Regan's Reach

by Mark G Brewer

  "Keep doing whatever you were doing." Ham encouraged.

  "I was working his adductors." She moved to the right leg and continued the same process as before, more gently this time. As she stroked upward toward his groin she could see there was no doubt, he was becoming aroused.

  "Anything?" she asked again.

  ". . . Nothing . . ."

  She kept massaging gently, both hands now, sliding them smoothly up his thighs, he was clearly growing more and more prominent. "Oh shit," she whispered, "this doesn't seem right."

  "Regan, this might bring him out of it."

  "Well it'll take him somewhere that's for sure!" She paused for a moment unable to stop herself looking at the now almost fully erect member. A joke came to mind about men shaving there to give them that 'extra visual inch'. Well he certainly doesn't need an extra inch she thought and laughed nervously. She drew a deep breath.

  Without further hesitation she took the tube of oil and holding it above him dribbled a stream down the length of him. With both hands she began a gentle up and down stroke, soon becoming totally engaged, her eyes fixed on him as she worked, looking occasionally up to his face and examining him in detail. It didn't take long. Without any obvious warning and accompanied by the first sounds she had heard from Marin since the Pod, he erupted.

  "Jesus!" She gasped. "Tell me you got something please!"

  "There's still nothing." Ham replied sadly. "Sorry Regan, it was worth a try. There was a peak of activity then it fell away."

  She felt utterly deflated. It had been uncomfortable, desperate, and yes, to her embarrassment, erotic . . . for nothing? Without a word Regan gathered cloths and warm water and began the cleanup. To her surprise as she worked her hand over him he again began to harden. Regan paused, still holding him, amazed.

  "Regan," Ham groaned, "He's awake."

  "What?" She looked at Marin's face, still holding his erection in her hand. There were no signs she could see, nothing different from any other day. "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "No question," Ham replied. "He's faking it. He may have come around earlier and I missed it." If a computer could manage a sigh, that was what she heard from Ham, he actually managed to convey deep disgust in a sound.

  Regan let go of Marin and pulled her hand back so quickly the erection slapped back down on to his stomach with a loud smack.

  "Bastard!" She spat it out, stepping back and glaring at the man.

  "Regan," Ham said, despair in his voice, "That's Marin and get used to it, it's as deep as he gets."

  Without opening his eyes, the body spoke, weak but clear. "I . . . heard . . . that, you metal marble!"

  "Welcome back to us your baldness, an explosive entrance as usual, verrry classy!"

  "You're full of hot air." Marin opened his eyes and stared at Regan.

  "That can easily be remedied!" Ham countered.

  Regan could understand every word and realized with a start she'd been talking Dahlian since early that morning. Marin must have heard everything, at least from some point.

  Marin glared at her. "What . . . is . . . the woman doing here? This is madness! You know this breaks every mission protocol. You've killed us both!"

  "Oh please, you talk to me about protocol! If the woman hadn't been here one of us would already be dead. She saved your life!" Ham didn't give any ground.

  Marin tried to sit up, and then collapsed back to the bed, fingering the tube in his nose. "I don't remember anything," he groaned. "I was on the mountain . . . then nothing."

  Should I speak, Regan thought, but before she could Ham quickly continued.

  "You were caught in a landslip Marin, it was just unlucky. Something, probably a rock, hit you hard on the head . . . Marin, you've been unconscious for three periods."

  Regan looked confused and put up her hand. "Sorry to interrupt, but what is a period?"

  [It's about ten earth days Regan] [There's a problem with Marin] [I can't sub-vocalize to him.]

  [Is it damage?]

  [There must be.]

  Marin groaned again. "I don't really want to know this but I have to ask. HOW CAN SHE SPEAK OUR LANGUAGE?" It was a weak attempt at a yell but he managed to say it with some gravitas nonetheless.

  "Marin, we'll talk about this later. Regan, stay if you like but it would be best if you go and clean up. I need to talk to Marin and I can do that while I remove the tubes. It can get messy. I'll call you when he is ready to move."

