Regan's Reach 2: Orbital Envy (15 page)

"Whoa," A flash of alarm went through Kevin. "If something
is
wrong I'm not sure that replying is a good idea, especially when Regan's not even here." He looked at the others for support. None was forthcoming, in fact both Mary and Kutch looked positively excited.

"How would you reply?" Mary asked, ignoring Kevin's warning.

Kevin sighed and slumped back down. "Just use the first letters of the second line, IFWWAS, that's how Regan and I would do it."

"I agree Kevin . . . I'm sending now, there'll be a delay."

The seconds ticked by slowly. No one spoke. Coffees cooled.

"Kevin," Ham burst out excitedly. "The vessel has responded and . . . I know now for certain that it's me." His delight and curiosity was obvious. "It's also now trying to send something to us."

"Be careful Ham, how can you be sure this is legit?"

"I can be sure because
that
me is also sending the last line of the poem, AABYDAI. Kevin, you
know
I must be right."

Kevin, ever cautious, had to concede.
He is right. No one else would know that line.
"Ok Ham, but be careful, let's see what they've got."

"I'm on it . . . It won't take long."

Again they waited, seconds ticking by; the three on the edge of their seats in anticipation. In Kevin's case it was clearly nervous worry as he chewed on a nail. It took longer than before, and then Ham began to speak.

"It seems to be a compressed fil . . ." There followed several blips and crackles.

"Hatden is on his w'up wit Marc . . . Kevin, some's Happning . . ."

Then there was silence for a few seconds . . .

"It's t much . . . it pushn m out . . . Oh shit . . . Kevin!"

The room went pitch black, and quiet. A shocked hush hung there, no one wanting to speak.

"Ham?" Kevin spoke first, and waited, "Ham? What happened . . . Ham?"

"Kevin," Mary sounded more alarmed than he had ever heard her, "Oh shit Kevin have we been attacked? What's happened to Ham?"

Kutch reached to grope for Kevin's arm. "Kev, listen . . . there's no sound . . . no air . . . we need to get outside, see what's happened. Everything has shut down."

They could hear him groping across the floor and Kevin followed. Crawling through the garden he could hear Kutch had reached the door. He was thumping the pad. It was no good, the door wouldn't open, and they were trapped. The twins screamed in the background.

Outside, everything too was black. Inside the pipe reflected light from Earth and Moon shone on the tumbling bodies and loose equipment that had been ejected from flight decks as the fields failed. Several Ham piloted Sherpa's drifted aimlessly. Other than that, all was still.

Centre pipe, the inner bulge hummed, and heated and hummed some more.

* * *

Mid way between Jupiter and Earth the massive behemoth now ran dark, very dark. All systems crashed, all control, life support and lighting down and out. The warship, now effectively nothing more than a massive asteroid continued to hurtle along on its last line, a direct path toward the goal . . . Earth.

Chapter Four

It was an unusual pose under the circumstances. They both watched as Leah jumped up on the adjoining gurney. She sat there now, legs dangling, leaning back on her hands and just staring. Before her, the body lay naked, it was washed and ready. Like voyeurs they had watched as she washed and worked the beautiful form, a light cloth draped over the head disguising the horror. Carefully she had massaged muscle and manipulated joints just as Ham had coached her, getting everything ready, for today was the day.

[Does it remind you of working with Marin?] Ham asked with just enough mischievous tone to provoke her.

[I knew it; I knew you'd be thinking that. Damn it! Ok, she was very good but Ham, and listen to me now, I'm not gay]

[I never said you were, you're being far too sensitive, and anyway what would be wrong with that?]

[Nothing . . . but to be clear, I'm not]

[Ok . . . you're not, not even a bit]

[You're winding me up Ham, I know it] She regarded the figure swinging her legs on the gurney. [This isn't fair on her, or Mom, or Jared. How long has it been?]

