The Hyperspace Trap

by Christopher Nuttall

  And hyperspace shock is real, he thought. He didn’t need to swallow poison to know it was a bad idea. Who knows what it might do to a pregnant woman?

  He pushed the thought aside. “I think I should escort you back to your cabin,” he said. He indicated the door. “Please come with me.”

  Nancy looked reluctant. “It’s boring in the cabin,” she said. “And I don’t want to hang out with the other kids.”

  “You can’t stay here,” Matt said. “But if you let me escort you back now, I won’t tell your father where you’ve been.”

  “Fine,” Nancy said. She stood and marched towards the hatch. “You’d better keep your mouth shut.”

  Matt keyed the hatch closed as soon as they were both inside, then sent an alert to maintenance. Nancy’s handiwork—he wondered, absently, where she’d learned to manipulate access hatches like that—would have to be undone as soon as possible. And then the other hatches would have to be checked too.

  He had a thought. “What happened to your telltale?”

  Nancy smirked. “I accidentally left it on the table by the door,” she said. “Oops.”

  Matt silently congratulated her. She’d used the telltale to get out of the cabin, then left it behind. As long as she didn’t try to get off Gold Deck, she could go anywhere public . . . it wasn’t something he would have considered, at her age. But then, Nancy had a strikingly safe life. No one would dare to hurt her, not when they knew her family would take a terrible revenge.

  And this ship is very safe, he thought. She’ll be fine as long as she stays on Gold Deck.

  “I’ve always wanted to join the Survey Service,” Nancy said. “Do you think they’d take me?”

  Matt smiled. Susan Simpson had had the same thought, hadn’t she? Susan was three or four years younger than Nancy . . . perhaps he should introduce them. Or perhaps the age difference would be too great. At that age, even a year seemed an unbridgeable gulf. He made a mental note to see what events both girls might attend in the future. They might hit it off at once.

  “Perhaps they would,” he said. If, of course, there was a Survey Service by the time Nancy reached adulthood. “You’d go into the unknown.”

  “That’s the point,” Nancy said. She waved a hand at the bulkhead. “What am I going to see, on this cruise, that other eyes haven’t already seen?”

  “Nothing,” Matt said. They reached the stateroom hatch. “But you won’t have seen it . . . before, I mean. I think that’s the point.”

  “It’s not the same,” Nancy said as the hatch hissed open. “I . . . oh, hello, Angela.”

  Matt flushed helplessly. Angela stood there, wearing a black sweater and skirt that hung down to her knees. A surprisingly simple outfit, one that drew his eyes to her face. And yet it was all he could do to keep from stammering like a schoolboy. He felt very, very unsure of himself.

  “Nancy,” Angela said, “what have you been doing?”

  “Nothing you need to know about,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you two have a nice chat? I have to run.”

  She darted past her sister and hurried farther into the stateroom. Matt stared after her, wondering just what Nancy was playing at. Maybe she’d just wanted to embarrass her older sister. Matt had always found his sisters to be unbearable when he’d been twelve. But he’d never put them on the spot like that.

  “I found her in a restricted area, My Lady,” he said. “I had to bring her back here.”

  “Thank you,” Angela said. She looked back at him for a long moment. Matt could barely maintain eye contact. “I . . . what are you doing now?”

  Matt fought to keep his face expressionless. “I’m on roaming duty,” he said. “Ah . . . that means I handle any problems that come up.”

  “Sounds like a fascinating job,” Angela said, a bitter curve to her smile. “I . . . would you like to come in and chat?”

  Matt felt his heart skip a beat. A chat . . . or something more? He’d heard a couple of the older stewards bragging about scoring with rich girls, although he wasn’t sure he believed them. He’d heard similar stories when he’d been in high school and . . . well, no one would have got any work done if half of those stories had been true. He honestly wasn’t sure what to do. Technically, he was on duty . . . but he could hardly deny a request from a wealthy guest . . . could he?

