Getting up, he stripped off his underwear and tee-shirt in preparation for hitting the shower. Passing the mirror, he stopped to look at his image. He didn’t think he looked too bad for someone just turning forty. No grey was showing in his dark-brown hair. The greenish eyes that stared back at him was surrounded in red from his lack of a good night’s sleep. A day’s growth of dark stubble covered his normally clean-shaven jaw.
Turning his head sideways, he studied his ski-jump shaped nose, complete with its upturn at the end, perfect for launching a skier into the air. A trademark from his mother’s side, he recalled the ribbing he took over it as a kid. The teasing usually got worse during the Winter Olympics ski-jumping competitions. Bill smiled while recalling how glad he was as a kid that the events only occurred every four years.
“Shower,” Bill said aloud, letting the computer know he was ready.
The sound of the showerhead springing to life filled the small cabin space, and Bill knew the water would be brought to the temperature he liked. The computer had learned his habits and applied them whenever he needed something.
Stepping into the water, he let it flow over his skin. The warmth felt good and did wonders to help clear the fogginess from his tired brain. By the time he was done washing and shampooing, Bill felt like his old self again.
After a quick shave, he pulled on underclothing before turning to the closet. Selecting a light-blue shirt, already fitted with the three silver-striped shoulder marks of a commander, he matched it with black slacks, black socks, black, hard-soled boots, and a black belt with a small silver buckle. One of three different color schemes the company allowed their officers to wear, it was Bill’s favorite because it reminded him of his military service days.
Neatly dressed, Bill tapped the message icon in his status board. He was relieved to see that Sharon had not rejected his summary reports. Shaking his head, he wondered if she had even bothered to read them yet. Tapping on a message from the supply officer, he read through his request for an overstock list. The message had been sent to all department heads. Bill knew the supply officer was collecting these to collate a complete list to provide to the shipyard upon their return.
Not seeing any other messages that needed his immediate attention, Bill checked the duty list for his own staff. Although officially the weapons officer, his real duty consisted of being the security and morale officer. Bill liked to think he kept the peace aboard the ship. Now that the ship was headed for home, the morale around the ship would have increased greatly, reducing the risk of fights among the crew. That suited him just fine.
Even though his commander title was probably overkill for his duties, he gladly took the rank as an enticement to join UMU. The military had proven stubbornly slow in promoting him up to that point, which gave UMU the opportunity to snatch him away. Even though the work was interesting, he had yet to make up his mind if the move had been the right one for him.
Letting the thought go, and knowing the Privateer should have left orbit already, he switched the display option over to the ship’s status where it showed the Privateer had put ninety-four thousand kilometers distance from the planet and was now that much closer to their jump point. The time displayed in the corner of the screen had just dropped below forty-eight hours, and it continued to decline with each passing second. When it reached zero, the ship would be ready to enter warp and be on its final leg for Rapatine.
“And a long rest period this time,” Bill mumbled to himself.
Prepared to face the day, Bill was in a good mood as he left his cabin heading toward the mess hall. Walking along the passageway, his thoughts focused on the Privateer’s return to civilization. Their assigned berth at Rap-3, one of the three spokes of the space station hovering above the planet Rapatine, awaited their return. The Privateer was tired, being long overdue for an overhaul. That meant the crew would get an extended stay. Normally, the ship was re-supplied and ready for duty again within thirty days, but this time they would be in for at least ninety days, and that assumed no unexpected major repairs.
Having been flying in space for a while now, Bill knew the routine by heart. The ship would dock, supplies would be offloaded, and the crew would be released. They would scatter across the station to whatever cabins the company provided to them—for a nominal fee, of course. Then the walk through would begin to inventory everything requiring repairs. Bill would remain with the ship, along with his fellow officers, until the ship was finally turned over to the dock workers. The ship would be made ready for tow over to the shipyard, and at that point, Bill would be released. The thought brought a smile to his face. After all was said and done, he would end up with a good two and a half months to do whatever he wanted.
