The Chance Encounter: The Linda Eccles Series - Book One

by Robert Woodard

  “The Captain is going to have a fit when she gets that message,” Bill said, giving Sharon a subtle hint that she needed to take it to Linda.

  Sharon snapped her head toward him, her eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared. The fury behind her eyes could have melted right through the hull. Without saying anything further, she got up, spun around the end of the brass railing, and walked to the back of the bridge. When she disappeared into the passageway leading to the Captain’s cabin, Bill slid into the seat she vacated. He knew that Sharon had better get control of her emotions before meeting with Linda. The Captain would not stand for any outburst from her XO.

  Chapter Eight

  Overling Vistal found it hard not to snap his jaw in frustration. Sitting quietly at the tracking station, he silently fumed over the wasted energy expended because the Overlord could not seem to make up his mind as to what he wanted done.

  After destroying the strange object, the Tail Whip had retrieved the misaligned buoy and replaced it with one of the newer models. Vistal had worked on the commands to properly position the new buoy to route its signals to the Kracks’ rebounder. Then, the Overlord changed his mind and ordered the buoy repositioned so it would send its signal to a completely different location. Now, the buoy was sending a signal to no one. It made no sense to him at all, and now the Tail Whip was headed for the backside of another planet for no purpose he could determine, other than it would put the ship in line with the new buoy’s signal.

  The Overlord had left the bridge for his chamber, leaving the Underlord in command. Spinning one eye back, Vistal could see the Underlord sitting in the control chair staring at the tracking view with one eye, while the other rotated through the various sections of the chamber.

  From what he had overheard of the conversation between the Overlord and the Underlord, moving the ship had something to do with hiding the Tail Whip. But hiding from who, and why? None of it made any real sense to Vistal. He would rather they let the buoy do its job so the Tail Whip could go home.

  Continuing to monitor the ship’s progress on tracking, Vistal ensured the ship remained on course for its new location. It would take some time before he would have to alter course slightly as they neared the planet, so he decided to review the captured data from the old buoy to kill time.

  Tapping into the tracking data, he let it play back from the start of when the strange object first appeared into this system. A distant light, like the first star to show up on a dark night, indicated the object's arrival. The data capture from the buoy triggered from the generation of that light, and it began tracking the object’s movement, along with a projection of the object's course.

  Increasing the time sequence to speed up the playback, Vistal followed the object’s path as it twice orbited one planet, broke off, and then continued on to circle the planet the Tail Whip was headed towards. What fascinated Vistal was how long the object had been in this sector of Kracks space, circling planet after planet, before the Tail Whip intercepted the buoy’s signal by sheer luck. And it had been sheer luck because the object was clearly on an exit track out of the system again when the Tail Whip finally dropped into here.

  As he continued to observe the data capture, Vistal wondered if this information would have gone unnoticed if the Tail Whip had not discovered its signal. At some point, whoever monitored the buoys would have noticed that the Remp buoy was no longer sending periodic status signals. This would have been corrected by having a minelayer sent out to fix it, but would anyone have bothered to check to see if any data had been captured? He doubted it, as who would have expected it?

  Increasing the playback speed by another factor of two, the object now raced across the vastness of open space at a speed that any Overlord would love to achieve in his ship. When a flash indicated the arrival of the Tail Whip, Vistal quickly reduced the playback speed to real-time. He watched as the object easily maneuvered around their ship before returning onto its original course.

  Reliving the encounter with the object proved fascinating. It seemed like he was a spectator in a hunt. Keeping one eye on tracking to monitor the ship’s progress, he replayed the sequence again.

  “What are you looking at, Overling?”

  The Underlord’s voice startled Vistal, causing his tongue to whip out. Pulling his tongue back in, Vistal answered, “I was reviewing the data capture from the buoy to see if I could detect anything that might explain why the object was here.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, Underlord.”

  The Underlord spun his swiveling, protruding eye away from him, and Vistal let out a quiet hiss of relief. Keeping one eye on the Underlord, Vistal could see him returning to watching tactical and constantly sweeping the other stations with his opposite eye.

  Since the Underlord hadn’t told him to stop doing what he was doing, Vistal went back to watching the data capture.

  ◆◆◆

  Overlord Sinska grew tired of pacing, but he had nothing else to do while waiting for a response from the Council. The small chamber allocated for his use when not in the control chamber did not provide much room to pace, but Sinska made the best of it.

  The encounter with the object replayed over and over in his mind, but he found little comfort in reliving the event. He could envision several different scenarios he could have used to try to stop the object, but none of them really meant much, since he could not reverse time.

  His thoughts shifted to what the arrival of the object meant. Was it a device sent ahead of the arrival of other ships? If so, why would anyone be interested in a worthless system like Remp? The lifeless planets were nothing more than giant orbs of bare dirt. Who would ever be interested in something like that?

  Stopping, Sinska looked at the beat counter ticking away next to his cot. The time had passed when he should have expected a quick response to his message. Then again, when did the Council ever do anything quickly? The way the Masterlords liked to argue back and forth, he might die of old age before anything was decided.

