The Chance Encounter: The Linda Eccles Series - Book One

by Robert Woodard

  Without looking at her, Bill said, “Sharon’s death came out of an accident and nothing more. It appeared she was delivering sandwiches somewhere when she must have heard the plasma cannons firing. A tray of sandwiches was found tossed aside in another passageway. If not Sharon, then some other member of the crew would have been delivering them and most likely would have met the same fate. The death came as a result of the explosion and nothing more. It was the weapon off the alien ship that killed her, not you.”

  Bill turned his head to look at her, and Linda saw the sincerity in his eyes. Although she couldn’t put her finger on why, he seemed to reflect both sadness and respect at the same time. Her feelings for Bill went up another notch, and she hoped that he would come out unscathed in the turmoil yet to come. Linda would do whatever she could to deflect any criticism from him, for he did not deserve any of it.

  “You look tired, Bill. Go get some sleep.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  After Bill left, Linda kept the thoughts of Sharon front and center. Her body now lay in the ship’s freezer for the voyage home. The message she had sent to Rapatine included the situation surrounding Sharon’s death. She suspected her family had already been notified. By the time the Privateer docked, someone would have plans for where her body would be transported.

  The harder part had been notifying the crew. It had not been easy, but she managed to put the words together and deliver it without breaking down emotionally. She felt a little better in how she noted Sharon’s support to her as the XO, and how she would be sorely missed. Linda delivered the message from her cabin. She knew full well that once the comm connection ended, she would ball like a baby, and she did. Her eyes watered up again at the reminder. She snatched another tissue from the box and wiped them away.

  ◆◆◆

  After twenty-six Rapatine days of travel, the Privateer dropped into normal space on the outer perimeter of the Rapatine shipping lanes. Linda could see that her path ahead was clear, but not abandoned. On the left side she could see four destroyer class military vessels sitting idle. Further away, lining both sides of the outer edges of the lane markers, only visible on her tactical display since they were system generated, shuttles littered the area.

  The sight gave her pause, as she suspected those very shuttles were filled with onlookers, and probably port reporters hoping to get the best pictures of her ship’s damaged areas to add to the dramatic impact of their latest news scoop. She smiled at the sight. Either they had all guessed correctly as to why the military ships would be sitting off the shipping lanes, or someone had let the message of their arrival slip out.

  “Captain, the Port Director is requesting to communicate with you,” the Specialist reported.

  “Very well. Put it on overhead.”

  “The connection is open, Captain.”

  After clearing her throat, Linda said, “This is Captain Linda Eccles of the Privateer.”

  “This is Port Director John Slater. On behalf of all of us here on the Rapatine station, I welcome you, the Privateer and her brave crew a hearty welcome home. You are to proceed onto Rap-1. Moorage slot twelve has been reserved for your arrival. Follow the route indicator being fed to your nav system.”

  “Thank you, Mister Slater, it’s good to be home. The Privateer will comply.” Linda glanced down at the Navigator who was looking up at her awaiting orders. “Nav, ahead slow. Steady as she goes. Follow tactical to Rap-1.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  When Linda glanced down at the monitor in front of the navigator, she could see his screen had switched from tactical to the feed from the port authority computer. Instead of the mass of shuttles that jammed up the tactical view, this feed was empty except for two white lines paralleling each other like side markers on a road. Keeping the Privateer within those two lines would guide her along the path chosen for her entry to her berth.

  At first, the Privateer continued into the shipping lane as if heading for Rap-3, but then arced left slowly to swing the ship parallel to the station. The shuttles lining the path to Rap-3 jockeyed for position to follow, but the destroyers moved forward to block them.

  The ship moved past Rap-3, and then Rap-2 as it slowly progressed on to the final spoke of the Rapatine station. The space station always reminded Linda of a broken wagon wheel lying on its side. The center of the station, which housed the stores, offices and cabins ran in a flat circle, and three spokes jetted outward from the center hub. If the need ever arose, a fourth spoke could be easily added on, and so could others if growth required it.

