He quenched the thought. If the old sweats were telling the truth, Angela and Nancy wouldn’t be the worst guests he’d encounter. He should count himself lucky.
Angela glanced into her bedroom. “There’s a hatch on the far side,” she said. “Where does that lead?”
“Out into the corridor,” Matt recalled. The stateroom was secure, but the designers had insisted on multiple points of exit. “Just push your finger against the scanner to leave.”
“Oh,” Angela said. “I can leave without going through the antechamber?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Matt assured her. “You won’t be able to get back in without a special codekey, but you can leave.”
“Good,” Angela said. “Can I also lock my door?”
Matt wondered, absently, if he should be concerned. Angela seemed a little too interested in the subject. But then, if he were a beautiful young woman, he’d want to be sure the door could be locked from the inside too. Not everyone willingly shared a compartment with members of the opposite sex.
“Of course, My Lady,” he said. He led the way into the room, then pointed at the small processor on the desk. “You can access the room’s permissions through there and add or remove people from the list. Anyone not on the list will be denied access. Alarms will sound if they enter without permission.”
“I see,” Angela said.
She looked around the room, her expression twisting. Matt tried to see the giant bedroom as she must have seen it, a tiny little box in a tiny little stateroom. He’d heard that aristocratic mansions had entire wings devoted to each member of the family, from children barely old enough to eat solid food to older relatives who had nowhere else to go. He shook his head in disbelief. The bedroom was too large for comfort . . . three or four people could have shared the bed easily. Angela had no reason to be displeased as far as he could tell. The only minor problem was that no pile of presents had been placed on the bed.
A girl like that probably has her own trust fund, he thought. She could buy me out of pocket change.
“Your telltales are here,” he said, leading the way back into the antechamber. The silver bands were waiting on the tray, where housekeeping had left them. “Put them on your wrists; then make sure you wear them whenever you go out of the stateroom.”
Angela looked displeased. “What happens if we don’t wear them?”
“Doors and hatches won’t open,” Carla said. Her voice was polite but firm. “Some sections will be closed to you.”
“And in case of emergency, we won’t be able to find you,” Matt added. “Don’t let anyone else use your telltale.”
“Yeah,” Angela said. She looked . . . downhearted, just for a second. Matt wondered what he’d said to make her feel bad. “Thank you.”
Her tone was clearly dismissive. Matt bowed, suddenly unsure if he should wait for a tip. He wouldn’t have hesitated with an older guest, but . . . he shook his head, taking one last look at Angela. Even downhearted, she was stunning. He hoped he’d have the chance to see her again, during the voyage. He was fairly sure he would.
“Thank you, My Lady,” he said.
Carla followed him as he walked through the hatch and down the corridor. Gold Deck felt eerie, almost empty. It would fill up, he knew, but for the moment, the passages just felt weird. He and Carla might be the only crewmen for hundreds of meters . . .
She elbowed him as they stepped through one of the concealed hatches and into the crew corridor. “I saw you staring at her.”
Matt flushed, brightly. “It wasn’t that bad . . .”
“You were practically drooling,” Carla teased. “They’ll have to change the carpet because you slobbered all over it.”
“I didn’t,” Matt protested. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were,” Carla said. “Can I give you a word of advice?”
Matt nodded. Technically, they held the same rank, but she had more experience. He knew he should listen to whatever she had to say.
“That girl will have a trust fund with enough money to buy a midsized starship,” Carla said. “She’s also the heir to a father with enough money to buy an entire planet. She is not in your league and never will be. Don’t even think about trying to bed her.”
Matt glared at her. Cold logic told him that Carla was right, but cold logic was . . . cold. “And what if she asks me into bed?”
Carla looked pained. “Because that is so likely to happen,” she said. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Keep it in your pants.”
“Oh,” Matt said.
“I’m sure you’ll get it in hand soon enough,” Carla added. Matt took a moment to work out what she meant, whereupon he blushed furiously. “Until then, focus. We have work to do.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“That boy was staring at you,” Nancy said.
“Shut up,” Angela growled. She wasn’t in the mood for childishness. Marie hadn’t been allowed to disembark with the family—the governess wasn’t family—but it wouldn’t be long before she arrived. “Get into your room and stay there.”
Her sister ignored the order. “He was staring at you,” she said. “His eyes were following you everywhere.”
“Which is a little refreshing, isn’t it?” Angela stalked over to her door. The suite was so well designed that she could almost believe she was in one of the family’s penthouse apartments rather than onboard a massive starship. The parents apparently had the big star-gazing windows. “At least he’s honest about it.”
She walked through the door and slammed it behind her, resulting in a very satisfying noise. Clearly, the designers had thought of everything. She checked her personal terminal instinctively—a stream of messages appeared from her friends, but nothing from her parents—and sat down at the wooden desk. The terminal opened at her touch, revealing an access screen. She pressed the telltale against the reader and watched as the system unlocked.
The telltale must be configured to me, she thought crossly. She hadn’t seen anything that separated hers from Nancy’s, but that proved nothing. The telltale was larger than it needed to be. They’ll know if I leave the deck.