  Returning to pacing, Sinska only took a couple steps before realizing fatigue was overcoming him. Crawling into his cot, he flipped on the overhead heat lamps, curled into a ball, and relaxed to take a brief rest.

  ◆◆◆

  “No, we mine the entry point and be done with it!” Masterlord Triff shouted out yet again.

  “I agree. Placing mines around the entry point the object used will likely destroy anything else trying to come into Remp, too,” Masterlord Rentum said, adding weight to Triff’s recommendation. “We destroy enough of them and they will stop coming.”

  “We have no way of knowing for sure if ships will use the same entry point or not. We cannot mine the entire system,” Masterlord Wiskum said. He was clearly seeing the same perspective as Quiver.

  Masterlord Quiver sigh deeply as yet another round of arguments took hold in the council chamber. Keeping one eye left and the other right, he watched them bicker back and forth. This latest round of heated arguments was beginning to blow itself out, which was good because Quiver was tired of listening to it. Tapping the tips of his long, black claws on the top of the rock table before him, he slowly added to the impact to increase the sharp noise it produced. After several beats, he finally pulled in everyone’s attention. Now it was time for his careful diplomacy to get them to a decision.

  “I have listened carefully to the suggestions presented by each of you,” Quiver said. “I believe that all your points have merit. While I agree that mining the known entry point of the object might be wise, I do not believe it will ensure that nothing else comes into Remp.” He held up his clawed hand when he noticed Triff getting ready to speak. “The time for discussion is over. I am ready to propose a solution for this council to vote on.

  “Since we do not know what the true purpose of this object was, it is prudent we tread carefully. Some of you have speculated that the object may have come ahead of other ships, with creatures intending on taking over the Remp system. I find
this unlikely since Remp offers nothing of value that I can ascertain. Others of you believe it may only have been some kind of monitor looking over other systems for either habitable systems or existence of life. In either case, it would have found Remp offering neither and had it been allowed to leave it would have reported such.

  “Because Overlord Sinska destroyed the object, we have to assume that, sooner or later, whoever owns it is going to want to know what happened to it. Since the Tail Whip is already there, I am proposing that we have Overlord Sinska stick with his plan to monitor that section of space from a hidden location. He can be our eyes to whatever happens out there, and if an opportunity arises, he may be able to react in a way we have yet to determine.”

  “What about the buoy?” Rentum asked. “Its presence would tell anyone arriving there that the system is not lifeless?”

  “Possibly,” Quiver responded, “But it is small and deep within the system, and likely to go unnoticed.”

  Pausing for a moment, Quiver scanned the others. Most of the Masterlords seemed content with his approach, judging by body language, but it was Triff who seemed ready to burst at the seams holding in his words. The forked tip of his tongue kept poking in and out from between his lips, like some underground creature poking its head out of its burrow. Quiver had no intension of letting Triff go into another one of his tirades.

  “Masterlords, do I have agreement to keep the Tail Whip on station, hidden, to monitor for further activity?”

  Klickest, Wiskum and Rentum all tapped their claws on the table, showing they approved. Triff hesitated before offering his usual light tap. Quiver knew it was just like Triff to grudgingly agree since the idea had not come from him.

  “Thank you, Masterlords. That concludes the council session for today. You are free to go,” Quiver said.

  When the others left, Triff remained seated. Hissing out a sigh, Quiver asked, “Do you have something you want to say, Masterlord?”

  In a surprisingly calm voice, Triff answered, “I believe it is both dangerous and unwise in keeping the Tail Whip there. If others come into that system and discover them, it tells them of our existence. Our predecessors realized that danger and had mines placed over our heads to protect us all. I fear you are ignoring what other council leaders decided in the past.”

  “I understand your concern, Masterlord Triff, but I want to leave you with this thought. That object was looking for something. We just don’t know what. How do we know that another one will not appear over Kracks one day looking to do the same thing? To me, it seems wise to find out what happens at Remp, so we can learn about them in case they do some day appear here.”

  Triff got up and nodded a couple of times. He then said, “You are wise, Council Leader, but I still feel that you are taking a huge risk here.”

  Quiver watched Triff walk out of the chamber. It seemed that every session with the Council drained a little more life out of him. The thought reminded him that he would need to look for a successor soon. While it would create a firestorm of protest, especially from Triff, Quiver felt sure that Klickest would be the best suited to take on the role of a council leader.

  Quiver knew that if he did decide on Klickest, he would have to be very careful in how he approached it. Klickest did not have anywhere near the experience and time on the Council as the others, but his calm and calculating approach to problems made him a natural leader.

  “Are there any orders from the Council, Masterlord?” Overlord Ridnig asked after having approached from the side entryway.

  Quiver appreciated the efficiency of the Overlord who acted as his aide. Looking up at Ridnig, he answered, “Yes, Overlord, I have an order for you to send to Overlord Sinska on the Tail Whip.”

