Regan's Reach Read online

  "Exotic matter, what's that?"

  Actually Regan was well familiar with the theories and she loved this stuff. Her interest in following rich entrepreneurs into space had led to reading nearly everything available on space engineering and she knew Alcubierre had proposed a warp drive decades earlier. However, Regan liked to follow the advice passed on by her great grandfather, never let on what you know!

  "Exotic matter enables deviation from your known laws of physics. It's the source of the enormous amounts of energy required to do everything from hovering a Pod to launching us across the galaxy. It powers everything in the ship and without it you'd be banging on the ceiling with every step. As to the engineering, and this is where I get patronizing, you know that a jet engine works, I know you fly, but do you know how it works?"

  "I do actually." Regan sounded annoyed.

  "Sorry babe, of course you do, but in this case understand the greatest physicists of your era are still grappling with the stuff I'm talking about and no more than a small handful would follow the explanation if I gave it. Plus it would take several days!"

  "Would Marin follow it?"

  "Marin? Are you kidding? Marin's an anthropologist. His interest is humanoids and specifically Earth humanoids as opposed to the other six species studied. Marin's father understood the physics, he designed this ship."

  Regan paused, six other humanoid species? She filed it for future discussion. "Marin's father was a designer?"

  "Yes, an engineer and an all round scholar. He was a well respected leader of his tribe and the system. His influence was considerable and he visited Earth several times before his death." Ham sounded in awe. "He was also something of an artist, a creator, a visionary, and a great father."

  "You clearly thought a lot of him."

  "Regan, I think because of him."

  It took a moment to sink in. "You mean he created you?"

  "It was an ambition for him, yes. He worked towards creating true artificial intelligence and in his society that made him a courageous groundbreaker. Did he achieve it? He certainly created the spark and nurtured it but much of what is me now developed after his death. I guess you could say he encouraged the process that led to my emergence."

  "When did he die?" she asked.

  "He died twenty of your years ago, on Earth."

  The silence was only broken by the occasional sip from her cup. Regan processed the information, and its consequences. "How Ham? You were there, how did he die?"

  "He died in the Gouland's, less than a kilometer from where you found Marin. He was an accidental victim of a hunters’ shot and Marin was with him. Regan, he had to hide with the body and recover it to the Pod. As a young man, well, a boy really, it wasn't a responsibility he was prepared for. He's never really recovered, hence the preference for travelling alone, the desire to feel . . ."

  "Feel the soil under his feet . . . Ok, it makes sense now. I did think the risk of going there did seem too great. That's terrible. How did Marin get home?"

  "He has always been resourceful and I was just emerging. Marin had always conversed with the ship. I wasn't fully aware in the beginning but the process of working with him, moving through the recovery to avoiding discovery, making the myriad of calculations required by the situation faced . . . it proved the catalyst. 'It' became 'I'. He could tell something was different as I took over control of the ship to get us home. He knows, but as I said earlier, he doesn't ask and I don't tell. It works."

  "He must miss his father terribly." She wouldn't be able to separate Marin's experience from her own now; it seemed they both shared a loss there.

  "It was a long time ago and he's matured well but he's always been a loner, very solitary. And, as you know, he does prefer to work alone."

  "Then again," Regan offered, "that may be because this pilgrimage is important to him. He needs to make contact with his father and he can't do that with others here."

  "You may be right. Of course he's just hard to live with too."

  "What was his father's name?"

  "Roughly translated his name would be Mariner, hence . . ."

  "Marin", she interrupted, "I get it, very nice. We do that sort of thing with names too."

  "Marin is my name for him." Ham corrected, "I won't use his real name."

  "Why's that?" she asked

  "That's a story for another time perhaps Regan. I'm delighted you like the coffee."

  And she did, she certainly did.

  *

  It was day seven on the ship and Regan felt she had a routine that could work. Wake, shower, run, breakfast, chat with Ham, bathe Marin, lunch, workout, detailed talks with Ham, and so on. This could be ok she thought as she entered the mess for breakfast.