  “Only for a short while, My Lady,” he managed. “I have to keep patrolling the decks.”

  Angela’s lips twisted. “It must be a job with a lot of responsibility,” she said. She turned and led the way into her bedroom. The rest of the giant stateroom seemed empty. “Do you enjoy it?”

  Matt thought for a moment. “It has its moments,” he said. He took the seat she indicated and smiled, choosing his words carefully. “I meet a great many interesting people.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Angela said. She sat down, crossing her arms. “Is that what you truly believe, or . . . or is it what you’re told to say?”

  “I do meet interesting people,” Matt said. He remembered, too late, that “meet interesting people” was one of Corporate’s slogans. “Sometimes they’re very interesting people.”

  “I bet,” Angela said. “Who’s the most interesting person you’ve met?”

  You, Matt thought.

  He didn’t dare say that out loud. God alone knew how she’d take it. But who else was there? The military vet on Silver Deck? The trio of performers playing in the lower decks while traveling to their next gig? Or the pop star sensation five doors down, who had somehow managed to use her sex appeal to cover up a voice that sounded like someone scraping nails over a blackboard?

  “There are three performers down on the lower decks,” he said. “They trade singing for travel tickets. They perform for us during transit, then . . . they’ll perform on Williamson’s World.”

  Angela smiled, as if he’d unintentionally said something funny. “Do their performances pay for their tickets?”

  “Corporate thinks so,” Matt said. He doubted Corporate cared very much. The performers entertained the lower decks at a low cost. No doubt something in their contracts ensured they didn’t earn too much. “Have you been to see them?”

  “No, but I will,” Angela said.

  She still appeared to be smiling at a joke. Matt wanted to know what she was smiling at, but he didn’t dare ask. For all he knew, she was smiling—laughing!—at him. He wouldn’t blame her either. God knew he must sound like a yokel.

  “They’re good,” he assured her. Carla had forced him to see the performers two days ago. “They really should be invited up here.”

  “You should suggest it to the captain,” Angela said.

  Matt blinked in shock. “The captain wouldn’t listen to me,” he said. He could mention the idea to the entertainment director, but there was a good chance the older man would laugh in his face. The wealthy and powerful didn’t want to listen to a bunch of cheap musicians, did they? They wanted cultured entertainment. “I’m low on the totem pole.”

  “Oh,” Angela said. She looked embarrassed. “I should have thought.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Matt said.

  They talked for nearly an hour before Matt slipped out of her cabin. He hoped no one would ask questions—technically, Angela had every right to ask for his services—as he made his way back to the swimming pool. He saw no sign of Carla when he arrived . . . he frowned, unsure what to do. Where was she? Their shift would be over in twenty minutes, and they’d have to report in before they went off duty. And yet . . .

  He found himself smiling, helplessly. He’d just spent an hour with a beautiful girl.

  One who’s getting married, he told himself sternly. All the stories the old sweats had told him paled next to that simple truth. She was just interested in talking to you.

  Still, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Being engaged, Angela had decided shortly after the formal announcement, was even worse than she’d feared. S
he could never be alone. Everyone wanted to compliment her on her forthcoming nuptials, from the starship’s crew to every last guest on Gold Deck. She wanted to run and hide, but Marie was always right behind her. Her mother’s daily chats didn’t make life easier either. When she wasn’t talking about married life in embarrassing detail, she was talking about the importance of making the union work. Angela wasn’t even married yet, and she was already sick of it!

  It was almost a relief, therefore, when the captain held a masked ball the night before planetfall. Angela dressed up as a pirate girl and strode around the dance floor, muttering catchphrases she was fairly sure that no real pirate had ever said. She danced with a dozen different men while Finley chatted to her father in the far corner. Angela was torn between annoyance and relief. On one hand, he was clearly ignoring his bride-to-be in front of everyone; on the other, she was glad to be ignored. Their daily walks down the promenade were boring.