[Regan you already know the answer, to the second, but for the record just over a week, not too long but long enough, and it's time]

[So . . . What's the process going to be?]

[First, we need to talk, let's go somewhere else and talk a bit, about what might or might not be]

And immediately they were sitting in deck chairs alone on a beach, looking across at a familiar bluff, Panekire in the Urewera's. The Waikaremoana lake water gently lapped the shore and midday sun felt warm on her skin. She turned to look at her companion, an impossibly handsome, no . . . beautiful person, radiating warmth and strength.

"Ham?"

He didn't reply immediately, continuing to look into the distance, to the bluff.

"I'm a little embarrassed to appear like this. There is a certain vanity in such things but I'm more concerned about damaging our relationship." He turned to look at her nervously, "A non specific Ham might be somewhat easier to accept than a particular Ham."

She reached out a hand and stroked it down the figures back lovingly. "This is an amazing delight my friend, we should have done this earlier. If it worries you, vary the look. I'll always know it's you and you will always be welcome."

She looked out across the lake. "I'd forgotten how beautiful it is here . . . why this spot?"

"Because later, the memory of this experience may remind you of all that is possible if things don't work out as we planned, I hope it will remind you of all that can still be enjoyed."

The chair softened, it was suddenly her favorite leather from Riverside and she tucked her feet up, gazing out toward the eastern arm. "Talk to me Ham, about what might or might not be."

He drew in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Let's begin by me pointing out the clinically obvious. We have removed the left part of your brain. You know if I could have saved anything I would have, but the damage was too severe. Make no mistake though Regan, that person on the gurney is still you. He reached over and squeezed her hand before releasing it and continuing.

Now, with that in mind, I'd like to tell you about something that has already been well demonstrated through research a long time ago, back in the twentieth century in fact. One of your great thinkers, Robert Winston talked about it in a fascinating BBC documentary I watched. With the human brain there is a crossover between the eyes and the parts of the brain that receive the information. What is seen in the left field of vision is processed by the right side of the brain and vice versa. It's more complicated than that but you get the gist."

"I'm not sure I do."

"Bare with me . . . Now, we also know from research that the left brain controls language. Why is this important? Well for a number of reasons which I will explain. In the nineteen sixties a popular treatment for epilepsy that became quite successful was severing the corpus callosum. Cutting the connections between the two halves of the brain was intended to stop electrical discharges between the two sides thereby reducing or eliminating the fits. As I said, it enjoyed some success as a procedure and in time it also provided some interesting insights into the workings of the brain. How, you ask? Imagine if you will a person who has had their corpus callosum severed. How would they now process left and right field vision bearing in mind there would normally be a crossover
and
a connection
between the two halves processing the incoming information? In this case there could be
no
sharing of the information between left and right."

"You're going to tell me."

"I am . . . A brilliant Nobel Prize winner Roger Sperry worked with a woman who had received just such a procedure. He tested the effects by asking her to focus on a small dot in the centre of a screen. Then he presented an image of a cup on the right of the dot, which is the right field of vision, but only for a tiny fraction of a second. When asked what she had seen she could say 'cup' . . . now, how could that be?"

Regan thought for a moment, "Because the image was processed by the left language side, and it was clearly a cup."

"Correct, and so she had a word and a voice for what she had seen. He
then
presented an image to the left of the dot, in this case a spoon. When asked what she had seen she could only say . . . 'nothing'. Why, because the image had been processed by the right side which has no language to describe it. But, and here's the kicker, Sperry got her to reach under the table to a number of objects she could only feel with her hand. He asked her to check if there was anything there she had seen. She picked out a spoon by touch alone. You see? When the spoon image went to the right brain she couldn't name it because the left brain controls language, but nevertheless the right brain recognized and could identify it."

"Ham, I know you're probably going somewhere but I'm not getting it."

"Regan, this is a case of 'softly, softly, catchee human'. Give me time."