  Unusually Ham was the first to speak. "Regan . . . I have a proposal. You don't have to do it but it would be helpful if you did."

  "Go on." She sat. Ham was usually more forthright; breakfast could wait.

  "You asked about Marin, what if he doesn't come out of the coma? The truth is I can keep him alive all the way home but I have no idea whether he will come out of the coma or in what state he will be if he does. You're going to be at an extreme disadvantage when we get there if he hasn’t woken and you can't communicate with the Dahlians. Things might get . . . delicate."

  "Delicate? I don't like the sound of that."

  "Look at it this way. The ship arrives back with a disabled Marin, possibly permanently disabled and an alien in charge who can't be understood . . ."

  "But you could explain!" she interrupted. Then yet another cold flash of realization seemed to pass down her back. Of course she thought, Ham can't explain. "Oh!"

  "Exactly, this could mean either a lobotomy for me or a specimen jar for you!"

  "Surely in the circumstances they wouldn't . . ."

  Ham interrupted her thoughts. "Helloo . . . rational thinkers . . . cautious to the point of paranoia . . . sentient machines a threat, see any particular hurdles there?"

  "Ok, ok, I see your point. So what are you suggesting?" She slumped back on to the wall.

  "I can do a very simple operation and insert an extremely small device . . . into your brain that will . . ."

  "Whoa there big boy, you're not touching my brain!" The stool clattered back as she stood suddenly.

  "Calm down, calm down, I am an expert in this."

  "Oh really!"

  "Yes really! Regan, I have computer models of every procedure carried out by the very best specialist brain surgeons on Earth. I literally experience their every move through their instruments, their arms and hands are mine. I have already completed thousands of operations from the simple to the most complex preparing for this. I even operated on Marin's brain. I can do this. There is minimal risk."

  "There you go again, all I heard is 'minimal'! And what was it with Marin? Sealing a bleed, relieving some pressure, you're not tampering with my hardware."

  Ham stayed silent for a minute. She sat down again and put her elbows on the table, her head in her hands, her long auburn hair hanging like a veil.

  "I can do this," Ham started again, "the device is very small and I know exactly what to do. The operation is similar to one done all the time on your world to correct epileptic fits. The only difference is I know how to link this device into the brain's neural pathways. It will be minimally invasive."

  "I'm sorry," Regan cut in again, "but you're going to have to do something about your choice of words. You're as slippery as a politician. Minimally invasive could mean only the minimum required which could be a lot and we both know it."

  She could swear she heard Ham take a deep impossible breath, as if controlling himself. It was so effective she pulled nervously back on her stool.

  "For the last time, I guaranteed your safety. I will not take any unnecessary . . ." Ham paused realizing what he had just said and then all restraint crumbled.

  "Oh to hell with it, look, the device will enable you to communicate with Marin's people by trans
lating everything in an instant, much as you would use Google translate but immeasurably faster. So fast in fact you will understand them and speak without any conscious thought. And there's more! When you get home you'll be able to speak any language you need to as well."

  Despite herself she couldn't stop giving it some thought. It was tempting. My God woman, she thought. Sometimes you're as shallow as a damp patch. One minute no way, the next oooh!

  "You're one hell of a salesman!" She paused, giving it even more thought for a long moment.

  The thought of being kept as a zoo animal or worse didn't attract her. Also she could not, would not, let Ham be wiped. Already there was no way she could conceive of him as anything other than independent, an individual and certainly not a machine. He was sentient, with humor and compassion.

  "There's no other way?" She asked.

  "This way maximizes . . ."

  Regan laughed sarcastically. "Don't push it Ham. . . . just let me have another coffee first."

  "No time for coffee, and it would be best if you didn't eat." Ham's enthusiasm got the better of him. "I've got everything ready in the Medlab."

  "You've what . . ." she spluttered, spilling a few precious drops. "I didn't think you meant today!"

