“Yes, Father,” she said. “Is there anything else?”
“There’ll be a formal dinner once the ship leaves orbit,” he told her. “Finley will be escorting you.”
Angela blinked, genuinely shocked. “He will?”
“He will. You will be a good conversationalist.”
“Oh,” Angela said. Finley could have asked her out if he’d wanted, she supposed, but she wouldn’t have agreed. She’d dated boys she’d come to regret giving the time of day, yet . . . at least they’d had the nerve to ask her out. Finley . . . if nothing else, she doubted he would be a good conversationalist. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” her father said.
Angela looked at him for a long moment, then nodded shortly. Arguing was pointless. It wouldn’t be the first time her parents had selected her dinner companion for the evening. Politics trumped personal preference, her father had told her. She might dislike her dinner companion, she might detest him with all the passion of a million white-hot, burning suns . . . no matter. As long as she remained unmarried, she was expected to play her role in family dinners.
At least he probably won’t try anything, she thought. He probably doesn’t have the imagination to try.
“Yes, Father,” she said. “Will that be all?”
“For the moment,” her father said. He gave her a dismissive look. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Or never, Angela thought as she walked back to her bedroom. You’ll forget about it within the hour.
She closed the door behind her, then sat down on the bed. The remainder of the passengers would already be arriving, she was sure. Soon the facilities would start to open . . . she could go to the giant swimming pool, if she wished, or lose herself in a VR adventure. Or find something, anything, to take her mind off her life. Someone on the ship had to be worth talking to.
She heard a knock. She glanced at the scanner. Marie was standing outside, looking irked. A moment later, she knocked again. Angela ignored the rapping. No doubt Marie had tried the door first, only to discover it wouldn’t open. The wretched woman had blanket access to Angela’s rooms back home . . .
At least she can’t get in here, Angela thought. Perhaps she could have a little nap before dinner. The farewell party had kept her up half the night. I can finally get some peace.
CHAPTER SIX
“This would go a great deal quicker if we were docked at the orbital tower,” Raymond Slater said. The security chief looked tired. “Corporate didn’t change their minds?”
Paul shook his head. Slater was right. Insisting that guests take shuttles to Supreme, rather than riding the car up the orbital tower and walking across, was creating all sorts of bottlenecks. Loading had slowed, and he was doubtful they’d make their planned departure date. But, on the other hand, he saw Corporate’s point. The bottlenecks would make smuggling something onto the ship more difficult.
Unless they have someone on the inside, he thought wryly. But we don’t let our staff board without being searched too.
“They insisted on it,” he said. He cocked his eyebrows. “Did you turn up anything interesting?”
“No, sir,” Slater said. He didn’t bother to point out that Paul would have been informed at once if something posing a genuine threat had been discovered. “A couple of the bodyguards had unregistered weapons, which we confiscated until we could get them cleared, but very little else.”
Paul allowed himself a moment of relief. The story about the nine-year-old who’d managed to smuggle a nuke through security had never struck him as plausible, but he had seen trained experts sneak all kinds of things through the screening. Better to be careful, even if it meant inconveniencing passengers, than having to clean up the mess afterwards. Like it or not, he had hundreds of important guests on his ship, and their safety was his first concern.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The techs had quietly alerted him that nearly a hundred complaints had already been forwarded to Corporate. Paul knew he was covered as Corporate had issued the orders, but the whining might prove a nuisance. People bitched and moaned about security screenings until something happened, whereupon they bitched and moaned that the screenings weren’t tough enough. The balancing act was made all the worse by the long-term effects of the war. A handful of hijackings and terrorist attacks had forced the Commonwealth to tighten security and try to cover all the bases. The costs of that had been worse than the attacks themselves.
It can’t be helped, he told himself firmly.
“That’s good to know,” he said. “Any new matters of concern?”
“I’ve had to lay down the law to a couple of bodyguards,” Slater said. “They figured they’d have access, even read-only access, to our internal network. Corporate vetoed it, so . . .” He grimaced, then relaxed. “Apart from that, there aren’t any serious problems. No criminal records, no open police cases . . . no reason to think that any of our guests are anyone but who they claim to be. And no sore losers in the casino either.”
Paul smiled. “That will change.”
“Yes, it will,” Slater agreed. “And it will be followed by charges that the house has rigged the games again.”
“We’ll deal with it when it happens,” Paul said. The casino didn’t rig the games, he’d been assured, but a sore loser might not believe it. And a smart dealer could probably rig the games without leaving any evidence behind. “Alert me if anything changes.”
“Yes, sir,” Slater said. He rose. “So far, everything seems to be fine.”
“Just moving slowly,” Paul said. Another advantage to no longer being in the military was that Corporate would be far more understanding than the Admiralty if Supreme didn’t leave on time. The interstellar shipping schedules had always had a great deal of slippage built into them. “Did you run any additional drills?”
“I slipped a handful of ringers into the screening lines,” Slater said. “All were caught.”
