The Hyperspace Trap

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Get undressed,” she hissed.

  She pulled at his trousers even as his hands started undoing her shirt. His fingers felt like magic on her breasts, her nipples hardening as he stroked them gently. She felt a flush of desire mingled with satisfaction as he did as he was told. She was in charge. He kissed her again and again as his hands roamed downward. She gasped in pleasure as they moved inside her panties and stroked her sex, his hardness suddenly pressing against her . . .

  She could wait no longer. “Take me to bed. Now.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Matt awoke, slowly.

  His body felt . . . odd. His memories were a jumbled mess. He was tired, but it was a good sort of tiredness. His eyes opened . . .

  He jerked awake. He wasn’t in his bunk. He was in a Gold Deck cabin. And . . . he sat upright and turned his head, unsure what he would see. Angela Cavendish lay next to him, fast asleep. Her chest rose and fell in time with her breathing; her golden hair fanned out like a halo. Matt stared at her, his heart starting to pound as he remembered all the things they’d done. Angela had been the most determined, desperate lover he’d ever had. She’d done things he hadn’t known were possible.

  I fucked her, he thought dazedly. I fucked her.

  Something bleeped. His wristcom . . . he looked around, unsure where it had gone in all the excitement. He wasn’t even sure when he’d taken it off. The device bleeped again, telling him that it was buried under a pile of clothes. He stumbled out of bed, picking up the wristcom. Both Carla and Falcon had sent him messages asking where he was. He suspected that his supervisor had checked the security sensors after sending the second message. The questions had cut off rather sharply.

  He knows where I was, he thought. And that means . . . ?

  Matt wasn’t entirely sure. Carla had told him that the passengers came first, so if a steward happened to be lured into one of their beds, the affair wouldn’t be held against him, but Matt wasn’t sure he wanted to gamble on that. Falcon had every reason to be pissed. Matt hadn’t sent a message to indicate what was going on, let alone that he might be late for his next duty shift. He tapped out a message quickly, then turned back to the bed, suddenly unsure of himself. Should he stay? Or sneak out . . . he didn’t know. Part of him was insistent that he should stay with Angela.

  She opened her eyes. “Matt . . .”

  Too late, he thought.

  Angela smiled at him. Matt thought, just for a moment, that he was looking into the sun. She was utterly gorgeous, utterly stunning, so utterly beautiful that . . . he couldn’t believe everything they’d done together. His eyes dropped to her breasts . . . had he really licked and fondled them? Had he . . .

  “Come here,” Angela said. “Now.”

  Afterwards, Matt headed for the shower. It wasn’t entirely a surprise when Angela followed him, walking naked across the corridor as un-self-consciously as a cat. He could barely keep his eyes off her, even as he turned on the shower and water splashed down to rinse them both clean. She was real.

  He found himself tongue-tied as he dressed, wishing he’d had a change of clothes. Or even of underwear . . . Angela didn’t have anything he could borrow. And yet . . . he pushed the thought aside, unsure what to say. Was this a one-night stand? Or would she invite him again and again until Supreme returned to Tyre? Or would their liaison be permanent? Cold logic and stories from the old sweats told him that no shipboard romance lasted past the romance, and certainly not when the partners came from such different spheres.

  Angela smiled as she pulled on a set of simple clothes. Matt wondered, as the postcoital bliss continued to wear off, if she’d thought about the future at all. Maybe she didn’t think she had to think about it. Maybe it had all been a one-night stand for her. Someone in her shoes would have no trouble finding a different partner every night. She could work her way through the stewards, male and female alike. The thought caused him a pang, one he didn’t want to look at too closely. He liked Angela more than was good for him.

  “We’ll go out the back door,” Angela said. She shot him a smirk that suggested she was enjoying her game. “You can escort me to breakfast, then go.”

  Matt bowed politely. “Very well,” he said. He wondered what that meant. “You can always send me a message through the datanet.”

  He opened the door. “Finally,” a male voice said. “I . . . who are you?”

  Matt stared. Who . . . ?