The steward had been right, she discovered. She couldn’t set access rights for the entire suite. Her father had that power, but she could set them for her bedroom. Smirking, she spent ten minutes trying to exclude Marie . . . and then, cursing her own mistake, set the system to exclude everyone apart from Nancy and herself. As annoying as her younger sister could be, Angela wouldn’t begrudge Nancy the chance to hide from their mother. Nancy would probably be put on display once their mother had started her endless round of tea parties with rich or titled women.
She bit her lip, then brought up the starship’s details. She’d hoped for a detailed diagram, but what she got was a cheery brochure praising Supreme to the skies. Whoever had written the blurb probably deserved a reward for use of superlatives, having skipped the course in basic writing and comprehension. She had to parse her way through the text to determine that Supreme had the largest swimming pools, the largest adventure playgrounds, the largest . . . there was a whole list, little of which was actually useful. The deck diagram seemed to leave off all the interesting places.
Just like the diagram back home, she thought. The mansion had a whole network of secret passageways and compartments, some known only to the family. They didn’t appear on any building diagram, but anyone who knew they existed might be able to work out where they were. The crew won’t want us to see them.
There was a knock at the door. She checked the scanner and saw a trio of maids carrying her bags. Angela opened the door quickly and invited them to put the bags on the deck, then leave as quickly as possible. She’d have to argue when Marie discovered she wasn’t allowed into Angela’s room. The longer she could put that off, the better. She watched the maids go, feeling an odd flicker of envy. They were far poorer than she was—she’d calculated once that blowing through her entire trust fund would be difficult—but they were also freer. N
o one expected them to uphold the honor of the family.
Angela looked down at her bags, silently noting where they’d been opened. Her father had warned her, bluntly, that their luggage would be searched. She smiled at the memory of her mother’s reaction; the older woman had thrown a fit at the thought of strange hands pawing through her underwear. Then Angela sobered. The incident was yet another reminder that she hardly had any control over her life. The giant starship might as well be a prison.
A gilded cage, she thought as she peered into the bathroom. It was small compared to the bathroom at home, but still large enough to house a dozen people comfortably. A giant bath, a shower, a mirror . . . she wished, suddenly, that she had someone to share it with. But there was no one. I’m trapped in a gilded cage.
She paced the bedroom, then started to unpack her bags. Marie would offer to do it for her, of course . . . as if Angela would let her. The governess would take the inch and turn it into a mile, using her control over Angela’s clothes to control Angela herself. She promised herself, again, that she would fire the governess as soon as she came of age at twenty-one. She wasn’t a child any longer.
Her terminal bleeped. PARENTS ON WAY, Nancy had typed. COME OUT?
Angela was tempted to hide, but she knew to do so was futile. Instead, she checked her appearance in the mirror, scanning her rumpled dress, and strode out into the antechamber. Nancy was sitting on a comfortable sofa, holding an elaborate drink in one hand. Angela eyed it warily and told herself not to worry. The ship’s crew wouldn’t give her younger sister anything dangerous. Besides, even if they did, the nanites in Nancy’s body would scrub any toxins out before it was too late.
“A lemon, lime, and orange mocktail,” Nancy said, holding out the glass. She shot her older sister a challenging look. “You want?”
“No,” Angela said, biting down the urge to insult the little brat. She’d never liked mocktails, and Nancy knew it. They were either unbearably pretentious or completely worthless. “Did you call room service?”
“Yep,” Nancy said. She jabbed a hand towards the rear doors. “Their luggage arrived too.”
Angela hurried over to the master bedroom and peered inside. She couldn’t help a stab of envy as she saw the giant window, allowing her parents to sleep under the stars. If someone had offered her a room like that . . . she glanced around, noting no other way out of the compartment. Maybe she should be glad with what she had, she told herself. She could slip out at any moment.
Unless Father decides to put a guard on the hatch, she thought. He had grown increasingly protective over the last few years, pointing out that his daughter was a prime kidnapping target. Angela wasn’t so sure. The family would move heaven and earth to recover her and capture the kidnappers, dead or alive. He’s trying to keep me from growing into my own person.
She slipped into the room, peering through each of the doors. A bathroom, larger than hers; an office, tastefully decorated in a manner that matched her father’s private suite back home; a gargantuan walk-in closet, probably too small to cope with all her mother’s luggage . . . Angela shook her head in amused disbelief. They were going to be traveling nearly fifty light-years from their homeworld, yet they would have all the comforts of home . . .
Better than the early starships, she thought, although she wasn’t sure if that was true. The starship crews had been trapped in tiny ships, but they’d had a freedom she knew she’d never enjoy. And at least we’ll be visiting a handful of strange new worlds.
“I don’t have a window,” Nancy said, peering into interplanetary space. “Aren’t they lucky?”
Angela shrugged. There was something awesome about being able to stare out into space and watch the stars peering back. But the view was also boring. A good projector could turn her room into her private theater, if she wanted it. She could plunge into a gas giant and even fly through a star, all in perfect safety. Reality seemed a trifle . . . unrealistic. She heard the outer door opening and hurried back into the antechamber, closely followed by her sister. Their father would not be pleased if he caught them in the master bedroom. He guarded his office as carefully as their mother guarded her reputation.