He saluted, then walked out of the hatch. Paul smiled, then turned his attention to the holographic display. It was starting to fill up, informing him that two-thirds of the guests had already boarded. There would be four thousand passengers in all once loading was complete . . . unless some people canceled. Corporate’s last update had warned that seventy passengers had canceled their cruise at short notice, choosing to pay the penalties instead of taking their cabins on Supreme. Paul knew Corporate wouldn’t be pleased about that, although they were already offering the empty cabins and staterooms at a reduced rate. They’d been harping on about the importance of filling all the space for the last couple of months.
We only need to sell half the cabins to meet our operating expenses, he thought as he picked up his terminal. But having empty compartments is annoying.
He abandoned the thought. The latest set of updates confirmed that Supreme was fully supplied with everything she needed, ranging from reactor mass to food, alcohol, and medical equipment. He had no doubt that some bean counters were bitching about the cost, but Corporate didn’t seem inclined to listen to them—a refreshing change from the navy. There, the treacherous bastards in logistics had done their level best to keep vital supplies out of his hands.
His terminal pinged, blinking up a message. He glanced at it—another update, noting that all the second-class passengers had boarded the ship—and then sent back an acknowledgment. Perhaps Supreme would make it out on time after all, he told himself. The passengers probably wouldn’t notice. Now that the casino was open and the bars were distributing drinks, they had every reason to just relax. Who knew? Maybe the flight would go smoothly.
Let us hope so, he thought. He’d joined the navy for excitement, but as an older man, he was less keen on the idea. An exciting cruise on Supreme would mean that he hadn’t done his job properly. The less that goes wrong, the better.
Matt’s earpiece buzzed. “Evans, an alert just went off in cabin S-134,” the dispatcher said. “Go check on it, would you?”
“Yes, sir,”
Matt said. He was tired, his body aching, but there was no point in arguing. The dispatcher wouldn’t have called him if he wasn’t the closest steward to the cabin. “I’m on my way.”
He picked his way down the corridor, trying to move as fast as he could without looking as though he was hurrying. It wasn’t easy. Silver Deck was crammed with guests and their servants, the former exploring with interest while the latter used tiny antigrav units to float luggage down the passageway. A gaggle of kids ran past him, laughing carelessly as they hurried into the distance. Matt felt a stab of envy mixed with annoyance. The brats would probably cause all sorts of problems for the ship’s staff.
Cabin S-134 was second class, he reminded himself as he reached the hatch, which was closed and thus suggested that the problem wasn’t serious. He told himself, sharply, that whoever was in the cabin considered it to be serious, then pushed the buzzer. It didn’t look as though he had any reason to walk straight into the cabin without waiting for permission. That would be a good way to get dismissed from the company without a reference.
The hatch hissed open, revealing a large stateroom. It was small, compared to the private apartments on Gold Deck, but large enough to pass for a cheap apartment on the surface. A middle-aged woman stood by the washroom door, glaring at him. Beyond her, Matt could see into the bedroom. A young girl was sitting on the bed, looking dreadfully embarrassed. Matt rather suspected he knew the feeling.
“Young man,” the woman said, “I paid for a cabin with two beds. Instead . . .”
She waved a hand into the bedroom. A large double bed was clearly visible. “This is not acceptable,” she said, holding out a terminal as though it were a weapon. The confirmation message was clearly visible. “I booked two beds, not one. Are we meant to share?”
“No, My Lady,” Matt said. He kept his voice calm. He’d been taught to remain calm, whatever the situation. Customers who felt they’d been cheated reacted badly to anything else. “Please give me a moment to check the manifest.”
He took the terminal and scanned the message, then used his own terminal to check the passenger manifest. Carla had warned him that guests sometimes tried to scam their way into an upgrade, but it didn’t look as though the woman—her name was Maris Simpson—was trying anything of the sort. The manifest clearly indicated that she had booked two beds. He looked at the bed, just in case two beds had been pushed together, but clearly that wasn’t the case.
“There seems to have been a mistake,” Matt said. “I—”
“I’d say there’s been a mistake,” Maris snapped. “Susan and I booked this cruise to coincide with her holidays and visit the deadbeat she calls her dad! I will not stand by and let her cruise be ruined. I’ll call my lawyers if this is not rectified!”
Matt was tempted to point out that the stewards practically lived in one another’s clothes, but he knew such a statement wouldn’t help the situation. There had been a mistake. Maris had every right to be annoyed. Instead, he keyed his terminal, trying to determine if any of the reserved cabins had been allocated yet. He’d need authority from Falcon to reassign Maris to one of the cabins, but he didn’t think the man would object. Maris’s threat to sue would guarantee some bad publicity, whatever else happened. Corporate would probably prefer to upgrade her rather than risk a lawsuit.
“I’ve found a potential cabin,” he said. His fingers danced over the display. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll try and get it assigned to you.”
“Susan has been looking forward to this trip for months,” Maris said. “The chance to visit Homestead and her father . . .”
Matt forced himself to listen as Maris ranted, telling him things he didn’t want to know about her love life, her former partner, and how unfair it was that Susan had to grow up without a proper father. Carla had warned him that he’d hear more than he needed to know, but he hadn’t really believed her. Maris didn’t have to rant at him, did she? He was just a junior steward, the lowest of the low. But then, she did have a point. The cruise had probably cost more than she could reasonably afford.