  She swept around the floor, moving from partner to partner with practiced ease. The different costumes didn’t impress her, although she knew they’d probably been stitched together on the ship. A man dressed as a king from a bygone era, a wizard in long white robes, a soldier who couldn’t possibly have worn such an ornate uniform in a real battle . . . she found it hard to care. It was more important to her that they were good dancers. She would have forgiven Finley a great deal if he’d danced with her.

  The night went on, slowly starting to drag. She picked up a plate of food at the buffet and watched with a certain sisterly amusement mingled with envy as Nancy was sent back to the stateroom. No doubt Nancy would take the opportunity to make sure she went the long way home, but at least she would be alone. Or as alone as anyone got on Supreme. Angela had done some research and discovered there was no legitimate way to escape surveillance completely. Removing the telltale wouldn’t be enough to spoof the system.

  She turned as the captain called for silence. He stood on a small podium, wearing his seemingly uncomfortable dress uniform. Angela had worn enough formal clothes to see the signs. And yet there was a confidence about him that she admired. Captain VanGundy was a man who’d done something with his life.

  And I won’t, she thought numbly. I won’t ever get the chance.

  “It has been a lovely evening,” the captain said. “I hope you all enjoyed the dance.”

  A low rumble of assent emerged, mainly from the younger guests. The older ones had spent the evening chatting, either discussing their long-term plans or, more likely, engaging in tedious male bonding. Or whatever the interactions were called when women were involved as well as men.

  “Tomorrow, we will arrive at Williamson’s World,” the captain said. “We will remain in orbit for a week, then depart for our next destination. You will all have ample opportunity to see the sights, if you wish. If not . . . we will be bringing local performers onto the ship. You can watch them from the comfort of your staterooms.”

  Pathetic, Angela thought. She knew very little about Williamson’s World, but she was looking forward to going down to the surface at least to get some fresh air. Why would anyone want to stay on the ship?

  “Remember to read the briefing notes first,” the captain concluded. “Anyone who doesn’t have the right documents will not be permitted to disembark.”

  He stepped down. The music started again, but the captain ignored it. Instead, he walked to the nearest hatch and stepped through. Angela nodded to herself in understanding. The party was now officially over, although some of the younger guests would probably keep dancing and singing into the wee hours. She could leave—everyone could leave—without giving offense.

  Although the captain probably doesn’t want to be here either, she thought. And who could blame him?

  A hand fell on her arm. She jumped.

  “Angela,” Finley said.

  She turned to see him standing behind her, his face looking as bland as ever.

  “Finley,” she said. She struggled to keep her voice calm. She was tired, too tired. Her body was starting to ache. She needed a long bath and sleep, perhaps not in that order. “What do you want?”

  Another flicker crossed Finley’s face. “I would like you to accompany me back to the stateroom,” he said. He held out a hand. “Please?”

  It wasn’t a request, Angela knew. Sure, she could say no and dart back onto the dance floor, but her parents would never let her hear the end of it.

  She held out a hand, reluctantly. Finley took it and slowly guided her towards the main entrance, leading out onto the promenade. Behind her, the MC called the next dance. Angela felt a pang; the song was one of her favorites. Just for a moment, she considered inviting Finley onto the dance floor, but she knew he would never agree. The music cut off behind them as they walked through a sound-dampening field, then down the promenade. It was largely empty save for a handful of people peering out into hyperspace.

  “Hyperspace is creepy,” Finley said. “It makes me feel uneasy.”

  Angela gave him a sharp look. It was the first hint of actual human feeling she’d seen from him, although it was weedy. Finley was going to be related to Nancy, after all. How would he cope with being linked to the first child to be born in hyperspace? She told herself, firmly, that she was being silly. Being born in hyperspace hadn’t given Nancy superpowers or anything else worth having, save for a fame she’d done nothing to deserve. Finley was hardly the only person to feel that hyperspace wasn’t safe for humanity. Just looking out into the eerie lights surrounding the ship made her feel small, insignificant.

