Bill jerked his head towards Ein and said. “This will probably be the only time you can get parts for the Mark Fours without a fight when Ein gets word to hand them over.”
Rebecca nodded as she looked at Ein. “You’re probably right, but how much do you want to bet that he will make me sign for every blessed part he hands me? Maybe I’ll just hook him up with the supply folks at the station since they talk the same language. I might save myself a headache in the process.”
The conversation ended when Ein walked over with a plate filled to overflowing. After sitting at the table with them, he grabbed the salt and pepper. Looking around the table, he nodded to each one, then said, “Good thing we’re headin’ back today. Runnin’ out of most everything. Didn’t expect to be gone no six months. Ya think those knot-heads back home would have figured out that this planet was too hostile to put up a station very fast. They kept tellin’ me I didn’t need all I was askin’ for.”
Bill thought that the amount of food the supply officer had piled onto his plate didn’t support his concerns. Looking up at Ein, he responded, “I’m sure it’s not that bad. They usually figure these things out so we don’t come back with a whole lot of supplies left over. With the crew always being anxious to get away, they don’t like to keep them aboard handling oversupply any more than they have to.”
Ein stopped eating and looked over at Bill. Frowning heavily, he said, “You’ll sing a different tune when the coffee runs out. Ways I figure it, we have enough for another twenty-four days. Ever see the Captain when she doesn’t get her mornin’ coffee? You know who she’ll blame, don’tcha? Me! She’ll say I shouldn’t have given back what we had left last time. But, hell, they empty everything befores they start overhaulin’. Does she expect me to stuff it in my pockets and keep it in those cheap-ass cabins at Rap? Can’t hardly fit myself into one.”
“You could tell the cooks to try mixing in half new with half used grounds to see if anyone notices the difference. Given the alternative, they may want to give it a try. I, for one, would not want to face the Captain when she is suffering from caffeine withdrawal,” Bill said, jokingly.
“Humph,” was all Ein replied. He shook his head in apparent disapproval before returning to his breakfast. Freezing his fork halfway between his plate and mouth, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the cook with an evil grin. “You know, that ain’t a bad idea.” Ein then looked over at the steward refilling one of the large coffee urns. The movement of his head caused the contents of his fork to spill back onto his plate. “Just might be worth tryin’. Course, you have to be careful hows you ask them cooks to fix something. They sure do get touchy on ya.” Ein frowned after putting the fork into his mouth and discovering no food came with it.
Andrea looked across at Bill and smiled. Bill could only hope that the cook would dismiss the idea of mixing coffee grounds, and instead, lessen the amount of grounds they used per pot. Bill suspected that most of the crew would prefer a lighter coffee, anyway, but he knew that the captain liked it good and strong. The stewards made it to the Captain’s liking, not the crew.
Glancing at the status board to see the time, Bill stood. “I have to make my rounds before I’m due on the bridge at eight. Have a good day, everyone.”
Grabbing his plate, Bill placed it in a grey tub located by the coffee, and then refilled his cup about two-thirds full before heading into the passageway. Bill knew he had about fifteen minutes left to check on his crew before heading to the bridge to take over as Officer of the Deck. Entering one of the four turbo-lifts, he soon exited onto the deck housing the weapons control room.
Reaching the hatch to the compartment, Bill stopped to admire the sign bolted onto the door. A carryover to the ship’s military service days, the black sign, with its gold-painted letters, always impressed him. The red outline around the entire frame added to the overall appearance of the sign that read Weapons Control Room. Underneath it, another less attractive red over white sign read Authorized Personnel Only.
Pulling his ePersonal from his back pocket, Bill placed the device next to the wall-mounted security pad. Receiving a confirmation tone, he heard the heavy-duty locking mechanism release its grip from the frame, allowing him to open the hatch. Stepping into the compartment, he spotted Don, his weapons specialist, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the edge of the console reading from his ePersonal.
“Hello, Commander,” Don said.
“Good morning, Don. Is everything in order this morning?”
“Yep, all is fine and dandy as cake and candy.”
Bill groaned while wondering where in the world Don came up with that one. Being his most senior weapons specialist, Don provided Bill with experience from prior military service, and that was something lacking in the others. It was highly unlikely the Privateer would ever have the need to shoot its weapon, but he found it comforting to have a crew member who knew how to pull the trigger without his hands starting to shake with nervousness.
Sweeping his eyes across the long, gloss-black console, Bill could see only a single icon on its smooth surface. Letters contained within the white square window indicated the entire weapons control system remained in a locked mode. Satisfied everything was in order, Bill turned to lean against the console. He then took a sip from his cup.
The two annoying conduits that fed plasma directly up to the charge pots for the revolving turret caught Bill’s attention. Some dimwitted shipyard worker moved the conduits into the compartment to make more space for storage. It apparently had never occurred to them that should the conduits ever burst open when they were firing the guns, it would flood the compartment with plasma, incinerating everyone who could not get out in time.
