"It's done sir." Without commenting further she rose from her seat and left for her room. The urge to vomit was overwhelming and she found herself jogging, holding her stomach, only just making it and dropping to her knees retching just inside the door. May the stars forgive me, what have I done?
* * *
They gathered in the War Room, Marin openly staring as the two women entered with coffees. Regan caught his look and was surprised until she realized . . . The matching suits.
She smiled at him. "Good enough to eat huh?"
"Is that a promise?" He took a seat on the other side of the table, all the better to enjoy the view.
"Regan," Ham interrupted. "There are some matters to attend to. President Johnston has been chasing both us and Bob Jarvis. Hawaii is in panic, the share and money markets worldwide are tanking and as he points out the only thing people hate more than bad news is a vacuum. He feels they need something from us. All they can say with confidence at the moment is 'no comment'."
"Thanks Ham, I have been following that and I do have an idea." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ham, not that it matters but what's your degree of confidence that no missile will get through?" She waited swilling her coffee around like wine, savoring the bouquet.
"Degree of confidence . . .? I'd say almost one hundred percent."
"Hmm, let me put it another way. Would you allow me to go there and wait it out?"
There was a long pause, a feeling that somewhere calculations were frying circuits. Finally he answered. "I can give you a qualified yes."
"And the qualification is . . . ?
"That you stay within popping distance of the Interceptor, or whatever you take down."
"Thank you Ham, that's good enough for me. Here's what I think. Let's let it be known we are that confident we will be there too."
Marin leant forward, "Where exactly did you have in mind."
"Ground zero baby, right in the centre, let's send a signal to the people, the markets and the Coran's that it's business as usual as far as we're concerned, Wellington first, then Hawaii."
"I think we should cover both." Leah turned to Regan and gripped her arm. "Regan, the markets are tanking now, all over the world. We need to park there now in Honolulu, I'd say Waikiki Beach, really show them we're confident."
"But they're hitting Wellington first."
"I'm not so sure of that from what Ham tells me. Those sneaky bastards have other agenda's. What's to say they don't hit both at once, or Hawaii first?"
"We would have some time." Ham said. "The ADF's we have on station will report in as soon as anything moves from the ship. Having said that, Leah's right, there is a reasonable probability that they won't keep to their declaration."
"Ok, so how do we handle it?" Marin asked.
Leah spoke first. "Look, I don't mean to get in between you two or anything . . ."
There was an "OW!" from Marin and he reached under the table to rub his leg, giving Regan a wounded look.
"Continue what you were saying Leah." She glared at Marin.
Leah gave them both a strange look then continued. "What I was going to say was I think Marin should go to Wellington. For the big guy to be there is a real show of support from his people to this new family, New Zealand. Regan, you should go to Hawaii. It's a statement. It say's you stand with your allies and fall with them if necessary."
"I like it." Regan turned to Marin, "Did I tell you that Leah is my new Personal Advisor?"
"No you didn't," and he moved away from the table. "But I'm not surprised; you seem to have this talent of attracting hot young people." He was looking at Leah with a smile. "What about you Leah, where do you go?"
"I go with Regan." She could see him raise his eyebrows, "Hey," and she opened her arms appealing, "I'm an American, where else would I be?"
Marin leant back on his chair, conceding defeat. "There is another option, why don't we just shoot down this turkey?"
Regan looked disgusted with him. "One we don't have any weapons and two we don't shoot first, you know that."
"I have a weapon." From under the table he produced a ridiculously long pistol, something from the nineteen hundreds.
The two women looked stunned for a moment and Regan couldn't resist a poke. "Where did you get such a big gun?"
"I inherited it from my father." He said it in all seriousness and neither woman could hold back a laugh.
"Look," he continued, "I thought Ham could fly me in there close, pop me in, I pop the Coran and then Ham pops me back out. It would be fun."
"Actually," Ham sounded interested, "That does sound like fun."
"Well even if we put it to a vote," Regan was already standing, "It would be two, you and Ham, against two, as in us." She gestured to include Leah. "That means you lose."
They didn't bother questioning the logic.
"So when do we do this?" Marin came around to join her.
"First thing tomorrow, that way we'll be there two days early and we'll stay for the duration." she looked at him apologetically.
"Sooo . . . we all stay here tonight." He looked hopeful.
"All?" She looked from Marin to Leah. He left the question hanging.
"Well," and Leah grazed her eyes from one to the other, "I'm definitely staying here."
The 'zing' that each of them obviously felt at that moment was palpable. So real that Regan suspected Ham had sent some charge through the air. She didn't fight it.
As Marin used the bathroom both women lay in a tangle, utterly spent. Leah looked across at her friends face, just inches away and mouthed three letters. They didn't need translating. OMG! On returning to the room they could see him already becoming erect as he crossed the small space. Leah prodded Regan and she shook her head, no way. Marin stood expectant, as if to say . . . Well?