  “You’ll get used to it,” she said, a little sharper than she’d intended. How much had she drunk at the ball? She couldn’t recall. There had been at least five glasses of various wines, hadn’t there? “Are you planning to stay on Tyre once we get home?”

  “I think we’ll have to stay on Tyre,” Finley said. “There’s work to be done.”

  Angela looked up. She hadn’t missed the we.

  “Father has taken three months off,” she said as they left the promenade and walked down to the stateroom. A handful of youngsters were splashing in the pool, although it was well past midnight. They’d be awfully cranky in the morning when they went down to the planet. She wondered, absently, just what their parents were doing. “You could do the same.”

  “I doubt it,” Finley said. “There’s work to be done.”

  They reached the stateroom. Angela touched her telltale to the scanner, opening the door. It was dark inside, the lights coming on as she walked into the compartment. She hoped Finley would take the hint and leave—she didn’t want to give him the traditional good-night kiss—but he followed her. Angela was honestly shocked. She didn’t think that Finley had the imagination to be so forward.

  “We need to talk,” Finley said. “Privately.”

  Angela hesitated. She didn’t want to let Finley into her bedroom. She was fairly sure he’d behave himself, but . . . it was her private place. Still, she had no doubt that the servants had already been awakened if they’d been sleeping. Soon, one of the maids or Marie would come to see what they could do for their mistress. She certainly didn’t want to have any discussions in front of her governess.

  “Fine,” she said.

  She opened the door to her bedroom and stepped inside. Boxes lay everywhere, some opened to reveal their contents; dresses and underwear lay spread on the bed. Marie hadn’t been able to get inside to clean up, of course. Angela felt a flicker of embarrassment, which she ruthlessly squashed. She was a slob at times, naturally. Finley had better learn to put up with it if he wanted to marry her.

  “Please, take a seat,” she said, clearing a pile of underwear from one of the chairs. She’d hoped to provoke some kind of reaction, but she saw nothing. Not normal, she decided as he sat down. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “We’re going to be married,” Finley said.

  “So it seems,” Angela agreed. She remembered what her mother said. Finley seemed to present one fa
ce to her father and another to her. She suddenly realized that she might not know Finley as well as she thought. She might not know him at all. “It might have been pointed out, once or twice.”

  Finley didn’t smile. “A great deal rests on this match,” he said. “I believe your father might have mentioned it to you.”

  Angela couldn’t quite keep the dismay off her face. She’d been lectured by her father, her mother, and several distant relatives who just happened to be on Supreme. She could practically parrot the lectures back to them. Was Finley going to lecture her too? She was damned if she was taking it from her husband. It was bad enough hearing lectures from old biddies who had nothing better to do but ask when she was going to have children.

  “He did,” she said.

  Her mind raced. How much did Finley actually know? Did he realize just how much was actually resting on the match? Or did he think that Angela’s family had other options? She had no way to ask without giving away the secret . . . if, of course, it actually was a secret. Her father might be able to handle the complex mixture of intrigue and lies that pervaded the corporate world, but she couldn’t. Angela silently promised herself that she would do everything in her power to start learning once she got home. Ignorance was no defense against reality.

  “Your family needs this match,” Finley said. His voice made her blood run cold. “And so does mine.”

  “Yeah,” Angela said. She felt out of her depth. “I know.”

  She forced herself to think. Who was dependent on whom? Finley’s family would take a hit if the Cavendish Corporation collapsed. She was sure of that, but would the failure destroy them? She didn’t know. If it would, then the two families were locked together; if it wouldn’t, Finley had more leverage than he perhaps realized. She cursed her own ignorance again. She just didn’t know enough to make a reasonable guess, let alone gamble for the very highest stakes.

  “We must make this marriage work,” Finley said. “We cannot afford to be distracted.”

  Angela felt a hot flash of anger. She was going to marry him. She was going to marry him . . . and he was talking to her like she was a particularly stupid child?