With the longer stay at Rapatine, he was determined to make it down to the planet this time to do some exploring. Bill had heard that Rapatine looked a lot like Earth in its early days, before mankind stripped it of its beauty, and he wanted to get down there and see it. With Rapatine already hosting a sizable colony, he knew it was only a matter of time before Rapatine became another Earth. He hoped not in his lifetime.
Stepping into the mess hall, Bill headed for the serving line. Scrambled eggs, greasy bacon and sausages, along with French toast appeared to be the offering this morning. The scrambled eggs looked a bit too watery for his taste, so he ordered a ham and cheese omelet. The bored-looking ship’s cook went into action to prepare his order.
With the cook doing his magic, Bill silently blessed the person who invented the process of keeping food fresh for extended periods of time. Although he didn’t know a whole lot about the process, he knew it had something to do with injecting sterilized mucus into the vacuum-sealed food containers. It then surrounded the food item. This supposedly caused the food to go into stasis during storage. Once the mucus was drawn back out, the food returned to its normal state. Bill suddenly realized how gross that sounded and decided to focus on something else.
The cook handed over the omelet-filled plate and Bill moved down the serving line, adding three slices of bacon and a slice of buttered toast to his plate. Looking around as he poured himself a cup of coffee, he searched for a place to sit.
Seeing Lieutenants Andrea Sloan and Rebecca Ladd sitting together, he headed that direction. Then noticing how the two were hunched over the table in a quiet conversation, Bill thought about heading for another table, in case they wanted their privacy. Andrea looked up and waved him over. Bill took a seat next to Rebecca.
“Good morning, and what secret trouble are you two conjuring up this morning?” Bill asked.
“Oh, nothing really,” Andrea said, not offering any further details as to the nature of their conversation.
Taking a sip of coffee and grimacing from its overly bitter taste, he looked across the table at Andrea. Although only twenty-six, she was a competent engineering officer supervising a group of sixteen engineering specialists. However, Andrea was prone to emotional outbursts, and Bill was keeping a close watch on her, although it was really the XO who should have been addressing that problem. Overall, Andrea kept the Privateer running, and he supposed that was more important than how she interacted with others.
Bill figured that if he had one word to describe Andrea, it would be bulldog. Her fiery temper, combined with a muscular build common with ship engineers, all compacted into a roughly five-six or five-seven sized frame, made her one to steer clear of at times.
As Bill ate, he noticed that Andrea’s normally short hair was hanging past her shoulders now. She was letting the light-brown hair flow loose, but he suspected she would pin it up before heading into engineering. Her dark-brown eyes seemed to study him as he ate. He noticed she chose a yellow blouse today. The rest of her wardrobe was hidden under the tabletop.
“Do you think we will be in for the full ninety-days this time?” Rebecca asked Andrea.
“I don’t see how they can release us any earlier. The propulsion units will need a full overhaul, the jets will need t
o be recalibrated, and I’m sure they will find some fatigue on the ships exterior once they start looking her over. The ship’s tired, and it will take some tender-loving care to revive her this time,” Andrea answered.
“Good, because I’m tired, too. My left wrist is killing me from the workout it received trying to keep the shuttles upright while landing on that stupid planet.”
Bill looked at Rebecca, noticing how she rubbed her left wrist with her right hand. Swallowing his bite of omelet, he said, “Lieutenant, when we get to Rapatine, I want you to check in at the clinic to have that wrist looked at before it gets any worse.”
“Yes, Commander,” Rebecca said. “I suspect it will heal up once it gets some needed rest, just like the rest of me.”
“You are an excellent pilot and officer, Lieutenant. I would hate to see you grounded by letting that injury get out of control.” When Rebecca gave him a disappointing look, he added, “I’m sure they can shoot something into the joint to make it as good as new again.”