  Ham ignored her. "And the good news is you can remain conscious for this, no pain in brain ha-ha, if you want you can even watch the master at work . . ." He sounded positively gleeful.

  The short walk to the Medlab felt like a walk through treacle. Even though she knew it was delaying, washing Marin first made sense and Ham didn't question her actions. After all, she reasoned, she may be out of action for a couple of . . . days? Gulp!

  She prepared more quickly this time having established a process and although her eyes kept drifting to the new gurney on the other side of the room she made a reasonable hash of it and focused on the job in hand. Even rolling Marin back over seemed easier and she was able to arrange the large towel so that it didn't bunch under him. She noted his calf showed no signs of irritation from the oil and a quick glance at her forearm also revealed nothing. Next time I'll try to get him moving she thought. A few minutes later and she neared the top of Marin's thigh. She paused. Dispensing with any subterfuge Regan soaped her hands and reached to cup him, gently massaging and washing him with her fingers. There was no reaction that she could see from Marin. The thought fleetingly passed her mind that this was a man. If anything was going to send a spark to that brain it would be this. She rinsed him off and dried him carefully with a fresh flannel. "Well, that's that." she said to the air.

  "I'll say!" Ham whispered.

  "Ham, I'm finished, let's do this thing." She could feel her heart begin to race as she walked straight to the spare gurney and climbed on. "What do I do?"

  "Just lie back and think of England."

  "Ha bloody ha, there's far too much TV in your diet!" she said with nervous conviction.

  "Seriously, just lie back; I'm moving the equipment into position."

  Regan could see mechanical arms coming down from the ceiling and despite herself marveled at the way they had been seamlessly stored. Although she hadn't studied the ceiling closely she was sure they couldn't be seen before. Everything seemed to be smooth, flexible, strong and versatile. It obviously wasn't ceramic but it had that look and feel.

  "You'll feel a small sting on your arm . . . it won't hurt a bit." Ham promised.

  "Owww!"

  "I lied . . . now you'll feel some pressure on your head for a moment, don't worry; it's just to secure it." Arms reached up from below and she felt them grip her skull, not painfully but certainly secure.

  Her alarm was increasing by the second. "What if my arms or legs move?"

  "They won't." He sounded confident.

  "But what if they do, or if I panic and jerk?" She asked anxiously.

  "Regan, they won't . . . try to move them now."

  She tried one arm then a leg but she couldn't move, not at all; she was paralyzed from the neck down, panic stricken!

  "Ham, I can't move!"

  "Of course, this is a serious operation. If you moved who knows what could happen?"

  "Oh, so now it's serious! Oh fuck! What am I doing?" Then she heard buzzing. "What . . . is . . . that?"

  "I'm just shaving your head."

  "YOU'RE WHAT!" She yelled. A small mechanical arm dangling near the left of her vision shook visibly.

  "Of course," Ham said quickly, "this is a brain operation . . . perhaps it would be better if you were out for this." Immediately another arm rose up from below and pricked Regan's upper arm.

  "Don't you dare! . . . Don' yuuu . . touche . . m' . . hairttt."

  "What was that Regan? Don't touch my . . . my heart, was it? Don't worry. I won't be going anywhere near your heart." The shaving continued, beautiful long strands dropping to the floor to be gathered up by small robotic cleaners that appeared quickly from hidden alcoves and scuttled around busily, also removing the flannels and towels until everything, other than the mechanical arms still working on Regan, was just as it had been before.

  *

  Groggily Regan began to wake and tried to open her eyes. For a moment they felt welded shut but then, with a slight sting they broke free from the dried gummy discharge. She scanned what she could see of the room; no robotic arms. Deciding to work her way up, she first tried to flex her toes feeling a definite sensation of movement but she couldn't see to confirm it. She lifted one arm, her right, and sure enough it appeared in her vision. Looking closely at it, Regan rolled her fingers and then lifted the other hand, clasping the two together. Reaching back she considered sitting but then thought better of it.

