldn't you say?]

[Ham . . . I don't even want to think about it, just tell me she's all right.]

[She's in good shape Regan, you know the process, it will be another day or so before we'll know how the connections have developed but I'm almost certain they'll be fine, don't worry.]

[Almost certain . . . Ham, if you had an arm I'd thump it.]

Marin rested an arm over her shoulders. [Regan, she'll be fine, it all went well. You should rest - you've had a difficult few days. Spend some time with Jared, I'll sub you if anything comes up.]

It was a good suggestion, nothing like an hour or so with Jared to take her to a completely different mind space and she immediately considered it. Glancing down at subtle pressure on her hand she saw Leah had grasped it weakly, and was looking up at her with a weak but welcome smile, and a definite faint jerk of the head. Regan didn't need to sub to understand it; it said 'Go'. She smiled back, nodded and slipped from the room.

With the STEIN moored at the moonward end she displaced straight to the gym locker room. She knew Jared had already left but she'd jog down the pipe and catch him. Guiltily she partly hid the new sports slingshot in her utility belt, not at all sure if giving it to him was a good idea. It was a small version but it still surprised her how powerful it was with metal construction and twin rubber power.
I'm still a bad mother!

 [Regan.] Hilary gently burst into her thoughts, [You'll never catch him you know, he runs everywhere.]

She laughed. [Hilary, please tell him I'm coming will you and ask him to wait? And I'd like to meet with you and Ham this afternoon, before our meeting tonight. Set something up please.]

[It's done.]

She exited to the corridor and began the jog down toward the compound, drawing looks and smiles from the dozens of people moving between projects and tasks. Only a few minutes later she spied Jared darting back toward her between walkers, sidestepping like an All Black rugby wing, and carrying something under one arm. As he drew near she could see it was a bundled fishing net, with small weights around the edges; she didn't ask.

"Mom!" He wrapped his one free arm around her and spun around as if she were a pole, finally finishing alongside and walking earthward. "I was heading home for lunch with the twins, are you coming?"

"I sure am, and I've got something for my favorite man." She reached down for the slingshot, but it was gone.

He looked up mischievously. "And what have I found?" He flicked it out with his free hand, "Wow, very high tech! Thanks Mom."

She stopped and looked him in the eye. "Jared - listen to me, this is a weapon, I'm serious, don't ever . . ."

"Shoot it at the twins," he interrupted her. "I know, I promised Gran I wouldn't do that again."

"I was going to say don't shoot it at anyone. It's for target practice only, ok?"

"And for emergencies . . ."

He darted away, while looking back, clearly hoping she would chase. She didn't disappoint him.

* * *

Out in the vacuum Major Rod Harmon led the flight of new Effector Flight Defence Fighters spiraling in formation down the new spoke which jutted full length from the pipe. It was the first of five spokes that would then be circled by an outer rim. For one moment it struck him how much Hillary Station looked like a giant hammer.
All it needs is a sickle and the Ruskies will be seriously pissed.

To his right Minjee Chow, manually flying her own EFDF, mirrored his every move with ease and behind them eight further pairs of fighters tracked them, giving the appearance to joggers on the outer pipe of a spiral helix shimmering in the distance.

Rod delighted in the maneuverability of this EFDF, it was better than anything he had flown before. The conventionally powered Arteis Defence Fighters, or ADFs he was most familiar with were faster and more economical than anything the major powers had produced thus far, and with their limited effector assistance up until now they had also set the standard for atmosphere and orbital performance. The technology was beyond him but the knowledge tiny effectors, millions of them, could displace mass so effectively and produce performance like this simply amazed him.

As good as the early ADFs were, they had nothing like the performance of the STEIN Pods or Interceptors which effortlessly outperformed everything else barring the Saucer and the STEIN itself. He also suspected he had only experienced a fraction of their actual potential.

Now though, with the EFDF, he felt he had a fighter offering performance close to that of an Interceptor, a full flight of ten with more to come
-
and it felt good, really good. Entirely effectors driven their ability to displace rivaled the Pod’s performance, however they still had one glaring handicap in his eyes
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given a gun they'd be perfect.

Handing over to his AI he monitored the performance of the pilots behind as they continued their dance around the pipe itself. The formation was tight, every craft on manual and no problems to show for it
;
they were excellent. Three Americans, two Chinese, the Aussie, two South Koreans, an Israeli and a Brit, all seconded to Hillary and part of Regan's attempts to be all embracing. He hoped it would go well as working with this group would be rewarding, he was enjoying it.

Coming out of his spiral at the earthward end he led the flight in a tight turn to begin the approach to the flight decks. In the far distance a small flash of sunlight reflected off some shiny surface and caught his eye.

"Ham, are you there?"

"Not 'Piglet' this time?"

"I'm working on it Ham, and anyway, I'm talking to you this time, not one of your little friends."

"So what can I do for you, Rodney?"

"I saw a flash, earthward over Africa toward the Step, can't be more specific than that, I'm going for a look."