  “Finley,” Angela squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think a better question would be, what is he doing here?” Finley said. He jabbed a finger at Matt. “Get out.”

  Matt stared back at him. Finley looked . . . angry. His face, normally colorless, was flushed; his delicate hands were clenched into fists. Matt was sure he could take the man in a fight, but what would happen if he did? Corporate wouldn’t even bother listening to his side of the story before they dismissed him, if he was lucky. Being dumped on Britannia might be the best possible outcome.

  But he didn’t want to leave Angela alone with him.

  Finley’s gaze tightened. “You will get out,” he snapped. “You will never talk to Angela again. If you do, I will destroy your career. Do you understand me?”

  Matt glanced at Angela. She looked aghast. Matt honestly didn’t know what to do. Finley was showing all the danger signs, all the warnings stewards had been taught to watch for so they knew when to intervene in a dispute. And yet . . . he didn’t think Finley’s threat was an idle one. He was more than powerful enough to destroy Matt’s career.

  Angela cleared her throat. “Jack, go,” she said. It took Matt a moment to realize she’d given him a false name. She sounded angry too, but far from defeated. “Just . . . go.”

  Matt silently damned himself as he walked past Finley, expecting a blow at any moment, and strode down to the access hatch. Angela had told him to go, yet he felt as though he were running out on her. And he was . . . leaving her with someone who looked as though he was going to start throwing punches. He wanted to turn back, to watch from a distance in case she needed help, but he knew it wasn’t possible. His career . . .

  You didn’t think of that when you let her take you to bed, he thought numbly. You knew she was getting married.

  He gritted his teeth as he made his way down to the wardroom. Angela had known she was getting married, and yet she’d still taken him to bed. And yet . . . he kicked himself for a fool as he walked into the wardroom. Carla was rubbing cream on her face as he entered. She was clearly getting ready for her next shift.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Carla said. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to face him. “Where were you last night?”

  “I think I fucked up,” Matt said. He sat down on the bunk and checked his wristcom. Falcon had changed his duty shift, putting him in the casino in the afternoon. “I fucked, and then I fucked up.”

  Carla face-palmed. “Don’t tell me . . .”

  Matt wished that was an option. But he needed advice. “I slept with her,” he said. There was no need to give names. “And then her fiancé caught us.”

  “Fuck me,” Carla said. She banged her palm into her forehead again. “You slept with her, then you got caught?”

  “Yeah,” Matt said.

  Carla eyed him for a long moment, her bare breasts bouncing in front of Matt’s eyes. He felt nothing.

  “You,” Carla said finally, “are a fucking idiot.”

  “I know,” Matt said.

  “You have got to stop thinking with your dick, you . . . you man,” she snapped. “Now you’re in deep fucking trouble.”

  “I know,” Matt said again.

  Carla leaned back, one finger tracing out a line on her cheek. “You were caught by someone who could purchase a million horny dickheads like you,” she said. It looked as if she had a faint mark on her bare shoulders. “You were—”

  “He said he’d have my career if he saw me talking to her again,” Matt said. “I don’t know what
to do.”

  Carla drew back her hand and slapped Matt across the face, just hard enough to sting. “This is what you are going to do,” she said. “You are going to pretend she doesn’t exist. If you have to interact with her, you stay professional . . . fuck . . . go ask Falcon for a transfer to Silver or even Bronze. You don’t have anything to do with her. You don’t talk to her, much less fuck her.”

  Matt swallowed. “I . . .”

  “I’ve met that bastard,” Carla added. It took Matt a moment to understand she meant Finley Mackintosh. “He won’t hesitate to destroy you completely if he thinks you’re a threat. This is not some goddamned stupid romcom where the poor suitor beats the rich suitor. You cannot fight him for her. Your entire fucking career is at risk because you thought with your fucking dick rather than your fucking brain!”

  She paused, gasping for breath. “Come on, Matt,” she said. “Is it really worth throwing away everything for a spoiled brat of a girl?”

  “She’s not spoiled,” Matt protested.

