The Chance Encounter: The Linda Eccles Series - Book One

by Robert Woodard

  “Actually, I worked with Bill on them. I thought he could use the experience,” Sharon finally managed to say.

  Impressed, Linda thought Sharon had come up with a perfectly safe answer. She could almost applaud Sharon for her creativity, and her ability to think quickly on her feet. If the stupid twit put as much effort into her work, as she did trying to get out of it, she would make a decent officer. Not on the Privateer, though, as Linda was determined to ensure that bridge had been burned.

  Deciding to let Sharon off the hook, Linda said, “I see from the reports that we are seriously low on stores. Timing couldn’t be better for returning to Rap.”

  “I’m afraid not, Captain. We’ve received a change of orders.” Sharon pulled her eCapture from its saddle and held it out for Linda to take.

  “What do you mean a change of orders?” Linda was already feeling her blood beginning to boil.

  Snatching the device from Sharon’s hand, Linda set in on the desktop and slid it into the receiver slot. After a brief pause, the monitor brought the message onto the screen. Reading it twice, she removed the eCapture, none too gently, and handed it back to Sharon.

  “God, I hate those company execs,” Linda said. “There is an entire fleet of military ships sitting around Rapatine with nothing to do but collect dust, and they send us on a damn rescue mission. How much do you want to bet the stupid thing has a busted transmitter, and it will arrive back home before we get to where they think it is? The entire thing will be a wasted trip. They must know we don’t have enough supplies left to detour for any length of time.”

  Realizing that she was letting her anger control her emotions, Linda clamped down on her lips and took in a deep breath through her nose. Slowly letting it back out, she refocused on the task she was being handed. A steel curtain of control once again came to the surface that she had perfected over the years as a ship’s officer.

  For a brief moment, the memories of her high school days flashed into her thoughts. Deeply buried within her, they suddenly popped into her recollection like weeds springing forth after a few days of rain. The vision of her standing before the cold, hard brick wall of her high school became vividly alive in her mind.

  For reasons Linda never fully understood, they would begin calling her names like loser and flake, and others not quite as tame. Then the hitting would start, oh yes, the hitting. Open or closed fisted, it didn’t matter to them. That bullying had defined a lot of who she was today and had helped her to build up a wall of indifference to difficult situations.

  “Do you want me to handle the course change?” Sharon asked in an apparent attempt to address the change of orders.

  Flashing back to the current situation, Linda said, “No, I’ll handle it.”

  Letting the reminder of her childhood slip from her mind, Linda now focused on what needed to be done. Getting up, she walked out of her cabin and down the short passageway to the bridge. Sharon tagged along behind like a faithful dog.

  Bill vacated the chair when Linda arrived on the bridge. Working her way around the brass rail, she took possession of the seat. Staring out at the open space through the forward view ports, Linda mentally worked on the message she would tell the crew. She knew it was not going to be well received and would impact morale.

  Finally satisfied with what she would say, Linda reached down to grab the handle on the control arm attached to her chair. Flipping the arm up, she pushed it forward until she heard the solid click that announced it was now locked into place. The control arm came to life as simulated icons lit up all along its length.

  Selecting the communication control icon, or comm as it was commonly called, Linda was rewarded with a listing of every section of the ship. Selecting all, she waited for the tone that told her the comm unit was ready. After receiving the tone, she cleared her throat.

  “This is the Captain. I want to thank each and every one of you for your hard work in completing our mission in what had to be one of the harshest environments we have encountered to date. It is clearly a positive reflection on the expertise of the Privateer and all that serve her. I know that each of you were looking forward to getting back to Rapatine, but I have received orders to make a slight detour to pick up a misbehaving probe. Since the success of our future missions relies on the data these probes capture and bring back, the company thought we would be interested in helping to recover it.

  “I anticipate this detour will add another six days, per Rapatine time, to our overall return trip. A few extra days added to our return trip shouldn’t be too bad when you consider the extended stay awaiting us upon our return. Captain, out.”