Bill supposed the conduits reflected a minimal risk, and that was probably how the company saw it, too, as the Privateer really had no need to ever fire the plasma cannons housed within the single turret. The Captain had told him the turret was only there because the Privateer had been so far behind schedule and over budget during refit that the company decided to cut cost and time by not removing it.
“You look like crap, Commander. You should really get more sleep.”
“Why thank you, Don, that thought had never occurred to me,” Bill responded, smiling to himself over the sarcastic statement.
Don set his ePersonal on the console and it immediately went dark. The sight caused Bill to wonder how man ever got along without the ingenious device. The little unit was a modern marvel all on its own. It contained just about everything a person needed to get along in the world today, and it only responded to its owner, making it virtually impossible to hack. Bill wasn’t sure how the internal workings of the device did what it did, but once it connected to its owner, it would only respond to their touch. Whether it was by fingerprint, bio readings or some other hidden logic, it worked flawlessly.
The ePersonal had become Bill’s most often used device. It contains everything he needs, all in a device small enough to fit into his pocket. He liked that convenience, too. His various licenses, earned credits, security codes and so much more were all housed within the little unit’s memory. At times, it seemed smarter than the ship’s computer, despite its small size.
Thinking back, Bill remembered hearing on the international news years ago how the internal logic of the ePersonal, a trade secret, became responsible for virtually wiping out electronic fraud. Some hacker thought he had created a device to pull data, and more importantly, credits from the ePersonal, but in reality, the ePersonal pulled thieves personal data off the hacking device. While it worked perfectly when the hacker tried it on his own device, it became a different story when thieves tried to use it against other people’s ePersonal.
He suspected that most people never even knew the ePersonal was rejecting the criminal’s attempt to steal their credits and personal information. The Criminal Response Units, however, found the little ePersonal worked quite effectively at detecting thieves using the swiping devices, along with capturing e
nough information to identify them. Before long, criminals found using swiping devices led to a knock on their door by local authorities, and eventually, a free trip to some lonely outpost where they ended up having to work to eat. With everything kept within the ePersonal now, identify and credit theft had virtually disappeared. Bill supposed that crooks had to return to old fashion stealing, which was not easy with all the electronic monitoring devices in use these days.
“What are you reading this morning?” Bill asked, assuming Don had been reading an eStory downloaded into his stored library before departing from Rapatine.
“The Rounded Square.”
“You read that already, or am I mistaken?”
“Yeah, I ran out of new stories to read, so I’m rereading my favorites until I can purchase more when we get back.”
The hatch to the compartment opened, and Marcus entered. In his hands, he carried a mug of coffee and a couple pieces of toast, apparently left over from breakfast. Bill watched him take a drink of the coffee and wince.
“Ugh! I don’t know why I continue to try drinking this stuff. I swear it’s made from toenail clippings and dirty socks,” Marcus said as he set the cup on the console.
“Nah, they ran out of that a month ago,” Don joked. “They’re making it out of dirt scraped from the shuttles now.”
“I would love to see where this conversation is going, but I am due on the bridge,” Bill said, pushing away from the console. With coffee cup in hand, he headed for the door. Looking back, he added, “Don, once you’re relieved here, make a quick tour of the ship, and then go get some sleep.”
“Will do, Commander.”
Leaving the compartment behind, Bill made his way to the turbo-lift. It wasn’t long before the lift door slid aside to grant access onto the passageway leading to the bridge. Stepping out, he turned left and entered the bridge when the access door slid open after a quick facial recognition to justify his need to enter the restricted space. Stopping just inside, he took another sip of his coffee while observing what was happening in front of him.
Of all the ships that Bill had either served on or toured, he found the bridge of the Privateer the most unique. He felt it was as if the designer had been some kind of egotistical ship’s captain. The upper section of the bridge that ran from where he stood to a few feet beyond the command chair sat at one level, while the front section of the bridge dropped fourteen inches, or two steps. Every bridge station sat on the lower section, as if the designer wanted a captain to have the ability to look down upon them.
Unlike other ships Bill had been on, the Privateer only offered one command chair, and this single chair was surrounded by a brass railing that ran from one side of the chair to the other. The railing made a large loop behind the chair, as if the designer wanted the captain to feel isolated from everyone else. Both ends of the rail made an inward loop that left a hole in the center that Bill always felt needed a flowerpot.
Even though the design seemed odd, it did have a practicality to it. By sitting above the other stations, a captain could communicate and oversee the actions performed at each station with barely a turn of the head. Two large, curved monitors were mounted on the forward bulkhead just above the view ports. The command chair had controls that allowed whoever sat in it to switch views on each monitor. As the front of the bridge arched around, more view ports were mixed in with bulkhead sections so that each station had a view outside the ship and a monitor supporting their station mounted between the portals.
Bill’s sweeping eyes found Sharon leaning over the shoulder of the communication specialist. She appeared to be busy, so Bill decided not to interrupt her until she finished. He worked on finishing the last of his coffee.