Angela sat on the sofa and watched as Robert Cavendish entered the compartment, followed by the captain and a younger man. Angela’s eyes narrowed as she recognized him: Finley Mackintosh, one of her father’s cronies. She hadn’t known he’d been on the yacht, although she did have to admit that she hadn’t paid much attention. Finley was a minor nobleman, from a family of minor nobility. He certainly wasn’t on her level.
Probably trying to suck up to Father, Angela thought.
She eyed Finley, feeling an odd flicker of disquiet. He was handsome thanks to genetic engineering or the bodyshops, but something about him bothered her. She couldn’t put the feeling into words. He didn’t seem quite used to his face, perhaps . . . he’d had his countenance altered, time and time again, until it was no longer his. The brown hair, flawless skin, and strong jaw looked like a mask covering his true self. His looks held no sense of danger, merely something . . . bland. There was no fire in Finley Mackintosh, she decided finally. He wasn’t one to challenge her father, let alone reach for the brass ring.
Finley looked back at her. Angela felt herself flush, just for a second, before he looked away again. His reaction was . . . odd. No frank admiration, no half-hidden lust . . . not even embarrassment at being caught looking. He could be good at controlling and hiding his reactions, but . . . she rather thought he’d felt nothing. She’d met enough entitled rich kids during her life to know they weren’t good at hiding their feelings.
I’ll have to look him up, she thought. Her father had made her memorize the important families, along with quite a few other pieces of useless knowledge, but the Mackintoshes had never been considered important enough to study. I should be able to get the basic file from the database, if nothing else.
She made a face as Marie and a dozen other servants bustled through the door. It didn’t look as though the security officers had discomforted them, unfortunately. Angela watched Halle Cavendish issue a string of orders, directing the servants into the master bedroom and putting them to work. Thankfully she swept Marie into her bedroom as well. Angela made a mental note to thank her mother, afterwards. Hopefully unpacking a dozen heavy suitcases would take some time.
“Very good,” her father said, loudly enough to catch her attention. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Finley bowed, then retreated. Angela watched him go, trying to read his body language. But it was impossible. Finley didn’t seem to resent being her father’s crony, any more than he seemed to be using her father for his own purposes. Angela snorted rudely as her father cleared his throat, dismissing the thought. Perhaps Finley was just a glorified servant, whatever his title happened to be. Quite a few families had suffered financial difficulties because of the war.
“A nice young man,” her father commented. If he hadn’t been looking at her, Angela would have wondered if he was talking to himself. “What do you make of the ship?”
Angela blinked. Her father rarely asked her opinion. She could see why he thought highly of Finley, if she was right about the young man’s character. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t argue . . . he just did as he was told, precisely what her father wanted in his children. He’d rebuked Angela for asking questions more than once.
“It’s a ship,” she said. “It’s nothing . . . nothing special.”
Her father’s lips twitched. “It will be playing host to hundreds of very important people,” he said. “It will be very special indeed.”
Angela realized it wasn’t a family holiday then. She’d never really had a family holiday with her parents, not when her father brought his business with him. Finley and the servants were just the tip of the iceberg. No doubt he had an entire staff on the lower decks, just waiting to be put to work. By the time they reached their first destination, she had no doubt her father and his cronies would
have ironed out a plan to take advantage of the postwar situation and secure the Cavendish future. He wouldn’t have any time for her.
She couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy for her friends who had decent relations with their parents. She didn’t want to be supervised constantly, but she did want to spend quality time with her father. It didn’t have to be much, she thought . . . she’d settle for a walk around the grounds, just her and her father, without the family business constantly butting in. Her best friend’s father had taken his daughter on camping trips and sailing voyages and . . .
Her father was still talking. Angela groaned. Whatever he’d said, she’d missed it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. He wouldn’t be pleased she’d zoned out, but it couldn’t be helped. “Please, could you say that again?”
“I was saying that this voyage is incredibly important,” he said. His tone was patient, but she caught a hint of annoyance in his words. “I expect you to behave yourself.”
“I always do,” Angela said.
“That’s true,” Nancy put in. “Angela is boring.”
She shot her younger sister a death glare. Being the older sister wasn’t easy. Nancy was still young enough to play dumb. Angela was too old to get away with such behavior, yet too young to simply take her trust fund and go. On the other hand, escaping her mother had grown easier as she’d gotten older. Nancy couldn’t do that just yet.
Lucky we don’t have any younger siblings, Angela thought. Their mother seemed to believe, at times, that her daughters were little older than five. That would be bad.
Her father caught her attention. “I’ll be speaking to you later about other matters,” he added flatly. “Until then, try not to do anything I might hear about in the papers.”
Angela nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her father was behaving oddly, but . . . at least he was paying attention to her. She knew it wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t care what she did as long as she didn’t bring scandal down on the family. That wouldn’t be easy on a cruise ship, she knew. What happened on a cruise liner largely stayed on a cruise liner.
The Hyperspace Trap Page 5