His terminal bleeped. “You’ve been allocated a new cabin,” he said. Falcon had approved the upgrade as well as the transfer. “I’ll help you move your luggage there.”
Susan jumped off the bed and held up her wrist. A silver band was clearly visible against her brown skin. “Will this still work?”
“It will,” Matt assured her. He wasn’t at liberty to talk about the security features built into the telltales—the less people knew, the harder it would be to reprogram and subvert the little devices—but Susan’s telltale wouldn’t work for anyone else. Her onboard records would already be updated. “Can I take your bags?”
“Thank you,” Maris said grudgingly.
He picked up the suitcase. Maris had only one, somewhat to his surprise, and Matt carried it through the door. Susan followed him, looking around eagerly. Her eyes went everywhere as they walked down the corridor, leaving the cabin to seal itself until a housekeeping crew arrived.
“You have a cool job,” Susan said. She looked up at Matt, her eyes wide. “Have you seen many planets?”
Matt hesitated, then told the truth. “This is my first cruise,” he said. “I haven’t gone further than the edge of the system.”
Susan looked disappointed. “I’m going to join the survey corps when I grow up,” she informed him. “I’ll be boldly going where no woman has gone before.”
“That would be fun,” Matt said. The UN Survey Service had died with Earth, as far as he knew. The Commonwealth hadn’t been particularly interested in picking up the slack. But now that humanity had recovered from the Breakdown and the Theocratic War was over, he could easily imagine the Commonwealth starting to probe beyond the Rim. “Did you watch every episode of Space Trek?”
Susan smiled. “Do you know that show was based on an even older show called Star Trek? It was about aliens and . . . um . . . stuff like that. They even stole the motto for the newer show.”
Matt had to smile. Space Trek had been about the UNSS. He’d watched a couple of episodes, but he hadn’t thought much of the program. Humanity hadn’t encountered a single alien race in nearly four hundred years of exploration, not even the remains of a long-dead civilization. He’d heard the rumors, of course, but none of them had been anything more than the kind of tall stories spacers told one another in bars.
“I haven’t watched the show,” he said. “Is it good?”
“Her father loved it,” Maris said. Her tone was forbidding. “He passed that love to his daughter.”
Matt kept his expression blank as they reached the new cabin. Susan ran inside as soon as he opened the door, looking around with interest. Matt heard her whoop with joy as she realized there were two bedrooms, not one. He didn’t blame her. Susan was probably around nine, old enough to dislike the idea of sharing a bedroom with her mother. Matt had felt the same way when he’d been a child.
“This is great,” Susan called. “Mum! I want this bedroom!”
Maris caught Matt’s arm. “This upgrade is free, right?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Matt assured her. He smiled as he saw her face relax. Both cabins were on Silver Deck, but the larger one cost more. “The upgrade is free. All the snacks and suchlike are complimentary. Your overall access rights won’t change.”
“Very good,” Maris said.
Susan poked her head back through the door. “Can we go to the adventure playground now?”
“Let me unpack,” Maris said. She looked at Matt. “Is she safe outside the cabin?”
“She can’t get off Silver Deck,” Matt said. Susan was too young to be allowed to wander freely. “She should be safe enough, as long as she stays out of the way.”
“I see,” Maris said. She reached into her pocket and produced a credit chip. “Your terminal, please?”
Matt smiled, holding out his wristcom. Corporate insisted on taxing tips, particularly ones handled through the onboard banking system, and distribu
ting the revenue to crewmen who didn’t interact with the guests. Matt still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was the one who’d earned those tips, but he could see the sense of the procedure.
“Thank you,” he said. Carla had told him that he’d end up with a big bank balance as long as he was careful. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else.”
He bowed politely to Maris, then walked out of the cabin and strode down the corridor. The dispatcher took his report and directed him to another problem. An older passenger was concerned about his luggage not arriving. Matt checked the records, discovered that the luggage hadn’t been screened yet, and informed the passenger that it would arrive as soon as possible. Unimpressed, the passenger dismissed him with a grunt. No tip.
“Some people are like that,” Carla said when their duty shift finally ended and they were on their way to eat. “Trust me, Matt. You’ll encounter worse people on the voyage.”
They walked past the adult swimming pool. A number of young women were splashing in the water, followed by a crowd of young men. He couldn’t avoid noticing that half of the women were topless, their breasts glistening under the light. It was hard not to stare. Women on his homeworld did not go nude, any more than their male counterparts. And yet . . . he drank in the sight, watching the girls as they swam through the water. There was something strikingly . . . admirable . . . in their un-self-conscious nudity, as if they had no reason to be concerned. He looked for Angela, half expecting to see her with the women, but there was no sign of her. He felt disappointed.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said.
“You should,” Carla said. Her voice was cold. “Be glad if that’s the worst problem you encounter on this voyage.” She smiled. “Back on my first cruise, there was an emergency call from a cabin, so I hurried down and opened the hatch, only to see the passenger and his wife . . . stark naked . . . and tied up in a bondage net.”
The Hyperspace Trap Page 6