The compliment he had paid Rebecca was heartfelt. As the transportation officer, she had responsibility for all shuttle service to and from the ship, as well as maintenance on the small crafts. Her crew of three pilots and six mechanics performed a large amount of work transporting supplies and keeping the shuttles in service. With good officers being hard to find, to him, keeping Rebecca fit seemed important to the Privateer and its mission.
Bill knew why Rebecca feared going to the clinic. Once she reported the injury to a doc, it would be noted in her medical record. That would be reported to the Maritime Review Board that controlled her pilot’s license. If they deemed the injury severe enough, they could ground her. Rebecca could easily perform her duty as the transportation officer without needing to make shuttle runs, but as a pilot, she most likely could not stomach the thought of being grounded. Bill supposed he couldn’t blame her.
In Bill’s mind, Rebecca had the ideal build for a pilot. She was short, and he doubted she peaked much over five-two or three. She was probably a little heavier than she preferred, but Bill would not consider her fat by any means. Healthy was probably a better word to describe her rounded figure. Rebecca’s dirty-blond hair was collar length, and he suspected someone on the ship must have cut it for her; otherwise, it would be much longer after six-months on this mission.
Rebecca’s best feature, as Bill saw it, was her stunning grey-blue eyes that seemed to give her a look of innocence. However, she carried a level of maturity that belied her youth. Bill didn’t think she was much older than Andrea, but her demeanor could not have been more opposite. She could be brash, but most of it was only bluster and teasing, and, for the most part, Bill found her to be kind and caring. He noticed she also wore the yellow-colored blouse, and he could see that she had chosen the navy-blue pants to go with it.
“Are you two looking forward to getting back to Rapatine?” Bill asked between bites.
“I sure am,” Andrea said. “The first thing I’m going to do is take a long, hot bubble bath. Then I’m going to spend several days just catching up on all the design changes in the clothing shops. It will sure be nice to shed these boring uniforms.”
“The heck with that.” Rebecca chimed in. “The first thing I’m going to do is get some real cooking for a change. I’ve been dying for fresh seafood and a large piece of chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream melting under a layer of hot fudge.”
Bill wondered where Rebecca thought she was going to get fresh seafood. Unless they flew it up from Rapatine, which he did not think they did, it had to come from Earth, and that sure was not going to be fresh by any means. He decided not to deflate Rebecca’s hopes by mentioning facts.
“How about you, Commander, do you have any plans?” Andrea asked. She was looking at him over a nose that ran straight and sharp. Face on it looked narrow, and from the side, it looked long like it was pointing at something.
“I’m toying with the idea of heading down to Rapatine to do some exploring before someone decides to strip it bare in the name of progress.”
“You won’t last two days down there, Commander,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, why is that?”
“The gravity will drag you down. You’re not used to the heavier gravity on Rapatine that will make you feel like you gained a hundred pounds overnight.”
“That’s probably true, but I’m going to give it a try anyway.”
Bill went back to eating when the two girls started talking fashion, and what new things would have come out in the six months the Privateer had been away. When a member of his crew walked in, Bill took notice. He saw it was Marcus, and figured it was his turn to man the weapons department. The duty was easy for them really. Along with babysitting the weapons control console, they also did a security sweep of the ship every hour during their four-hour shift.
Marcus went straight for the food and did not seem to notice Bill. While watching Marcus load up his plate, Bill took a sip of his coffee and then finished off the last of his toast. When Marcus took a seat at another table, Bill ignored him.
“Word has it that they will be upgrading the shuttles when we return,” Bill said. “The company is supposed to have received some kind of deal on the Mark-VII now that the Mark-VIII is out. Think you can handle them, Lieutenant?”
Bill smiled as Andrea rolled her eyes, apparently knowing that Rebecca would go off on a tangent with this news. In contrast, he could see Rebecca’s eyes light up, and he could swear he saw her ears perk up, too. Then the questions started.