  Linda tapped the comm icon again and another soft tone indicated the connection closed. The sound the computer emitted always reminded her of a soft mallet striking lightly upon a xylophone, an instrument she had played in band. Even playing percussion instruments became a reason for the other girls to torment her. Stunned at that sudden reminder, Linda tried to put it out of her mind.

  What the hell is the matter with me?

  Another image of the girls striking her while she was pinned against the wall flashed into her uncontrolled thoughts. Linda couldn’t figure out why the reminders kept bubbling to the surface, especially after all the years of having suppressed them. Exposed now, she pondered over the question that always bothered her as a teenager. Why did the girls pick on her in the first place? Perhaps she was a little too smart for them, or maybe she was not pretty enough to fit in with them.

  Linda never considered herself pretty. In fact, she felt her nose was too big for her face. The other girls used to tease her for being under-developed, by their standards. She could still hear them yelling out, “She’s a carpenter’s favorite—flat as a board,” or “She’s what every pirate wants—a sunken chest.”

  Whatever the reason, Linda had endured it. She learned not to cry, as that only egged them on to shout out more taunts. She also learned not to fall, as that allowed them to kick her unmercifully. By the time she graduated, Linda had learned to reach within herself to endure anything.

  With the ship making steady progress toward the jump point, Linda couldn’t help but dwell on those horrible school years. The scab had been torn open, and the wound now festered in her thoughts. The girls had tormented her to the point that she learned how to suppress her emotions, and how to seal off her expressions to remain stone-cold indifferent from the taunts of others. High school had been the worst of it, but it had actually started much earlier. Linda could remember the middle school taunting, too, but never being hit like in high school. The girls at that high school seemed particularly vindictive towards her.

  Looking down at the specialists as they went about their routine, Linda wondered if she really won out over her tormentors after all. Was she not in command of her own ship? Was she not a Captain? Here she was commanding her own crew, flying into areas where only probes had ventured before, and she held overall authority for whatever happened aboard her ship.

  While those “popular girls” were probably cheating on their husbands, left and right, she was living a life of adventure. While they were surely living boring lives, having raised bratty kids, and residing in tedium, she was seeing new things practically every day.

  Linda supposed that the only real sorrow she felt was that she gave up a family life for a life as a captain. There did not seem to be room for both. Even if she could applaud Sharon for giving it a try to have a career on a ship and be with a man, her XO still had to struggle to make it work. Seeing her frustration over the delay the Privateer would endure, Linda did not think the anguish Sharon now felt was worth all the effort she put into it.

  No, the Privateer was Linda’s home, and all aboard had become her family. She doubted that would ever change. After all, she was fifty-one already, and that did not leave a lot of time in this old universe to start anew.

  Looking down at her hands, she could already see a few age spots. The cream she used helped to keep them faded, b
ut they were always there to remind her that life did not last forever. Even her hair had given up on youth, having turned mostly grey, although a hint of her natural light-brown coloring remained. At least the wrinkles were being kept out of the equation, thanks to the anti-aging cream that finally became available at the station store. The stuff worked, too, which had surprised her, as Linda was sure it would be just another vanity gimmick to separate women from their hard-earned credits.

  Speculating on how the years had affected the looks of her tormentors, she suspected they now sat in their bedrooms, all alone, crying while their beauty slipped away with age. Smiling, Linda sure hoped so. Although, she supposed they probably lived their lives through their daughters now—that next generation of birthers of school bullies. Shaking her head slightly, Linda knew firsthand that no matter what school administrators did, no anti-bullying programs ever really made much difference.

  Shaking her head slightly, Linda wondered how she ever got herself onto such a topic in the first place. Here she was getting ready to take the Privateer into an area that even a probe hadn’t mapped out yet, and she was wishing ill feelings on women who had not crossed her path in over thirty years.

  “Mr. Launtra, we will be making a course change prior to entering warp,” Linda said, returning her focus to the task at hand.

