Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy (19 page)

As the door to the Commanders room slid shut Merryl was already grabbing and hoisting her up to his waist then spinning to lower her onto the bunk. He rested his weight on her, pressing their hips together hard. Then he stopped, propped himself on his elbows, his face close to hers, his face hard to read. "What happened?" He continued to writhe gently against her.

"We don't know sir, the systems . . ." She bit her lip and groaned quietly, "The systems are back up and working as well as ever, there is no sign . . ." her hands were working between them, feeling for him, "No . . . no sign sir. . . of anything wrong."

But something was wrong, very wrong, he could feel it. Merryl rolled to the side and with better access she began to stroke him through the suit. But the moment had passed and he grasped her hand. "Not now," he stroked her head, "I need you to do a complete system check. If you feel a complete reboot is necessary we will make the time . . . understood?"

She looked disappointed, sitting up and arranging her suit as he continued.

"And keep an eye on Ryner, he's hopeless." His tone indicated she was dismissed.

She made for the door only to be brought up again by his voice.

"And Terrin . . . report to me later."

She ducked out and made for control, already feeling better.

* * *

Hillary Station

Only twenty four hours after the disaster and already things seemed back to normal. It disturbed Kevin that with fourteen lives lost business seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened. A pipe wide meeting with all members had gone well. Even though he already knew there was widespread support for Hillary Station still the strength of commitment surprised him. There seemed universal agreement that what happened on station stayed on station.
These people are converts
he thought.

All lives that had been lost were from the USDynamics flight crew and he had visited that morning to express his condolences and regrets to the two hundred gathered and grieving colleagues. The real surprise was Dahlia's speech. It had been heartwarming and visionary. She had painted a beautiful picture of pioneers breaking new ground, ushering in the new and often at great risk to themselves. She talked about how valuable they were. It drew on history with references to wagon train settlers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And she had apologized for her part in the disaster, reminded them of the risks in space and committed herself to improving all safety systems while in her interim role. Her declaration of the value of every individual on Hillary to her was stirring stuff.

There was also universal appreciation for the STEIN contribution to a fund for the families of the workers, eight men, five women and one gender non specific.

Communication with The Step and subsequent press coverage had proved more difficult. Only hours after his report to The Step word had leaked about an accident in space. While he personally viewed it as an example of the dangers in this unforgiving environment, already the Russians were spinning it as a failure resulting from inexperience. They of course had many decades of experience in orbit. Such things wouldn't happen under their watch naturally.
Like fuck!

Preparations were well underway for the memorial service which would be held in two days. Families were already arriving on station, a rare and in this case sad opportunity realized. Sympathetic press would be present and for the first time, as a show of support, President Clifford Johnston would be in the house. All the dead had been American.

Dahlia's contribution to public relations had proved outstanding. Unbidden she had suggested a diversion of attention. We have extremely maneuverable ADF's she pointed out. Earth has an extreme problem of space debris. Perhaps we could allocate a flight of ADF's to deal with debris in off times. Fit the ADF's with lasers and they could clean up space thereby reducing risk and that ultimately benefits everyone. He couldn't help reflecting on Ham's take on the same problem. Somehow Kevin was sure Ham would see that same debris as part of the fun of flying. Nevertheless the PR release had gone down very well.

He ruminated on all this, feeling the weight of responsibility and the worry of the impending unknown. Looming in his mind was the knowledge of the inevitable pending encounter.
Where are you Regan? How are you? And where is that fucking warship?

* * *

Having completed the turn, a huge arc bringing them back on an intersection course with Earth, the behemoth now simply coasted, searched, and evaluated. All attempts to connect with established Dahlian satellites had so far proved fruitless making data updates impossible. Merryl was
not
happy bringing tension to every room he visited. The crew tip toed about him doing all they could to avoid drawing his attention. His unease was not helped by observation that a huge ship or small orbital was stationary between Earth and moon. Another much smaller but still significant platform in orbit indicated huge leaps in space capability compared with the historic data he held.
Are they military?
He decided to take a stationary holding position on the opposite side of the planet relative to the larger body and commence gathering what intelligence he could from there.
No sense in offering ourselves as an easy target.

Officer Terrin made her way to the Commanders quarters anxious about her report. There was a lot at stake. For someone so young to a have gained favor from the senior officer was something of a coup however as an intelligent woman she had no illusions about the price of his continued patronage and she did not want to risk her position. Merryl was a rare beast among senior officers in the Coran fleet, one who had worked his way up from the bottom. Unlike most high born seniors he started as crew on a mining ship, then made pilot and captain. Enlisting in the new military he earned rapid advancement through the ranks by merit alone. Despite his known temper his talent had seen him survive the rampant tribal nepotism that influenced most appointments and he had shown considerable ability working with the incompetents appointed to his commands. He was a man who had earned the respect of his betters and they listened to his recommendations, forgave his peccadillo's. While not incompetent she knew her own class and rank would not bring her success against those carrying the 'right' genes. Fortunately, the price she paid Merryl for career favor, in her view was no burden. She had played things well to get here and in his recent foul mood this position was not something she wanted to put at risk.
Do I tell him the news now or after . . . after, definitely after.
Her heart began to race as she requested entry. The door opened immediately.