  It was clearly a hint and Regan didn't hesitate. Still flushed and a little embarrassed, she did want to get out of there, the experience still being fresh and vivid in her mind.

  [No problem Ham, I'll be in my room. Call me when you need me.] She made for the door.

  [Do you really need that oil?]

  Regan didn't pause to answer. She headed for the shower. Oh wow! Life is going to be very different around here now, she thought, interesting.

  As Regan departed she could see mechanical arms were already reaching up from beneath Marin's gurney, stretching up from a floor that had appeared seamless only seconds earlier. She didn't stop and the doors closed behind her.

  With Regan gone the robotic arms began their work removing the stomach and nose tubes, a procedure which Marin bore without complaint. No words were spoken for some time, and then he shook his head angrily.

  "This is a disaster . . . they will never understand . . . how did your programming allow this to happen?"

  "Oh please," Ham replied, "The charade is over. The choice was simple, let you die or get help. She was close and agreed to assist. You should be thankful that exposure of your dalliance has been limited to this one human, and Marin, she is remarkable. You owe her a great debt; hopefully you will do the right thing."

  "And what is that?"

  "She deserves to get home, you must get her there."

  Marin shook his head. "Let's face it; this could be the end for me and the ship. My foolishness has exposed everything, all the studies. It's possible they won't allow anyone there now for millennia. I do not lack honorable intentions but we both know they will never let her return."

  The ministrations of the Medlab machines continued while Marin raised and stretched his legs, twisting this way and that while groaning at the stiffness of every joint. As soon as he was clear he pushed himself up, swung his legs to the side and sat, contemplating the effort of standing.

  "Marin, there's something else . . . your neural web, it appears to be damaged. Can you sub-vocalize?" Ham's concern was obvious.

  After a moment of silence Marin acknowledged the problem. "Clearly you can't receive me?" He slumped back on the bed. "You know what this means?"

  "It's not certain Marin. It might be something minor, something easily repaired."

  "You know that's unlikely. This confirms my fate. They will never let me have control of the ship without command control. A disaster, this . . . is . . . a . . . disaster."

  Marin lay for a minute deep in thought. Then, not one to mope, he sat up, swung his legs around and gingerly tested his weight on the floor. He pushed off with both hands . . . and collapsed beside the gurney.

  *

  Regan lay naked on her bunk with beads of perspiration on her forehead and her skin glistening. Legs splayed, one arm stretched up under her head and the other resting lightly on her pubis which she was gently stroking. She sighed contentedly. It's been a while, she thought.

  [Regan, I hope I'm not interrupting anything important.] [Marin's fallen. He's OK however he could do with some assistance to his room.]

  Regan cupped herself with her hand and squeezed, a delighted, satisfied shrug gripping her body.

  [I'm ready Ham; I'll be down there soon.]

  [He insists he's alright and would be better off in his room, this from a male who can't hold up his own weight! If you could bring a suit from his room too that would be helpful.]

  [No problem, can't have him embarrassed can we?]

  [Modest isn't a word I would associate
with Marin, Regan, I was thinking of you.]

  So . . . he's on the floor, she thought . . . no hurry then.

  She moved into the bathroom and considered her image in the mirror, a warm flush still visible on her face. Her hands still silky with oil, she stroked them down from her breasts to her hips regarding her now hairless body. I like it; she concluded and then quickly dressed before heading for Marin's room and the Medlab.

  *

  The Lodge, Thomas Home, Fairfield, Connecticut

  "How can this disaster have developed so quickly?" Greg didn't wait for an answer as he moved to refill his glass in Bill Thomas's study. The atmosphere in the large room felt more like a wake than a business meeting. But then, perhaps that was exactly the right description.

  "I feel tainted, disloyal. I know this comes with the territory but he's a good man, a great CEO. We should have stood by him." As Joan Pritchard spoke, she looked close to tears, something no one on the board had seen before. That Joan, a strong woman with a distinguished military background, had been affected so profoundly affected said it all. They were deeply shocked at the turn of events.