  After passing the final spoke, the Privateer swung right so it now ran down its length. On tactical, Linda could see the destroyers still blocking the path of any shuttles having a desire to follow behind her. Linda shook her head at the craziness of it all.

  “I think we’re being sequestered from the public,” Linda said. She kept her voice low so only Bill could hear.

  “Either that or the company is in one big hurry to make repairs,” Bill said. He turned to look at her, and then winked.

  When the white lines on the navigation monitor disappeared, Linda ordered, “Nav, forward thrusters; five-second burst.”

  The privateer slowed to a jogger’s pace. Out in front of each berth was a large black placard with the berth’s number on it in white lettering. It provided her with a clear indication of what berth to use. When the Privateer’s bow passed the number twelve, Linda ordered, “Nav, bring us to a halt.”

  Sharp snapping sounds filled the bridge as the forward thruster jets fired in short bursts. Eventually, the Privateer stopped completely, with the midsection of the ship parallel to the berth opening for number twelve, their assigned slot.

  “Nav, simultaneous three-second bursts of portside forward and backside starboard jets. Align the bow to the opening.”

  Coinciding with the snapping sounds of the forward side jets, the Privateer swung right as if on a swivel. Without requiring further guidance, the Navigator let the bow swing until it pointed at the berth’s opening. He then fired the offsetting jets to stop the Privateer’s momentum.

  “Captain, the Docking Supervisor has cleared the Privateer to enter the berth.”

  “Very well,” Linda responded. “Nav, bring us home.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  When the Privateer slid into the dock and stopped, Linda smiled in satisfaction at yet another picture-perfect berth placement. She now waited silently for the final stage. It came as a light squeal that ended with a slightly heavier grinding sound as the locking bars extended from each side of the berth and secured the ship. Looking up, she could see the monitors going dark, signaling the shutdown of the navigation and tracking computers.

  “Captain, the Docking Supervisor reports that the Privateer is secure. They welcome us home.”

  “Very well, Comm. Return a suitable greeting and shut down.”

  “Wow, I thought this trip would never end,” Bill said as he took a deep breath.

  “The fun is only just beginning, Commander,” Linda said. She then turned to take her seat again. Once seated, she activated the comm system on her right that had been temporarily repaired, saying, “This is the Captain to all crew. We have arrived at Rap-1. Once we have cleared dock inspection, I will give the crew permission to leave the ship to make arrangements for your extended stay. Good job, everyone. Secure from stations. Muster will be at oh-seven-thirty tomorrow.”

  Linda took another look around the entire bridge. Except for the overhead lighting, the ship looked dead. Every station had been deactivated. Even the ship’s status board was dark. The crew left the bridge as a group leaving only Linda and Bill there.

  “Kind of spooky, isn’t it?” Bill asked.

  “I like to think of it as a child sleeping peacefully after a hard day of playing. You know it’s only a slight pause to what the next day will bring. The Privateer is similar in that regards. This is only a slight pause to what the next mission will bring. She is a prou
d ship that will serve her new captain well.”

  The words created an almost immediate depression in Linda’s soul. The emotion of possibly having commanded her last ship bubbled up, and she knew no amount of will was going to hold it back this time. Getting up and turning away, she said, “I will be in my cabin.”

  Linda barely made it off the bridge before the tears began to flow.

  ◆◆◆

  The loud claps of Bills hard-soled, military-style, dress shoes echoed along the passageway as he walked. The journey to the door of Linda’s assigned cabin had only taken a few minutes, since they were both housed in the same section of the station. While he had no idea how long the overall radius of the station really was, he knew it took several hours to walk the entire inner passageway. If Bill summed up the station in one word, it would be massive.

  Stopping before Linda’s door, Bill hesitated. He had made the trip to discuss the summons he had received. Now that he was standing there, Bill wasn’t sure he should discuss it. Preparing several times to pass his hand over the sensor pad, he hesitated with each attempt. Did he really want to page her or not? Bill was not sure now.

