Regan's Reach (13 page)

"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.

"Ok." she replied spooning more
to her mouth, "Since we're just chatting, I've been thinking about music,
I mean around the ship. You have all those recordings in storage; is it
possible to play them anywhere?"

"Sure, you could make up a selection
to your tastes. I suggest you sit down later and make a play list from my files,
then I can use some of your software to sort out other music that fits your
likes. You could make different lists with different styles then just call for
them when you want."

The very thought, while interesting,
frustrated her. He was treating her like a child.
Why?

Suddenly Regan dropped her spoon to the
table and stood up. "I can't do this Ham. It's no time to chat," and
she headed for control. "We'll do the talking now."

Entering the control room she sat in her
usual chair and made herself comfortable. "Now, tell me how an executive
makes decisions?"

If a machine could clear its throat she was
sure that was the sound she heard before Ham replied.

"Well," he said, "let's
start from the beginning; if you will just spin around I can give you the best
view."

Regan turned to see a spectacular three
dimensional image of a head turning eerily in the air in the centre of the
control room. The facial features were clearly her own; however it was as if it
was transparent and she could see right inside.

Ham started his explanation, "OK, here
you can see your skull in profile. I'm going to overlay the device so that you
can see its position. It's in the inside left of the neurochranium." A
tiny cylinder appeared nestled comfortably, or so it seemed.

"I've got to say that's much smaller
than I imagined," she said, relieved.

"It's actually about three times
larger than I planned, quite dense and packed with processing power." he
also sounded relieved at her reaction. "That was one of my executive
decisions."

"Uh huh . . . and the reason for that
was . . . ?"

"Well, it occurred to me that this
operation was probably a oncer, and who knows, you might want to upgrade. Think
of it as future proofing, that's a concept you computer geeks are familiar with,
aren't you? And there did seem to be a lot of available space in there."

"Uh huh . . . and you didn't think to
ask me earlier?"

"Would you have said yes?"

"Hmm . . . probably not."

"There you go then! And now you feel
fine, no harm done. OK, I'm going to display the developing connections. Now, this
is an active process of the unit, it's completed now and you shouldn't be
alarmed by the degree of the strands you see here, they're more a visualization
of a soft tissue process. These aren't wires."

In the hologram something like strands did
indeed appear, beginning at the device and branching out to both sides of the
brain but mainly the left. The degree of color filling the space was alarming
but she took Ham at his word. Of course those strands would just slide in . . .
wouldn't they? She squirmed,
I feel fine! I feel fine!