  ◆◆◆

  #overlord sinska—the council approves your decision to observe from a hidden location—avoid contact with any further objects until directed otherwise—maintain contact with the council at regular intervals as you deem prudent to the situation#

  Overlord Sinska stared at the words from the message he received from the Council. It was short and to the point. Now he had reservations though. What could his minelayer do if ships started popping into this system like lings out of their eggs? The Tail Whip proved barely a match for the small object they had destroyed. What chance would he have against ships using similar, if not more powerful, technology?

  Sinska returned to pacing about his chamber. The small room filled with the sounds of his sharp claws clicking on the steel decking with each step. Even though his heavily padded feet landed quietly upon the floor, the instinctive downward push of his three individual claws making contact created a solid tap and scrape. Sinska had learned to ignore the sound long ago, but for some reason, it seeped into his thoughts now and forced him to look down at his feet.

  Although the three claws on his feet were much smaller than the four long ones that extended from his hands, they still offered stability when running on the sunbaked plateaus where their prey liked to roam. Those very claws, with their black coloring and white tips, provided incredible leverage when leaping from the ground onto the back of a prey.

  Looking at the solid black claws on his hands made him long for the hunt. Even though it was the claws on his feet, along with the muscles of his powerful legs, that got him on the back of some mighty beast, it was the claws on his hands that did the real damage when plunged deep into the neck of his prey. Once he had those claws embedded into his prey’s muscle mass, nothing could force him to release his grip. Then it would be time to put his long tusks to work bringing down the beast. Yes, a Kracks was built for taking down prey of any size, and Sinska had taken down his share. The longing to be on a hunt increased even more.

  Realizing he had stopped pacing to admire himself, Sinska put his body back into motion. Pondering his orders, he realized that he had been looking at things all wrong. Here he was sitting on a discovery never before seen by any other Kracks, and he was wishing to be elsewhere. How many gugg mothers would sing his praises if he was the one Kracks that provided warning to the Council if a large number of ships approached?

  He glanced at the status screen in his chamber and could see his ship was close to reaching the backside of the planet they would use to shield themselves from view. All he had to do now was sit back and wait to see if this new prey would come to him.

  Chapter Nine

  Captain Linda Eccles sat at her desk staring at the request she had just finished creating. It still seemed to lack the appeal she had hoped to achieve. If she was ever going to get Sharon off her ship, the report had to get noticed and action taken. With some luck, the company could be buffaloed into giving Sharon her own ship. That would be ideal, and if the ship headed for the other side of the galaxy, even better. She would even be happy to see her assigned to another ship’s captain, but Linda couldn’t think of anyone she hated that much to dump Sharon on for revenge.

  If it took her the rest of the voyage home to complete the request, she would get it perfected before arriving back at Rapatine to submit it. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to put her finger on just what it was about Sharon that annoyed her so much. Maybe it was all her griping over the delay in the Privateer’s return to port, and how it would shorten her time with Thomas. Like Linda gave a crap whether Sharon got to play with her boy-toy before he left. Who was back on Rapatine waiting for her?

  “No one,” Linda mumbled to herself in frustration.

  Linda supposed the real reason she hated Sharon could be summed up in three words: the woman was lazy—well, four words. From what Linda observed so far, she could tell that Sharon pushed her responsibilities onto Bill, rather than doing them herself. Even worse, she took credit for his work. Linda could find no worse sin than being lazy and taking credit for other people’s efforts. Should anything happen to Linda, Sharon needed to be able to take command, and Linda had zero faith Sharon could do it. She wasn’t going to learn it as an executive officer, so maybe having a small c
ommand of her own would teach her to be responsible. The twit could probably handle a small freighter or personnel transport, and if she came around to understanding the need to carry her own weight, Sharon could work her way into commanding larger ships that carried more responsibility. On the opposite side, if she failed in command of her own ship, she would be done. Her career as a command officer would be over.

  Although she could have put a stop to Sharon’s laziness, Linda let it continue as if none the wiser. She took advantage of the situation by allowing Sharon to dump on Bill, knowing it would make him a better XO candidate. Bill was Linda’s diamond in the rough, and she intended to turn him into a gem of an executive officer. Once Sharon was out of the way, Linda would take Bill under her wing as her new XO, and then all would be right in the universe again. The reminder of getting rid of Sharon brought her back to the request at hand. She returned her focus to perfecting the words.

  No sooner had Linda begun working on the document again when she heard the knock on her door. Annoyed at the interruption, she yelled out, “Enter!”

  The door opened, and Sharon walked in and up to the desk. Linda ignored her until she saved the request document and closed it. To her credit, Sharon stood quiet and still in front of the desk waiting for Linda to address her.

  “I read over the daily reports. Did you collate them?” Linda asked, knowing full well they had been done by Bill. She recognized his communication style by now.

  The conflict on Sharon’s face gave Linda pure satisfaction. The XO appeared caught between answers, and Linda could just imagine Sharon’s mind puzzling over the question. Should she lie and say she did them, or admit Bill did the work and then try to worm her way out of why? Leaning back, Linda waited, letting her XO sweat. She wished she had a cup of coffee to go with the show Sharon was putting on with her facial expressions.