  While he struggled with himself over what to do, the door opened. Linda stood before him. “I know you were thinking of going camping, Bill, but did you plan on starting right outside my door?”

  “That thought had crossed my mind, but I found the ground a bit hard right here,” Bill said, thinking his response witty.

  “Come in before you decide to build a fire that will set off the chem-hazard alarms,” Linda responded. She stepped aside so he could enter.

  Bill heard the door close behind him as he walked into the small cabin. Similar to his own, it housed a sizable living room, cramped kitchen, and he suspected that same bedroom/bathroom combo. Located on the outer rim of the station, her cabin offered a spectacular view of Rap-1 and Rap-2. His own inner cabin was windowless, but one wall had a large screen that projected an outside view as if it were a window.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Bill answered. He took a seat on the worn couch provided as part of the cabin’s furnishings.

  While Linda fixed two cups of coffee, Bill rubbed his hand over the course fabric of the couch. The stitching created a multitude of colors. Studying it, he tried to figure out just what color the couch really represented. There did not seem to be a single color that dominated the rest. Still puzzling with it in his mind, Linda handed over a familiar looking white cup filled with a steaming dark-brown liquid.

  “Black, right?” Linda asked as she took a seat.

  “Black is fine,” Bill answered while already anticipating the bitterness of it. Ignoring the familiarity of the cup, at its Privateer stencil on the side of it, he pointed it toward the window. “Nice. They stuck me with an inner cabin. My window is a projected view.”

  “Yeah, well, I suspect that either the CEO at UMU is trying to butter me up, or they’re giving me a reminder of what I’m about to lose. Perhaps it’s both, but whatever the reason, I’m enjoying it while it lasts.” Linda shrugged her shoulders after she spoke.

  Bill found Linda to be out of character. Her normally pinned back hair now fell loose around her shoulders. It had grown several inches while on the mission. She also wore a light-green pullover shirt and brown stretch pants. She had crossed one leg under the other as she sat sideways on the couch. He noticed the red nail polish on the toenails of her bare feet.

  “You seem awfully casual today, Captain,” Bill said. He took a sip of his coffee and suffered the hot liquid and bitter taste.

  “Forget the captain nonsense, Bill. Linda will do just fine. You need to learn to relax. For heaven’s sakes, you look like you’re going to church.”

  Bill looked down at himself. He supposed she was right. He had put on black slacks, a button-up yellow dress shirt, with small squares created by thin grey lines, and his spit-polished dress shoes. He clearly was out of place compared to Linda’s informal attire.

  “How did you know I was standing outside your door?” Bill asked to change the subject.

  Flipping her head toward the nine flat monitors mounted on the wall in front of the couch caused her hair to fly that direction. “I have the bottom left monitor tapped into the imager located in the passageway out there?”

  “Afraid of ghost, are we?”

  Linda chuckled. “No, just nosy reporters who come knocking on my door hoping to get the scoop, but I have a gag order on me. It helps to see them coming so I can pretend I’m not home.”

  “I see; smart thinking.” Bill nodded his approval.

  “I take it you’re not hounded by reporters?”

  “I am, but I show them the notice I received from UMU quoting the section in my contract that forbids me from giving interviews regarding company business.”

  Linda took a sip of the coffee and didn’t seem to be phased by the hot temperature of it. She gestured her cup his way, asking, “So, Bill, what brings you to my door?”

  “I received my summons from the Maritime Review Board. I’m to appear before the Maritime Board of Inquiry at 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

  “I see,” Linda said with a couple nods of her head. “I received a similar summons to report at 8:30 tomorrow.” She then took another sip from her steaming cup.

  “I guess we both knew it was coming sooner or later,” Bill said as he put his cup on the coffee table when the porcelain mug got too hot to hold any longer.