She scowled and shifted in the chair. "I know the saying, you meant monkey, and you once implied I was an elephant."

"It's an expression; we're getting there, patience."

"Ok, ok, go on."

"Another brilliant Neuroscientist, Gazzaniga found a young man whose right hemisphere had the ability to communicate in simple sentences. It's rare but it happens. This struck him as an opportunity. Could he somehow interview the right brain in isolation and if so what would it say? It's a difficult challenge because normally both sides of the brain receive any spoken question, and the left brain being vocal dominant will naturally control the answer. So, Gazzaniga and his colleague LeDoux devised a cunning plan. They would ask most of the question verbally but leave out the last word. They would then present the last word, the one that makes sense of the question, but do it visually, using the right/left hemisphere technique. What they found was that the right side had a distinct personality of its own. I could tell you more but you'd be better watching the documentary, I loved it. But listen to this example. They asked the man what he wanted to do after . . .
graduation
. Remember the last word is presented visually in either the left or right hemisphere of vision. Asking the question this way the left side answered 'draughtsman' while the right side answered 'car racer'. Imagine it!"

Regan was quiet, thoughtful, so Ham continued.

"Regan, Winston suggested this disturbing possibility, and I think I've got this right, that all humans may all be walking around with two separate personalities in their heads with one of them, the right, a frustrated mute."

"So now all I'm left with is the right brained playgirl. Shit that'll finally confirm bimbo status. Plenty have suggested it."

"You know that's not true. Look, both sides of your brain have always been important. Without your right you probably wouldn't have had the great ideas that inspired your business. Without the left your ideas might never have been realized. They work together, but let me ask you this. If I did ask you which side you feel has been dominant in you, which would you say?"

"The left." She didn't hesitate.

"I'd give your right brained thinking more credit than you appear to but having said that, on the evidence I'd have to agree."

"Why do you say that?"

"Regan, I've watched you beat yourself up for years. It's like you've got this internal accountant tallying up your performance in everything, judging your behavior when you've been having fun, filling you with cautious worries about things that may never happen. It gives you no peace, and sometimes it robs you of the freedom to just enjoy, and create."

"So one side's the vixen and the other side's my judge?"

"What is it about you woman, how did you bring this back to sex?"

She ignored the question, suddenly thoughtful. "You know Ham, I've had an interesting recurring dream over the years. I dream that I'm off exploring somewhere or other, and I return to camp, to my community, to find raiders have attacked, everything is destroyed and then I also realize my little girl has been killed too. Ham, in my dream I burn with anger and hate, and I feel this absolute determination that
I'm
. . . gonna . . .
kill
that raider. Then I wake up."

"And . . ." Ham waited.

"And . . . I know it's all me. As soon as I wake up, I'm the one killing that free spirited child."

Ham let the thought hang there for a long moment.

"Ok, now Regan remember, both sides have always been important. The left needs to give the right more slack, and embrace it. The right needs to recognize the value of the lefts cautions and logic. They need to work together. In the past your left dominance has been largely unconscious, it's habitual, even genetic. You've had little real control over it. But now your left is a super computer, it houses all of you that I stored, left
and
right and it's proactive. It can now choose a response to the right. It can embrace this true right, the one there on the gurney, instead of suppressing it and it can help you truly work together to maximize your strengths. I can't guarantee what we'll find in there when we wake you up; it may be a ballerina, a painter, an inventor, a racing driver, all or none of those. Like me when I update you'll soon merge, but in that process, be gentle with yourself, learn what you can and then become the best that you can be."

She sat silent for a few minutes considering all that they had talked about The awful potential hit her, was there a frustrated 'right'? How much of her anxiety stemmed from that unconscious internal conflict.
What will happen now? What could happen if I allow the right more freedom?

Regan stood and walked barefoot into the warm shallow water. She hugged herself as she stared across at the bluff. He joined her and they stood there together, silent for a few minutes. Then she turned to him.