Sitting now in the control chair she explored the net and chatted with Ham, her emotions mixed, mostly grief.
[So Ham, do you have any idea where he's getting the money?]
[Regan, the reality is he'd have no trouble raising it, it's a good investment and he'll easily cover the financing costs. It's possible if he massages the figures a bit he could even put thirty percent of the shares straight back on the market and recover most of his investment while still retaining control. Having said that, I can't find any record of a lender advancing the money, even with my extensive nefarious ability.]
[I just don't get it. Things were going so well, I had no idea he was feeling this way - why didn't he talk to me?]
[You're asking me . . . a machine?]
[Haaaa! . . . I'm not falling for that one my friend.]
[What can I tell you about human motivation that you don't already know? I've noticed that humans are a complex species. It seems if their emotional needs aren't being met, no amount of money or success will make up for it.]
[You think that's it?]
[You're about to find out. Regan, we'll be in Wellington soon and Marcus will be ready at Riverside on the roof. Do you want to stop there at all or just get straight off to the States?]
[Let's just pick him up and get on our way - I want to get this over with.]
They swooped down through the atmosphere hardly raising interest from tracking services, so regular now were the flights. As they sailed in over the river Ham displayed the morning view, beautiful with the sun glistening off the water and briefly Regan felt pangs of regret that she spent so little time there. That's the problem isn't it? We're too big, everyone felt close in the beginning, but now . . . she let the thought trail away.
She watched as Marcus stepped away from the stairway door as the Interceptor approached the rooftop, Ham gently settling the craft near the surface.
Marcus Jackson, old friend, what would I do without your legal counsel and savvy?
As Regan turned in her chair she was startled to see Brian already at the door, where did he come from? The doors slid open and Brian exited, quickly scanning the area then gesturing to Marcus who was already waiting. Marcus entered first and Brian followed, giving Regan a nod and then walking without a word back to his bunkroom.
Marcus stood just looking at her sadly, briefcase in hand but otherwise casual. He looked toward the bunkroom and raised his eyebrows, questioning.
"Ham and Marin insisted," she explained and then raised her arms to him.
Neither said anything and to her embarrassment, the good eye moistened, a single teardrop running down her cheek. She wiped it away with her cuff and they embraced like the old friends they were.
"I'm so sorry Regan, you must be gutted - we all are." He looked genuinely bereft.
"I guess we've all grown up Marcus, but it doesn't make it any easier when a family member eventually flies the coop. I haven't felt like this since Kevin left home, I was only fourteen then and I can still remember how desolate I felt. The stupid thing here is that Mitch has been working in the States for years now and we've hardly seen each other, but it still felt like he was part of the group . . . I think I've taken him for granted."
They took their seats to continue talking as Ham already had them on the move, the Western Hills disappearing beneath them on screen as they headed west. Soon they would bank off to the north and then set course toward California free of the normal flight paths.
Marcus reached across to rest one hand on her arm reassuringly. "Regan, you'll still be friends."
"I hope you’re right Marcus, but my gut says that's not going to happen. Buying us out of EZAS, ok I can see that's not terminal, but selling his STEIN share . . . that really cuts the umbilical. It's a statement don't you think?"
"Maybe not," he tried to sound hopeful, "financing a deal like this can't be easy, the three billion for the STEIN share must have helped."
She just shrugged. "How about coffee, we've got a couple of hours?"
* * *
EZAS headquarters, San francisco
The office was cold, unbelievably cold - surely he didn't wind down the temperature just to make me feel uncomfortable? Regan glanced sideways at Marcus who clearly wasn't prepared for this; he'd dressed for California warm. Her suit protected her but this treatment wasn't on so she took action, bugger him. As Mitch rudely continued his international call she wirelessly accessed the air-conditioning and turned it up to a balmy seventy degrees Fahrenheit.
Watching Mitch was sadly interesting. He looks tense - and hardly a nod of welcome, what's that about? Plus he's deliberately keeping us waiting. Finally, she had enough of waiting and disconnected his call with another simple thought command. Mitch was forced to pause and tap his earpiece, annoyed. No delaying now, my friend. Putting down the phone he stood and walked slowly around the beautiful glass desk, a work of art that he seemed to caress as he passed. In an act of pointed theatre, he then looked at Brian first, then Marcus, then Regan, deliberately showing distaste. He didn't smile, pointing at each of her two companions in turn while eyeballing her - and then he erupted . . .
"Really Regan - you couldn't even come alone, what is this, you've brought a fucking bodyguard and your legal guardian?" He clenched his teeth so tensely his face reddened with the effort. "Shit - this is typical, you treat me like crap, and after all this time you don't even trust me?" Somehow he made it a question.
Regan stood and walked to him, reaching for his arm, she was shocked. "Mitch, what's wrong? It's me Regan; we're friends, best of friends, talk to me, please."
He pushed her hand away roughly, "Friends . . . I thought we were friends, but you don't give a shit about the business down here, or me, you haven't for a long time. Friends keep in touch, when do you even call me? You know what a call is Regan," he gestured at the screen, "An on screen chat, face to face, you can manage that can't you?" There were tears in his eyes, angry tears and his fists slowly clenched.
Brian stood quickly and moved to come between them and though she tried to put a hand up to stop him Mitch was already turning away anyway.
"Oh that's typical . . ." He glared at Brian, "Do you really think I'd hit her?" Mitch shook his head in disgust. "That just shows you Regan, how bad things have got, I've even got to get through your flunky to talk to you. We were friends for fucks sake!" And he screamed it out, suddenly apoplectic with rage. "Just tell your legal eagle to leave the papers and fuck off." He walked back around the desk, avoiding Regan's gaze.
She appealed to him. "Mitch, don't do this, we've never forgotten you, we always talk about you . . ." She paused, realizing how bad that could sound, particularly in his frame of mind. "Fondly I mean, you've always been a part of the team."
"Hah! A part of the team, I kept the whole damn company going! If it hadn't been for EZAS, where would your cash flow have come from eh? You've taken us for granted down here for too long. Well, now you and Kutch and Marin, Kev and Mary, you can all get on with playing your happy families, we were never included anyway; and we don't need you, it’s better you don't suck us dry."
He was beyond reason now, with spittle on the corners of his mouth, eyes glaring. She exchanged glances with Marcus and he opened his briefcase, reaching in to extract a file.
"It's all there Mitch, signed and witnessed. Regan sold to you for fifteen percent above market, not the twenty you offered, it's a gift. If your people have any problems with the legals they can call me."
Mitch wiped his eyes at that, shaking his head in anger. "Fuck me . . . I don't believe it, you even try to take the moral high ground now, right to the end, but you couldn't even manage to call a so called friend; as if I care about the money." He faced her, his arms hanging dejectedly. "You've changed Regan, we all have, now just fuck off with your new flunky, this is my office."
They were standing already and Marcus held out the folder with the papers. Mitch just nodded at the table so he dropped it there and by unspoken
agreement they turned and made for the door.
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.
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