  “Yes, especially due to Sharon’s death.” Linda set her cup down too. “Someone has to be held accountable. As the Captain, I am ultimately responsible for every member of the crew. I will take personal blame for her death, as I should. However, I intend to argue that while my actions caused Sharon’s death, it was the company’s directive that sent the Privateer into the situation that created the danger. One could not have occurred without the other.”

  “Who do you think will make up the Board of Inquiry?”

  “Retired Admirals, I would suspect. There are a lot of them floating around the station here representing one company or another.”

  “That works in our favor, doesn’t it?”

  Linda shrugged, and said, “The problem with old admirals is that they can be set in their ways. Who knows how they will react to what happened out there? There is no historical experience for them to draw on in what occurred.” Linda shrugged again. “Whatever happens will happen.”

  Bill picked up his cup and took a sip. Setting it back down, he said, “I have decided that if they try to pin this all on you, I will resign from UMU, too.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would you want to do something stupid like that?” Linda scowled at him. “Do you think it will make one bit of difference whether you resign or not? What happens to me will happen regardless, so you need to keep out of it.”

  Linda’s eyes had narrowed into a hard stare that told Bill the subject was closed, but he was not ready to let it go. It also annoyed him that she treated him as though she controlled his decisions. With a little bitterness in his voice, Bill said, “Is that an order, Captain?”

  “You don’t need to get defensive, Bill. You’re a fine officer, and you will be commanding your own ship soon. I have broken in a lot of officers over the years, and I know a good one when I see one. You have the crew’s respect, you care enough to make a difference, and you are reliable. What captain wouldn’t love to have that kind of officer on their ship?” Shaking her head at him, Linda added, “No, you need to keep tracking forward. There is a great future ahead for you. It would break my heart to see you throw it away trying to fight a lost cause.

  “You need to understand that I have been doing this for a long time, and I know how to work the system. If I go down, a lot of unhappy people are going to crash and burn, too. UMU skirted Maritime Law when they ordered us into uncharted space. While it may have seemed harmless at the time, Maritime Law clearly states that no civilian ship will be sent into uncharted space, period. UMU viola
ted that law, and with expressed permission from military authority. That is the nucleus of my letter of protest, and it will be a hard one for anyone to sidestep. How can UMU argue that the system was charted? Even if they skirt that problem, they have the second problem of having us travel along an uncharted flight path—another violation of Maritime Law that put the Privateer and its crew at risk.”

  Linda gave Bill a wicked smile, and he realized that she was playing this as her last hurrah. If she lost, a quiet retirement awaited her. If she won, she could be the hottest item on the market today. She had a terrific story to tell, and what news hog wouldn’t want to help her tell it. Smiling himself, Bill nodded his understanding.

  ◆◆◆

  Having taken the spiraling ramp up to the second level of the station, Bill walked along its inner passageway that housed mostly office spaces and was filled with smartly dressed people clearly heading for their day of work. It also housed the Court, which was where he was headed now.

  It was the first time Bill had ever had to enter the second level of the station. With his cabin on the inner, lower level, and the multitude of shops, restaurants and bars on the outer ring, he hadn’t had a need to enter it before.

  Glancing up, he noticed the smoke-glass domes that hid the imagers. Computer controlled, Bill knew that the recognition software monitored every inch of the station for criminal activity. It was just another reminder that nothing went unnoticed these days.

  Coming to a door with a metal sign reading Chambers of the Court, Bill opened it and stepped into the hallway. Facing an inner wall, two signs hung at eye level. One had an arrow pointing left with Courtroom 1 written above it. The other had a right pointing arrow noting Courtroom 2. Bill headed right to Courtroom 2 as noted on his summons.

  A short distance down the hallway Bill came to a solid oak door containing a number two on it, etched into the wood and painted dark blue and outlined in a thin line of gold paint. Whoever designed this section of the station clearly wanted to give the place a look of magnificence and importance; perhaps setting the tone for anyone having business with the courts.