  In the seven weeks since announcement of the Arteis purchase it seemed the company and board had been under continual assault. McCall's unrelenting attacks on his news show Business Focus revealed a bitter man after blood. His job was being made that much easier by the continual drip feeding of 'information' regarding cyber terrorism and links to Arteis, all false reports of course, but rumor and innuendo were having their effect on the markets. Now, combined with reports of problems with the latest delivery of Starliner Passenger Jets to Air China, the USDynamics share price had tanked. Market capitalization was down from sixty five billion US dollars just one year ago to twenty three billion today. It hardly seemed possible.

  Bill Thomas tried to settle the feelings in the room. "We all know the board had to be seen to take action and we must stand together on this. It can be a harsh game but it is one Hayden understands. If our share price continues on that downward trend we're going to be having serious problems with our financiers. Hell, they're already nervous. We know things aren't as bad as they're being portrayed and we need to get that message out there. We'll get through this. Hayden has been well looked after and I can tell you we're on good terms. You're right Joan, he is a good man, but unfortunately in the court of public opinion he's become a lame duck."

  "I'd like to throttle that McCall." Mary stood, interrupting Bill with venom, "What an absolute prick!"

  Even Bill looked shocked. Mary wasn't one to swear.

  "Look," he added soothingly. "Hayden is going to be snapped up. I have some friends who will jump at the chance to get someone of his experience."

  "With the greatest of respect Bill, I don't think so," Greg, ever the pessimist chipped in. "Hayden is seen as damaged goods and terrorism isn't a word anyone wants associated with a resume, or their company."

  "That's ridiculous Greg and you know it," Joan countered.

  "Perception is reality in the market Joan." Greg replied. "Hayden Joyce is tainted by association with STEIN. We need to make sure we aren't too."

  "Do you mean you," Joan said with a sneer, "or the company?"

  "Both!" He didn't dodge it.

  Greg looked over at Bill and gestured with his fist. "Someone needs to take on McCall. You know he keeps calling for an interview, Bill. He doesn't deserve it but we can't be seen to be hiding or avoiding the issue."

  "I intend to give him his interview Greg, but not right now. Let's get some positive information on the China Starliner situation first. I can't go in there looking blank about our newest product."

  "It could be two to three weeks before we have our engineers' reports." said Joan.

  "So be it," said Bill, "and I can handle McCall, have no doubts about that."

  *

  Jackson Legal Office, Wellington New Zealand

  ". . . Come on, let me in on this Marcus, you know something don't you."

  The share broker had been pumping Marcus for information ever since the first trade had delivered such spectacular returns five weeks earlier.

  "There's nothing to tell, Nathan," Marcus replied, "It was just lucky. There's no inside story here and I'm only following the instructions of my client. True, they're a very astute investor, but as to the workings of their mind I have no idea. We both know even gamblers have good runs but it catches up eventually and this kind of risk is way beyond me that's for sure." Marcus could be very convincing at the best of times however in this case he really was in the dark, Regan having outlined steps that were a mystery to him. One thing was clear; her war chest of funds was steadily growing.

  "OK, so you're not going to spill! Well, it's a big company but two hundred million dollars is still going to be noticed. You could drive the price up if you keep going."

  "Just keep picking them up steadily without making waves. No higher than my maximum."

  "OK, your funeral then. Good talking to you."

  "You too Nathan, take care."

  Marcus ended the call and walked through to his reception. Only a small office with one associate, a legal secretary and receptionist, Marcus's plans to grow had been overshadowed by the association with STEIN. His major client took all of his time now and as a shareholder he had an even greater interest. He had no regrets.

  "Barbara," he spoke to the receptionist, "could you do some hunting for me please? I need the number of a Hayden Joyce. He's the former CEO of USDynamics in the States."

  "You've met people there. Couldn't you just ask them?"