  Bill nodded and headed down to the lower section of the bridge to stand behind the navigation station. Seeing him preparing to validate the course correction when the specialist entered it, Linda found him a refreshing change to Sharon. Linda would have liked to have extended the courtesy of calling him commander, when Bill and Sharon shared the bridge, but her XO carried the higher rank. Therefore, Sharon would be addressed by rank, while Bill was Mr. Launtra as long as the two were together. If she called them both by commander when giving orders, it could create confusion as to who she was addressing. The problem would correct itself once Sharon was off her ship, however.

  “Commander, please provide the exit point coordinates for entering into the Nav computer,” Linda ordered at the same time she glanced over at Sharon.

  Sharon removed her eCapture and reviewed its screen for a moment. She then said, “Nav, enter in coordinates 686-dot-93880-dot-223.”

  “Yes. Commander, entering coordinates now.” After a short pause, the specialist added, “Course change entered.”

  “Course entry validated,” Bill said.

  “Very well,” Linda replied.

  The white outline of a box appeared on the tactical screen. Inside the box, Linda read the words Uncharted Territory – Requires Command Override. Looking down at the control arm on her right, Linda tapped the navigation command and then entered her authorization code. The monitor flashed and the white box now displayed the words Override Authorized – Navigation Coordinates Accepted.

  “Navigation confirms point-to-point entry. New course plotted,” Bill said, relaying the feedback from the Nav station, even though Linda could clearly see it for herself.

  “Very well,” Linda replied, “Commander, will you join me for a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  As Linda exited her chair and headed off the bridge, she said, “Mr. Launtra, the bridge is yours.”

  ◆◆◆

  When Linda and Sharon disappeared off the bridge, Bill took ownership of the command chair. Glancing at the tactical display, he studied the course correction plotted by the computer. They would be making a hop between two points along an unknown route. Frowning, he felt the company was taking unnecessary risk with the ship and crew. Even though the ship would automatically drop from warp should the sensor detect something in their path, it was the smaller objects that posed the risks. If something slipped through that the shields could not handle, it would plow through the ship leaving havoc in its wake.

  He thought about the Captain and her reaction to the message. She has presented a calm demeanor that he suspected was only a false front to the anger she must have been hiding. The crew was tired, the ship was tired, supplies were low, and they would soon be leaping into unknown space—what could go wrong?

  Staring out into space through the front portal, his thoughts turned to the probe. The company probes had to be the most high-tech objects known to man. It was about the only thing the execs at UMU never fudged on when it came to spending credits. Considering that the probes provided the vital link in finding suitable planets to harvest, along with mapping new systems, Bill knew the company did not skimp on their design. Without the data the probes provided, the company would run out of places to send their crews.

  There was even the additional benefit whenever a probe stumbled across a rare habitable planet, like Rapatine. From what Bill understood, a probe mapping a new system discovered that earth-like planet. The company made a fortune selling the information that provided the location, system mapping and planet characteristics. Bill had heard that UMU contracted out their services in building the original colony, too. That defined the company alright—anything to make a credit for their investors.

  Bill supposed that the colonists won out in the end, as UMU now rented space on the orbital station the colony put up a few years later. Somehow, it always seemed to work out for UMU, though. They had their spot on the Rapatine station to use as a jump-off point for driving further into space without having to travel the extra distance between Earth and Rapatine. So, while the colonists received their compensation, UMU held their competitive advantage by being a step ahead of their competition.

  Realizing his thoughts had wandered, Bill turned his attention to the issue of the probe. He knew anything mechanical could break down, but he was not aware of a single probe that ever failed to return from its mission. They were built to last.

  Shaking his head, Bill could only sit there and speculate. Staring at tactical again, he knew the answer would lie at the end of the plotted course—whatever that may be.

  ◆◆◆

  Linda entered the mess hall to find it empty, except for a single steward busily wiping down all the tables. Selecting a clean table, she took a seat, and Sharon took one opposite her.