Finally Leah laughed and looked at Regan, "Well, I guess you're the boss." She rolled over to sit up. Looking up at Marin she quipped, "Enough big guy, this is as good as it gets." She reached out and began to stroke him with both hands, quickly drawing groans.
* * *
Anne Marshall didn't usually burst straight into his office. Cliff Johnston looked up from his desk, still weary from the defense briefing that taken up the last hour. In this sudden space age era regular defense seemed like so much hot air. Still the recent posturing by the Russians couldn't be ignored. They had spent most of the time discussing potential fallout from the expected Coran defeat. At least that was optimistic.
"I'm sorry Cliff; I've wanted to talk to you since just after your meeting started. Phil wasn't at his desk and I didn't want you to miss this."
She had his attention. He stood and walked around to her side. "So what's up?"
"We had word from Hillary Station an hour ago. They said Bob Jarvis had called and advised 'they understood', that was all they said initially. Then half an hour ago we got word that they're on their way to Honolulu, and they're staying, right through the crisis."
"Who's on their way?" He looked confused.
"Regan Stein and her Assistant, she's American by the way. They're parking up in Honolulu as we speak. Put on CNN."
Johnston reached for the remote and activated the huge wall screen. Switching to CNN he could see the live feed. It was two in the afternoon in Hawaii and it looked glorious. They could see the STEIN Interceptor settled on a clear space on Waikiki beach. Although probably empty only minutes ago already they could see people running down from the hotels and road to get close.
"That AI of theirs . . ."
"His name is Ham," Johnston corrected her. "And you of all people should remember there is nowhere he can't access, despite our best efforts." He pointedly swiveled his eyes around the room and then returned to the screen and the growing crowd.
"Yes, well Ham has been on all the stations explaining Regan's confidence and what she's doing. It's no wonder people are turning out."
As they watched the Interceptor doors opened at the rear and two bikini clad w
omen stepped out with towels. They waved then circled round to climb up on the curved roof of the Interceptor, placing their towels and stretching out to sunbathe. When the shorter one began to apply sunscreen to Regan they both laughed out loud.
"Oh I love it." Cliff patted Anne on the back conspiratorially. "This is perfect, what great television. They couldn't have done better. I've got to ask, why here, what's happening in Wellington?"
"Oh that's hilarious too; I've only got a still shot from our Embassy feed. Have a look at this." She couldn't help laughing as she handed it over. There above The Beehive Parliamentary offices the STEIN Saucer sat like a cap.
"It's the alien, Marin. The big guys sitting it out in Wellington can you believe it?"
They both sat down to watch. He handed the photo back to Anne and she laughed again just looking at it. He was watching the big screen unable to tear his eyes away. The camera was zooming in as the young woman slowly . . . applied . . . the . . . cream.
In Moscow Andrei Sokolov scowled at the screen. Pulled from his bed at four in the morning he was not in the mood for theatre. The show put on by Stein and the American enraged and unsettled him. As he watched the performance the first seeds of doubt began to enter his mind. The women's brazen confidence was bothering. But what can you do Andrei? We have made this bed and we must sleep in it. He'd seen enough. Tottering back he was resigned to one thing. He wouldn't sleep tonight.
* * *
Chapter Seven
From a distance the little ADF visual zoomed in on the raked Coran flight deck, both decks were showing increased activity. In particular the sight of crew lining up either side of the entrances, clearly visible through the hazy field bubble that held in the atmosphere. And there was extra lighting, huge spotlights clearly directed out into the vacuum, all the better to record some impending departure? The deck crew seemed to be settling in, some sliding down the walls to sit, their long legs bent up in front of them, others clustered in groups chatting. Something was up. On this side a lone figure could be seen walking to the edge of vacuum. A male, he stood there, hands clasped behind his back, just staring out into the void. Then, with an exaggerated military turn he spun about and disappeared back into the bowels of the vessel. The image zoomed back, the people becoming insects, the entrance a crevice and finally the ship, a shrinking behemoth with the sun peeking out from behind it.
On that strip of Pacific Ocean between 174 and 157 degrees from prime meridian it was early morning. Not just another day. Regan lay awake in the Interceptor control chair, awake and online. It was seven in the morning Hillary/New Zealand time, six am Hawaii. Viewing the Coran vessel from a distance she accessed the ADF's camera and zoomed in on the flight deck port side.
[What's that Ham?]
He didn't need to answer. As they watched the nose of a craft nudged forward, a pointed nose not blunt like the other Coran shuttles. Deck crew moved out from the walls patting the nose for luck. It seemed very low to the deck, no sign of weapons, or a screen.
[Looks like we have action] Ham commented.