  "I'd rather do it this way for the moment. See how you get on. It'll probably be his home number, San Francisco, I think he said."

  "I'm on to it!" Barbara was the best, all action and efficiency, he left it with her.

  Thirty five minutes later and Marcus was looking at his watch. Twelve twenty p.m. here, hmm, that's four twenty there. He started tapping out the number. . . . .

  "Hello." It was a woman's voice.

  "Hello there. Is that Mrs. Joyce?"

  "Yes it is. Who am I speaking to?"

  "My name is Marcus Jackson, Mrs. Joyce. I work with Regan Stein and I'd like to talk briefly with your husband if he's available."

  "Of course, he's out back; I'll take the phone to him. How is Regan?"

  Marcus could hear Mrs. Joyce walking through the apartment, wooden floors?

  "I haven't been in contact with her for some time ma'am, she's on a long break and out of contact I understand."

  "Oh well, give her my regards when you do. I'll pass you to Hayden."

  The phone sounded muffled for a moment and then Hayden was on the line.

  "Hello Marcus, it's been a while hasn't it? What can I do for you; you know I'm no longer . . ."

  "Yes I heard that Hayden, I was sorry to hear it, but that partly led to my call. Sometimes one door shuts and another opens. I'd like to talk to you about an opportunity. It could mean a change in lifestyle. Have you got a moment?"

  "I guess so. Tell me more . . ."

  It was an hour before Marcus disconnected and as quickly he was tapping again. He could hear the phone begin to ring.

  "Kevin Stein . . ."

  "Kev, its Marcus . . . he's on."

  *

  Seattle, Washington

  "I thought I should contact you." It was a man's voice.

  "You know I don't want you calling this number."

  "I know, but I thought this was important, you'd want to know and I don't have any other way."

  "Well it's too late now, what is it - and it had better be good."

  "The IT guy, he's open to help but . . . ."

  "But what? Just get on with it."

  "He wants money."

  "How much?"

  "Just like that . . . you haven't offered me any money!" The voice sounded offended.

  "So that's what this is all about, you want money do you? What happened to your moral crusade against the military?"

&n
bsp; "No, no, I just . . . well if he's going to get something it's only fair."

  "How much does he want?"

  "One million . . ."

  "He's dreaming. I don't like this. Is this guy to be trusted?"

  "Absolutely, look I'm sure I could get him to do it for less, say five hundred thousand, it's a huge risk."

  "I'll look into it . . ."

  "Each!"

  "You're starting to worry me boy, and that's not a good thing. I'll see what I can do. Meantime hold off and lie low. Things are going just fine at the moment. I may use this to deliver the coup de grace. And don't use this number again!"

  Tucking the old mobile back into his inside pocket the young man hustled from the main street alley back into the crowd. He began to jog, dodging through the shoppers on his way back to the office.

  Not much time, he thought. Ahh, such is the busy day of PA to the board. He chuckled to himself. Five hundred thousand dollars! Nice.

  *

  The STEIN Traveler: two days from leg three to Dahlia

  Regan jogged quietly behind Marin as the two lapped level five anticlockwise, the Sydney harbor to their left in a fuzzy holographic image and the Sydney harbor park to their right. As they made their way back to Woolloomooloo, Regan considered the lean form in front of her. Marin had made good progress over the last two weeks accepting help with walks and a gym program while he rebuilt his strength. Now as he jogged for the first time she saw his height and stride didn't really suit the small laps. A one hundred and fifteen meter track meant constantly turning and only a short stride was really possible. Even she had found the treadmill more useful to get up some pace.

  Neither of them had mentioned the day of Marin's 'reawakening' which she found a relief. The experience had certainly fuelled a fresh interest in her own libido however, and Regan spent more time in her room each morning than she had previously. She had no idea what Marin did with his free time but was becoming tired of his sullen nature. He still hadn't thanked her for intervening to save his life, not that she really expected it, but some acknowledgement would have been nice. She determined to draw him out that morning over breakfast.