“Where did you hear that? Are you sure they said Mark-VII? If you’re toying with me, I’ll have you ejected into space the next time you take a shuttle. Did you really hear that? Hell, I could pilot a Seven with my eyes close. What an improvement they would make over the old Mark-IV we have. Just one Seven can haul what takes two Fours to accomplish.” Rebecca began rubbing her chin with her right hand. “We will have to redesign the hangers to handle the larger crafts. The deck clamps will never line up with their support skids. The inner and outer bay doors are too close together to handle the longer crafts, too, so those will have to be altered. The Fours barely fit between them now. I wonder if the yard is aware of that retrofit already?”
Andrea couldn’t seem to take it anymore. “Come on, Becca, you know that he’s only pulling your leg. The company will never get rid of these shuttles if they think they can squeeze another mission out of them. Besides, how are you going to fit the Sevens into the shuttle bays when the Fours hardly fit now?”
Bill smiled at Andrea’s use of Becca. He had not heard that before, and he wondered if that was Andrea’s own doing, or if Rebecca preferred being called that by her friends. Taking another sip of coffee, he was glad to see it had finally cooled down enough to drink. Lowering his cup, he spotted both women looking at him. He figured they were expecting him to confirm if the shuttles were really being replaced, or if he had just been joking around.
Slowly setting the cup down, Bill said, “It’s true, but I’m not the one who should be telling you this. I was on the bridge when the message came in. The shipyard wants the shuttles to be offloaded, with all remaining parts, first thing upon our arrival. The Sevens are supposed to be at Rapatine already and can be loaded onto the Privateer when she is ready to receive them. The Captain has the message now, so you should be hearing about this soon. Do not say you heard this from me, or this is the last time I share information with you two.”
Bill wouldn’t have been surprised if Rebecca had known about this already. Trying to keep a secret on any ship was nearly impossible. Usually, any noteworthy information spread through the ship before it could be officially announced. Bill suspected that if someone could figure out how to travel across space as fast as word spread around a ship, they could be home in days rather than weeks.
The two ladies launched into a detailed discussion over the current configuration of the hanger bay, and how it could be set up to handle the larger crafts. Rebecca began outlini
ng the bay’s configuration on a napkin. Bill shook his head while smiling at how serious the two were over the news.
The arrival of Ensign Ein Zimmerman caught Bill’s attention. He glanced over at Ein while taking a bite of his bacon. A tall black man standing well over six feet, Bill suspected he weighed in at better than three-hundred pounds. The man was not overly fat, either. He simply presented as a big man. To Bill, he looked like the ideal build for a lineman who would fit on any football team.
As the supply officer, Ein was well known for being extremely stingy when it pertained to handing over spare parts. It helped to show him the worn-out part first, as Ein was not likely to hand over a replacement easily. Bill couldn’t really blame him since a ship can only carry so much in supplies and replacement parts. It was in the crew’s best interest to repair a part rather than replace it too soon.
Ein had a reputation as a wizard when it came to reuse of worn or broken parts. It was a skill Ein was trying to pass on to the four others who reported to him. Bill smiled at the thought of how the man’s dark eyes would bore through you when you asked for something until you decided you could probably do without it.
In his late fifties to early sixties, his days as a crew member seemed to be winding down. Bill had heard he had saved enough credits to retire, and that he was looking forward to returning to his home state of Louisiana to settle down. From what Bill understood, Ein had not been back to Earth in over fifteen years, causing him to wonder if so much would have changed over that course of time that Ein would have a hard time adjusting to it.
Bill thought about how the man came to be in the service of the Privateer. He provided a classic example of the fight between the Military, the Shipping Guild and private enterprises for officers to crew the ever-growing fleet of ships. UMU had snatched Ein away from the Guild by offering him an officer’s title. One day he worked through the Guild as a senior supply specialist, and the next he sported the single gold bar of an ensign on his shoulders.
The Chance Encounter: The Linda Eccles Series - Book One Page 5