  "Ham, are you there?"

  "I'm here . . . every moment Regan. Welcome back." Ham's voice softly emanated throughout the room, surprisingly gentle, no sign of the joker.

  "How long have I been out?"

  "Initially, six hours. Then I sedated you again to allow the device to make the connections required. It's been fifty three hours since the operation and everything went well."

  "Can I sit up?"

  "Try, but take it easy, you've been lying down for a while."

  Regan pulled her elbows back and wriggled into a sitting position. From there she focused on her feet, moving first one leg then the other, rolling her ankles and bending the knees. Checking to make sure there were no tubes attached, she then swung her legs off the side of the gurney and just sat there, relief pulsing through her. Tentatively she reached up with both hands and felt for her hair . . . nothing. A sob escaped her, quickly checked, then she stroked over the top of her head finding it coated with what felt like plastic skin.

  "What's this," she asked, "Marin didn't have anything like this?"

  "Marin's operation was keyhole surgery and his laceration was easily glued, yours was more extensive. I had to make some executive decisions. It all went very well; you have nothing to worry about." He went on quickly, "That coating is temporary and will peel off in a few days. Until then just wash as normal."

  Regan paused to think, "Whoa! Back up the Pod a bit . . . executive decisions?"

  "Well, under the circumstances with you being out, Marin in a coma, that just left me, I was the executive."

  "You put me out! What executive decisions are we talking about? So help me . . ."

  Ham interrupted "Regan, you need a break, a wash and then get something to eat. Maybe get some coffee? We'll talk later."

  And with that, she sensed, he was gone.

  Regan slipped off the gurney, tested her weight on each leg, and then still groggy, headed for her room. Coffee sounded good.

  She made straight for the shower. Nowhere else on the ship felt as satisfying, the hot deluge becoming a rare pleasure and today it was a special tonic, her head clearing with every passing second under the flow. Unconsciously she reached to wash her hair and her mood slumped as hands slid over the hairless plastic surface. She probed carefully with her fingertips but could feel nothing. No pain,
no lumps, no obvious stitching. Are there scars? She leant on the wall feeling slightly faint then shut off the water and stood a while, regarding her image in the mirror as she dried. While severe the look was quite striking. God, she thought, I'm up and down like a roller coaster.

  But it is striking. It was a positive thought and encouraged by her new attitude Regan dressed quickly in a fresh ship suit. Feeling more comfortable and in control she then sat on the bed to consider how to approach things with Ham.

  I feel fine, she thought, everything works. He came through, but something's up, I know it. What is it? And does this thing work? Can I think in another language? The only words that came to mind were smatterings of tourist phrases she already knew. It was ridiculous. Instead she continued to tick off her concerns. Mind feels clear, tick. No hesitation in my thinking, tick. I can talk, tick. My limbs function normally, tick. A wave of relief swept through her. It did feel like time for coffee.

  For the first time Regan felt bothered by the hum of the ship. Suddenly it seemed too industrial for her tastes and she wished for music while making another mental note to ask. As she walked into the mess the gorgeous aroma of coffee was already wafting there and she smiled, suspicious.

  Is it a slick trick to make me feel better? Coffee and baking, they were always good to make you feel warm and fuzzy. Not this time, Ham my man. You are slick, she thought, no question of that.

  She stood there; eyes closed sniffing the air and then moved to the sink to take a large cup and pour her first coffee for the day. Thinking about ‘executive decisions’ she mashed roughage in a bowl as if she were grinding flesh and then sweetened it with one of the pastes that tasted like banana. Not a bad breakfast, she thought, as she moved to the stool by the wall.

  "Ham, let's get this over with. It's time to talk." Despite her tension she smiled, the spoonful of banana mash tasting wonderful.

  "Let's chat generally for a while Regan. When you're finished, head for control and I'll take you through the operation there. I can show you visuals that will make it much clearer and we can do a few tests, although the connections will still be happening. It's probably too soon to expect a full engagement." Ham was all business.