  “I guarantee you that she is,” Carla said. Her voice rose. “Did you get everything you wanted as a child? Did I? Hell no! She did. Her parents could buy her anything from a stable of ponies to a private starship of her own! And they did! To her, you’re just a cunt stimulator on legs!”

  Matt recoiled in shock. “She isn’t—”

  “I know the type,” Carla said. She pointed a finger at Matt’s crotch. “She doesn’t give a damn about you. You’re just an object to her. And if you value your career, perhaps even your life, you will stay the fuck away from her.”

  She reached for her bra and pulled it on. “Get changed; then grab some breakfast,” she said as she checked her appearance in the mirror. Matt watched her dully. “And then remember what I said. Stay away from her!”

  Matt sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Carla snapped a muffled swear word as she pulled on her jumper. “Haven’t you been listening? Stay away from her!”

  She glowered at Matt, then walked to the hatch. Matt watched her go, feeling . . . he didn’t know how he felt. Harsh logic suggested that Carla was right, but . . . he thought Angela and he had something more. Could that just be his hormones talking?

  Of course you want to sleep with her again, his thoughts said. But is it really worth the risk?

  He cursed. He had no answer.

  Angela looked at Finley as Matt hurried down the corridor, feeling a stark, burning rage that threatened to overcome her. Finley’s face was hot, his fists clenched . . . she wondered, suddenly, if this was the first true glimpse of emotion he’d shown her. How much of his emotionless face was a mask?

  He stepped forward, entering the cabin and closing the hatch behind him. Angela realized, a moment too late, that she should have tried to close the portal. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she followed Finley’s gaze around the room. She and Matt had been very busy. The signs were everywhere.

  “Tell me something,” Finley said. His voice was calm, so calm she knew it was an act. “What were you thinking?”

  Angela drew herself up to her full height, crossing her arms. “You don’t own me,” she said. “We’re not even married yet!”

  “You shouldn’t be doing anything that might call our marriage into question,” Finley said. He leaned forward, looming over her. For the first time, she felt a trickle of fear. “You whoring around with a . . . a . . .”

  “As opposed to whoring myself for the family?” Angela demanded. “Or marrying someone for the good of the corporation?”

  Finley recoiled, almost as if she’d slapped him. “You . . . that’s different!”

  Angela pressed her advantage. “How?”

  “You and I are getting married, despite our opinions,” Finley snarled. He didn’t seem to have a good answer. “I don’t care if you love or hate me. God knows I don’t like you. But our families need the match, and I will not let you ruin it.”

  “You don’t like me,” Angela said. “What do you like?”

  Finley ignored the question. “This is the most important match in history,” he added. “You will—”

  Angela laughed. “What about the marriage between the king and that runaway princess?” Her circle had been faux outraged about the whole affair. They’d always assumed the king would choose a bride from the nobility. God knew there had been rumors about King Hadrian and Kat Falcone being secret lovers. “Or Baron Argyle and that woman from the wrong side of the street, or . . . ?”

  “It is the most important match for our families, then,” Finley barked. He loomed closer, forcing her to take a step backward. “You will not ruin it.”

  “Our match will not be ruined by us having an open relationship,” Angela snapped back. She’d wanted to see some sign of feeling from Finley, but this . . . she gritted her teeth in fury. She was not going to put up with this. “You do not own me. I will bear your children, as stipulated in the marriage contract, but nothing else. We will live apart . . . you can handle your boring job while I—”

  “Take lovers from the lower classes?” Finley asked. “Will I come home one day to find you in bed with the gardener and his wife?”

  Angela felt a hot flash of anger. “I will do as I please!”

  “No, you won’t,” Finley corrected. “You’ll do as your parents want.”

  “So will you,” Angela snapped back. “You don’t want this match any more than I do!”

  “We all have to make sacrifices,” Finley said. “I will not take part in a farce of a marriage.”

  “It’s already a farce,” Angela sneered. “You want to marry me about as much as I want to marry you!”