When the cup was empty, Bill set it on the small outreach built into the wall, where a steward would come by periodically to retrieve such items. Walking along the left side of the bridge, he ran his hand along the smooth, polished railing. The brass interacted with the air-conditioned environment, presenting a cool feel against his skin.
Reaching the steps, he stopped. He found it odd that Rapatine would be sending a message now, rather than waiting for them to reach their jump point. Once the Privateer reached the jump point, the Captain would have a message sent to Rapatine indicating their readiness to enter warp. They would await a response from traffic control providing them their arrival coordinates, time and entry instructions. The Privateer could then enter warp knowing that they could safely drop out in a shipping lane without fear of finding another ship directly in their path.
Ignoring the activity over the message for the moment, Bill looked down at the navigation station to his left. A large monitor mounted on the bulkhead in front of the Navigation Specialist displayed a tactical view of their surroundings. The Privateer’s current location and heading displayed in the center, with a blinking white circle indicating the jump point location. As the ship moved along, the display adjusted to keep the ship in the center of the tactical view, while all other objects moved down the screen. Someone unused to the purpose of the tactical display would think the ship was standing still as the universe passed by.
Moving his eyes slightly right, Bill looked at the sensor station that fed all sensor data into the tracking computer. The data was then routed to the navigational station. The Navigation Specialist could easily run both stations because the computer controlled so much of the operation.
On the opposite side of the bridge, Bill looked at the damage control board. The large status board, mounted above the portals on his right, showed an outline of the ship with illuminating lights around the outside of the ship and within each compartment. While the lights displayed a bright green, they could change to yellow indicating trouble, and red indicating a critical failure based on the ship’s computer monitoring. Bill liked seeing them all green, as he wanted a quiet shift this morning. To the right of the ship’s outline was a listing of critical ship functions, such as propulsion, shielding, life support and so on, and each with its own status light, also all green at the moment.
Next to damage control was communications, where he could now see Sharon handing over her eCapture to the Specialist. The Specialist set the device on the console, and then slid it forward until it seated into the receiver slot. The console in front of the device lit up, projecting orangey-yellow icons and symbols onto the shiny black surface.
The Communication Specialist ran her hand over the copy function, and the eCapture device began blinking in recognition of receiving data. After a brief delay, the eCapture beeped, indicating the completion of the transfer, and the icons disappeared. Pulling the device out, the Specialist handed it back to Sharon.
Sharon returned to the upper section and took a seat in the command chair, finally noticing Bill. She said, “Good morning, Bill. I’ll be ready for you to relieve me as soon as I review this message from Rapatine.”
“As you wish, Commander. There’s no hurry.”
Bill noticed that Sharon’s mood had picked up now that the Privateer was on the move again. He suspected that their return to Rapatine had a lot to do with it. Sharon had an ongoing relationship with someone named Thomas, though she did not share a lot of information about him to anyone. All Bill knew about the man was that he worked as an officer on a freighter running through the Shipping Guild, and that his freighter would be at Rap-1 for a couple of months in refit. Sharon had been so anxious to get back to the Rap station that she was practically dancing around the ship with pent-up energy.
Looking down at Sharon, he could see a sour expression come over her face as she read the message. Whatever the message contained, she appeared completely disgusted over it. Bill looked away to give her privacy. He knew she would let him know what was going on when the time was right.
As he waited, he looked out at the view ahead of the ship. They were passing one of the moons of the planet they had left earlier. He saw swirls that represented massive disturbances on its surface. Seeming to want to outdo its h
ost planet in ferocity, the swirls looked like giant dustbowl hurricanes, sporting a multitude of browns, tans, grays and whites. If Bill had not known any better, he would swear that some whacked-out artist took all his leftover paints, squirted them onto the planet, and then went to work smearing them all together with his hands.
“This makes me so mad I could leap out an airlock,” Sharon mumbled, slapping the eCapture against her upper thigh.
“What’s wrong?” Bill asked softly while looking forward to see if others on the bridge had overheard her frustration. No one seemed to have noticed.
Holding out the eCapture, she answered, “Here, read for yourself.”
The way Sharon spat out the words, Bill knew she was madder than a hornet trapped in an overturned glass. He took the device from her and turned it to read the screen. Pressing the display option, he read the message.
ATD: 1541; Date: 2246; From: CEO Ernest T. Leander; Validation: ADM Wilson Swensen;
Message Start; Confirmation received on success of installation of latest habitat; congratulations to all; rescind orders returning to Orbiter Rap-3; highest priority to divert to alternative location; mission to locate and validate status of probe 13-115-98; probe lost on return from 686.93880.223; stop at jump point and set navigation point to arrive at estimated point of lost probe; retrieve if feasible; else determine fate and report; wait reply; message end;
Bill read the message twice before handing the device back to Sharon. Sharon snatched the device from his hand and shoved it into the leather holster on her belt. Snapping the top flap closed, she stared out the forward view ports, seeming lost in thought. Bill felt sorry for her. He suspected she was calculating the time the delay would cause against how much time she would have left to spend with Thomas.
The Chance Encounter: The Linda Eccles Series - Book One Page 6