[This is early . . . There are still two days to go]
[Huh! By whose measure?] He radiated cynicism.
[What can we see from the other side Ham?] And the view changed, a starboard perspective with an almost identical flight deck and the nose of another twin craft enjoying the same superstitious attention. Humanoids, it seems we're all the same at heart, and with the same desperate potential for evil.
On Hillary Rod walked groggily to the bathroom. Two days to go and the late night commiseration party had gone on much longer than intended. He leaned forward on the basin trying to make out whether the haze on the mirror was mist or his vision. Memory of his drunken abject failure in bed with Minjee the night before assailed him and he looked down disgusted, gripping himself and stretching his penis out. "Where the fuck were you when I needed you?"
Looking back up at the mirror he was jolted back to reality.
FLIGHT DECK--NOW--ALONE--DRESS FOR ACTION.
"Holy fuck." He quickly splashed water on his face and combed it through his hair with fingers as he returned to the room still wet. Going to the cupboard he pulled on one of the new flight suits with the poofy, life saving, Chinese collar. Glancing down at the lightly snoring Minjee he hesitated, ALONE? He leant forward and considered kissing her, then thought better of it, discipline kicking in and he turned for the door. Without looking back he was gone.
Jogging down the pipe corridor he could feel his head clearing, the fuzziness being replaced by something of a cold dread. It crystallized his thinking . . . It's on!
Fortunately at that time Marin was alone. The sight of the ungainly two point one meter figure, naked and doing handstand press ups with something close to perfect balance would have been disturbing to anyone, all the more so because he clearly found it stimulating.
[Marin . . . we're on!] Ham announced his presence.
For a moment Marin balanced there, wobbling back and forward then dropped back to the floor looking as if he'd been pulled down by some central counterweight. He couldn't be faulted for focus.
[They're on the move?] He asked.
[Looks like it. They haven't launched yet but the activity on the flight decks seems to indicate they're getting ready]
Another presence intruded [How many of those press ups did you manage?] It was Regan.
[They weren't press ups; I was practicing a new . . .]
Ham interrupted [Focus people! Do we make an announcement?]
[Let's not alarm people] Regan subbed [If we're right it's too late to run anyway so best to keep up the PR and calm the populace if anything]
[They have TV crews over at the Beehive Marin, you could displace over there and ride it out with the PM]
[Good idea Ham] Regan agreed [and remember babe, cover that schlong before you go. I don't think the populace is ready for it]
[You've always had a way with words Regan, and what, may I ask are you two going to do?]
[I do have an idea, it's something like 'Come to the beach, see in the apocalypse'; Ham, what about contacting all the local stations here and encouraging people to come down to the beach, and tell them to bring deck chairs?]
[I'll get on to it. Now I'm going to sign off for a bit, I need to concentrate for my important conversation with Rod, it's going to be fun] Ham did indeed seem to disappear from the ether.
[We're going to be alright aren't we babe?] Regan asked.
[Almost certainly] Marin knew she'd be smiling.
[Well, better get going] She let the thought hang there, as if waiting for something.
[So I get Bob Jarvis and you get Leah Morgan, where's the fairness in that?]
[Aah Marin, delayed gratification, it's a wonderful thing]
Soaring out of the pipe, Rod was grateful for his routines. He had toileted before leaving and the unbelievable discovery of coffee on board would surely have tested his reserves had he not.
"So Ham, it's just you and me then huh, what's my role in all of this then?"
"You won't be doing anything for a while Rod, hence the coffee, but sit tight, yours is a very important role."
Rod flicked to the reverse screen, Hillary Station was already a distant light in the background. He took a sip of the brew. "I like it, I was born for important roles, so what do I do?"
"You're the bait Rod."
"I'm sorry?"
"No need to be sorry, it's wonderful that you're available."
"Sorry . . . ?"
"You keep saying that, no need to be sorry, you're perfect for this."
He was sitting up now dusting spills off his suit. "In what way am I suited to be bait for fucks sake?"
"I needed a living breathing human and you fit the bill well, on both counts, you're perfect!"
Rod was actually starting to smile, a wry smile but it was there nonetheless. "So it had nothing to do with my supreme flying ability, courage under fire and all round general good looks."
"That's right, nothing . . . nothing at all."
"Ok, all jokes aside, what am I doing?"
"I need you to confirm a body onboard. They won't know who it is at first but they can detect a life form from a distance. If I'm going to draw fire I need you here."
"If they haven't fired on the ADF's so far why do you reckon they'll fire on me?"
"Oh they wouldn't fire on you. They'll fire because they think its Regan."
"And they'll think that because . . . ?" he drew it out.
"Because that's the visual they'll see when we call on them to surrender."
Rod sat quietly sipping on the coffee, thinking. "And why me, on my own, why was it not possible for Minjee to be here with me?"
Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy Page 26