As the door slid shut behind her she considered his demeanor. He was definitely tense, standing by his small desk, his back to her. She weighed up the options and decided on contrite, he liked to dominate. Dropping to her knees behind him she waited, silent, it was part of the game. Hearing nothing he slowly turned and seeing her there he smiled grimly. He placed his hands behind him and simply leant back on the desk. She reached up and stroked him through the ship suit until he could stand it no more and stripped it down to his knees. No words were spoken and she took him in her hands, guiding him to her tongue and bringing him quickly to full arousal. To her relief and delight he pulled her up and clumsily, urgently, pushed her with him back to the bunk. She wrenched her own suit from her shoulders and as he freed his legs stripped her own suit free and tossed it aside. He lifted her onto him roughly and then fell forward driving her into the bed. It was swift, furious and passionate. Finishing far too soon for her satisfaction was no bother; she was too concerned about the report. She had nothing to tell him, and nothing, she knew, was unacceptable.

Gasping, he propped on his elbows, his face close and intimidating. "Well . . .?" The question hung there, every second emphasizing her dilemma." He slumped off to her side and stared at the ceiling. "I take it you've found nothing."

"Well sir, not anything specific, we don't know what happened true, and there aren't any clues, no trace of a cause. But, we have established all systems are working perfectly. Everything is to spec. It could be that whatever happened functioned like a reboot because we're running better than before we left."

He continued to stare upwards, blank, hard to read. "So . . . do we reboot again?"

She allowed her hand to drop gently onto his hip. No real movement, just the pressure of one finger in the crevice between thigh and groin. "I don't feel it would be wise Sir. Everything shut down then rebooted and now systems are running better than ever," she gently curled her finger upward, a tiny stroke and she could see him stir. "I recommend we press on Sir, I'll monitor everything
very
closely." She took a chance, her hand sliding to him and as his breathing quickened she breathed her own quiet sigh of relief, shifting, confident now and bending forward to take him . . .
Safe for another day.

* * *

Regan woke alone, the bunk warm. She could still smell Leah, all her senses acute. She rolled to her back and closed her eyes, accessing the ship, random in her search, not looking for anything in particular, just flexing, and testing.

[Well hello there, how are we today]

[I feel much better Ham . . . stronger, fresher. I had a terrible dream. Someone was threatening my little girl] She swung her feet off the bunk and moved to the bathroom to toilet and shower.

[You're walking well]

She looked down at her legs, [I am aren't I? I'm definitely going to try jogging today. Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid but I'll feel better to get moving. Jared and Leah might jog with me]

[You know I think he would, that boy has boundless energy]

She wiped herself and stood to pad the shower stream, stepping under the flow with all the joy she felt those years ago. It still felt like the first time. It was a luxury to her as good as meditation for its relaxing effect.

As she turned under the water she mentally accessed her reminder list . . .
Ah yes,
[Ham you were going to tell me about your little hobby]

[My hobby?] He pretended ignorance.

[Yes my friend, the Terrorist thing, seventy three files open, thirteen closed, tell me more]

[I thought you might forget that]

[No you didn't, you wanted me to know . . . so spill it]

[I'm not sure this is the right time but finish your shower; I'll show you something]

Intrigued Regan quickly dried off and returned to the room. She sat on the bunk, wrapping the sheet around her.

"Have you ever wished you have a super power?" Ham asked.

"It seems I do now," and she laughed.

Ham didn't say anything.

"I take it that wasn't what you had in mind." She shifted to make herself more comfortable.

"Well, in a way I guess it is related, but you still didn't answer my question, have you ever wished for a super power?"

She shrugged, "I guess so, to fly, or see through walls, or be invisible; when I was younger of course."

"Suppose you had the ability to just say
'all murderers die now'
, and it would happen, only murderers, no one else. Imagine . . . you could rid the world of murderers in an instant. Would you do it?"

"Nooo!"

"Why not?"

"Well shit, how would I know for sure, and what if I got it wrong?"

"But that's your super power, you wouldn't be wrong, you could get rid of them, just like that, would you do it?"

She thought about it. "I don't know, I still don't think I could."

"So even though you could, you wouldn't and many of them will go on to kill again, aren't you at least partly responsible by omission."

She felt nervous now. "But many of them would never kill again, what about crimes of passion?"

"So that makes it right? Ok, let's say then you can be even more specific, just serial killers, still operating, would you do it then?"

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I, it's not fun . . . I want to show you something"

On the wall, wide screen, she could see an image, a man, Middle Eastern.

"This man," Ham explained, "has beheaded people. He also trains and dispatches suicide bombers. He is responsible ultimately for over seventy deaths, including the bombers, and on top of that countless maimed horribly and injured."

She was feeling trapped, it was uncomfortable and she unconsciously tightened the sheet around her. She knew where this was heading. "But how can you know, for sure I mean, so much of what we hear is propoganda."

"You don't believe that Regan, I know you don't, you're just trying to dodge the question and remember, this is
my
super power . . . and what you're about to see is from their
own
internal security system."

Suddenly the image moved. The man crossed the room and picked up a belted, pocketed waist coat, clearly loaded with something. She didn't need to ask. The man appeared to call and the door opened. A young girl then entered, fully robed. The man put down the object in his hand and in one motion lifted the robe over her head leaving her wearing only underwear. She tried to cover her chest then steeled herself and stood tall as he bound the coat around her He then helped her to put the robe back on, tenderly covering her head. They knelt down and he then appeared to pray with her for some time. Another man entered the room. The first stood and picked up a small object from the table, a mobile phone and handed it to the second man. This man was less gentle and pulled her from the room. She appeared to be crying.

Regan now had the corner of the sheet twisted in her hand; she chewed on it nervously as she watched. "How many times has he done this Ham?" Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"With children . . . Five times, three completed, two failures. They keep the recordings you know, like vanity video, for training purposes."