  “Would you like cup of coffee, Captain, Commander?” the steward asked.

  “Yes, please,” Linda answered. Sharon only nodded yes. When the steward walked away, Linda said, “Sharon, I asked you down here so we could chat about your future. I first want to say how much I appreciate the hard work you have been putting in on the Privateer.”

  Sharon put on a broad smile, and then said, “Thank you, Captain. It is nice to know my hard work is appreciated.”

  It was all Linda could do not to leap across the table to slap that silly grin off her face. Instead, she said, “You are quite welcome. I feel that your talents are being wasted on the Privateer. You have proven ready to command a ship of your own. I tell you this because I’m putting in a request for you to be given a command. I suspect they will start small by giving you a short-run freighter, or perhaps a planet-to-planet ferry, but it will be your ship to command.”

  The steward returned carrying two cups and an urn of coffee. He filled their cups, left the urn, and then disappeared into the kitchen area. Their conversation now private, Sharon replied, “I don’t know what to say, Captain. This comes as a complete surprise.” She beamed from ear to ear.

  Linda smiled in return, but she had visions of sliding her hands around Sharon’s neck and helping to regulate her breathing. Linda dwelled on the idea of strangling Sharon, stuffing her body into an airlock, and then letting her float out into space. She wondered if anyone would even notice, much less care.

  Picking up her coffee and taking a sip, Linda decided that would not be very Captain-like of her. Besides, it would require a mountain of paperwork to explain her disappearance upon their return, but it didn’t stop her from enjoying the thought of actually doing it to her. Holding the cup in her hands, Linda felt a frown form on her face as she looked down at the liquid. For some reason, the coffee tasted weak to her.
She suspected the steward had reduced the grounds-to-water ratio. If they had, Linda guessed the coffee supply must be getting low.

  “I really appreciate the effort you have been putting into teaching Bill your duties,” Linda said. She ignored the coffee and looked up at Sharon to see if she detected the hidden meaning in her words.

  The way Sharon’s face converted from happiness to confusion proved priceless. Linda wished she could have captured the way her wide-eyed, wrinkle-free face slowly sagged into a look of confusion and suspicion. Her normally smooth forehead now sported small wrinkles that reminded Linda of ripples upon a windblown sand dune.

  Enjoying every minute of Sharon’s torment, she took another sip of her coffee at the same time looking at her from over the top of the cup. She could imagine the conflict going on behind Sharon’s blond-headed, smooth-complexioned face. Sharon was probably trying hard to figure out how Linda knew about her pushing work onto Bill. She suspected Sharon also wondered if Bill squealed on her, but then Sharon would figure he would never stoop to something that low.

  “Bill has proven to be a quick learner. I have been challenged to keep him busy,” Sharon finally said.

  “And you felt compelled to expand his duties?”

  After a short hesitation, Sharon replied, “Bill seems to be underutilized, so I took it upon myself to expand his duties.”

  “I see.”

  Linda felt that Sharon missed her calling as a lawyer. The way she could bob and weave around Linda’s tough questions seemed quite impressive. Finishing her coffee and refilling both cups, Linda leaned back and studied Sharon. It suddenly hit her why Sharon annoyed her so much. The woman reminded her of one of the nastier teenagers that always seemed to encourage the others into picking on her. Linda tried to pull up the name and then remembered it was Emily. She had secretly called the bitch evil-eyed Emily.

  Now that she saw it, Linda could put the pieces together. Sharon had that same rounded face, the oh-my-gosh wide eyes, and soft blond hair that teenage girls would have killed to have owned. She was tall, too, just like Emily. Sharon was like an adult version of her chief tormenter. The sudden realization caused Linda to wonder if she was unfairly judging Sharon based on a hidden bias that only now surfaced. It also made her question if her mind had subconsciously made that connection earlier and unlocked the deep, dark dungeon of her suppressed memories.