  Finley reddened. “Yes,” he said. “That’s true. I don’t want to marry you. But you know what? I have to marry you. I have to make it look as though the relationship is working! If we are together, bound by blood, our families will remain bound together. If we are separate, our enemies will scent weakness and move in for the kill.”

  “And if that happens,” Angela whispered, “at least I will be free of you.”

  Finley lifted a hand. For a moment, she honestly thought he was going to hit her. Part of her even thought it might be a good thing. The violence would be a major scandal; her father could use the incident as leverage to get concessions out of Finley’s family. But would it be enough to save her family? She rather suspected that the Mackintoshes would sooner throw Finley to the wolves than give up a major advantage.

  “Countless lives depend on our marriage,” he hissed. He lowered his hand, slowly. “Are you prepared to threaten them because of your selfishness?”

  “I’m not selfish,” Angela snapped.

  “You are a little brat who never grew up,” Finley said. “You don’t bother to think about the consequences of your actions. How many times have you gone through rehab?”

  “Never!”

  “Oh, there’s a surprise,” Finley mocked. He made a visible attempt to calm down. “You will behave yourself for the rest of the voyage . . . and married life.”

  “Oh,” Angela mocked. “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll destroy your fuck-toy, for a start,” Finley said. “And I’ll—”

  Angela slapped him. Or tried to. He caught her wrist before her palm could make contact.

  She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out. Finley was stronger than he looked.

  “This is not a game,” Finley said. He pushed her backward, squeezing her wrist hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. “I don’t want this any more than you do, but you will behave.”

  “Let go of me,” Angela managed. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt pain, but it was the first time anyone had deliberately hurt her. Her parents had never lifted a hand to her. “Finley, please . . .”

  He let go. “Remember what I said,” he told her. “This match has to work.”

  He turned and stalked out of the hatch, closing it firmly behind him. Angela stared down at her wrist, rubbing it gently. The pain was al
ready fading. She looked up at the hatch, feeling fear trickling down her back. Finley . . . she’d never liked him, but she’d never thought he could be so angry.

  “Fuck,” she said. Whom could she count on? No one. Her sister was too young to help, and everyone else had their own agendas. “What do I do now?”

  And then the emergency alarms started to howl.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Having a serial killer on the ship is a little inconvenient, I agree,” Robert Cavendish said as he buttered a piece of toast. “But is it really a serious problem if he’s in stasis? I was given to understand that a person couldn’t escape a stasis field?”

  “It’s the precedent that matters, My Lord,” Paul said. He’d invited Cavendish to a private breakfast, partly so he could lobby the older man. “The treaties were written and signed before interstellar travel became so common. It wouldn’t have been hard to charter a ship for Britannia or even hold the trial on Williamson’s World if Britannia declined to pay.”

  “It would have cost money,” Cavendish said. His lips quirked. “I dare say Williamson’s World would have been less than enthusiastic about spending their own money on the prisoner transfer. Or even holding a potentially innocent prisoner.”

  Paul sipped his coffee, puzzled. Corporate . . . and Robert Cavendish . . . seemed to be deliberately overlooking the risk. No one would be happy if they knew there was a serial killer onboard Supreme, even if the monster remained in stasis for the entire trip. Indeed, he was sure that rumors were already leaking out. Corporate might find itself with a public-relations nightmare on its hands.

  At least they can’t blame it on me, he thought. He’d taken care to document that he’d protested the decision, up to and including sending copies of his messages to time-locked archive sites. It wasn’t something he would have done in the navy, but he didn’t think the navy would have been quite so quick to start looking for a scapegoat.

  He took a breath. “Might I ask why Corporate decided not to argue the point?”

  “There were politics involved,” Cavendish said. “On one hand, the danger of transporting a known criminal had to be taken into account. On the other, a willingness to disregard the treaties would probably have come back to haunt us in short order. Dismantling the treaties, or even having them rewritten, will take months of high-level talks.” He took a bite of his toast. “Chartering a ship would have been cheaper,” he added. “But we didn’t want to set a precedent.”