The Hyperspace Trap

by Christopher Nuttall

  Paul didn’t understand. Chartering a vessel would be an awkward precedent, particularly if it happened time and time again. That was true enough. But Corporate regularly handled vast sums of money. Hiring a smaller ship, even a courier boat, to take a stasis pod from one world to another wouldn’t cost that much in the grand scheme of things.

  He took another sip of his coffee. It was . . . unusual . . . for Corporate to refuse to spend money. They regularly paid premium rates for expensive wine, natural meats . . . even expensive coffee. God knew it was unlikely that anyone would be able to tell the difference between natural and vat-grown meat, but Corporate insisted. Perhaps the accountants had finally managed to put a brake on the spending at the worst possible time. All those expensive bottles of wine added up very quickly.

  Not that quickly, he told himself.

  He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I trust you have enjoyed the cruise so far, My Lord,” he said. “Or is there anything we can do to improve your experience?”

  Cavendish smiled humorlessly. “I have been working for most of the cruise,” he said. “I haven’t had time to enjoy myself.”

  Paul kept his face expressionless. That didn’t sound good. And yet, if there was a real problem, why would Robert Cavendish go on a three-month cruise? Perhaps he was just using the time to plan out the next twenty years or so of corporate development. The war was over, and now, with the Commonwealth expanding into the Jorlem Sector and Theocratic Space, the Big Twelve had a lot of work. Cavendish would be at the forefront of reconstruction.

  “I hope you’ll have time to sample some of our wares,” Paul said instead. “This is a pleasure cruise.”

  His wristcom bleeped before he could say another word. He keyed it sharply. “Go ahead.”

  “Captain, this is Commander Macpherson,” Tidal said. “We may have a situation.”

  Paul felt his blood turn to ice. His crew knew whom he’d invited to breakfast. They wouldn’t interrupt unless it was urgent. And that meant real trouble.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. He rose, closing the connection. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

  “I quite understand,” Robert Cavendish said. “Please, see to your ship.”

  Paul nodded, then strode through the hatch onto the bridge. The main display was right in front of him, showing two red icons steadily approaching Supreme. He couldn’t be sure, thanks to hyperspace, but they looked to be light cruisers . . .

  “Two contacts on approach vector, sir,” Tidal said. She rose, offering him the command chair. “They just came into sensor range now.”

  “Sound quiet alert,” Paul ordered. The guests wouldn’t be told, not yet. Hopefully the whole affair would be settled before they had a chance to panic. “Do we have any ID?”

  “No, sir,” Tidal said. “There’s too much distortion to get a clear image. I’d say they were prewar junk, but I can’t prove it.”

  Not that it matters, Paul thought. He sat. A prewar cruiser could still blow us to atoms if it wished.

  He gritted his teeth as he contemplated the vectors. Two ships . . . it was remotely possible that they were friendly, but the odds were against it. Britannia wouldn’t have dispatched two warships to escort Supreme, not if they weren’t willing to send warships to pick up Roman Bryon. No, they were either pirates or the ragtag remains of the Theocratic Navy. He couldn’t afford to assume anything less.

  “Prepare to alter course,” he ordered. “Stand by to deploy two ECM drones.”

  “Aye, sir,” Rani said.

  Paul watched as her proposed course appeared on the display. It wasn’t quite straight away from the pirates, but close enough to ensure that they’d have problems recovering Supreme if they lost her. The standard tactical manual insisted that starships shouldn’t run in a straight line, although the cynical side of his mind pointed out that the pirates presumably had read the same manuals. But they’d still have to guess the starship’s vector . . .

  “Deploy drones,” he ordered. “Alter course on my mark.” He braced himself. “Mark!”

  Supreme slowly, far too slowly, altered course. A cruiser or a battlecruiser, perhaps even a superdreadnought, would have been able to turn on a dime, but not his wallowing sow of a liner. The pirates were getting closer. They might not lose their lock on her hull if they got too close. Hyperspace would amplify the ECM—the pirates would suddenly find themselves chasing a multitude of targets—but they might not be fooled for long.

  We have to find cover, he thought. Crashing back into realspace wasn’t an option. The pirates would have no trouble locating them. We could . . .

  “Captain,” Tidal snapped. “I’m picking up a third unknown ship, directly ahead of us!”

  Paul swore. The pirates had gotten lucky, insanely lucky. Or they’d managed to get a better lock on his hull than he’d assumed. Either way, Supreme was in trouble.

  “Sound red alert,” he ordered. “Helm, alter course, bearing . . .”

  Rani coughed as the new course took shape on the display. “Sir, there’s an energy distortion in that direction.”

  “Do it,” Paul snapped. She was right, but he didn’t have time to argue. Supreme could not afford an encounter with one pirate ship, let alone three. The energy distortion would provide some cover, he hoped. “We need cover.”

  “Aye, sir,” Rani said.

  “ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. RETURN TO YOUR CABINS AT ONCE. I SAY AGAIN, RETURN TO YOUR CABINS AT ONCE!”

  Matt jumped, then glanced at his wristcom. An emergency alert was flashing, warning him to be ready to move if necessary. If he hadn’t been in the shower, then he wouldn’t have missed it. Cursing, he yanked on his jacket and ran for the hatch. He had to be at his emergency station now, or he’d be in deep shit when the crisis, whatever it was, came to an end. Other stewards and crew ran past him as the alarms howled louder, shaking his very bones. This wasn’t a drill.

  He reached his duty station and skidded to a halt. Carla was already there, taking an emergency pack from Falcon. The older man shoved one at Matt, motioning for him to check the pack. Matt unbuttoned it, making sure the stunner and other pieces of kit were clearly visible.

  “Put on your stunner,” Falcon yelled. He had to shout to be heard over the deafening alarm. “Hurry!”

  Matt nodded, checking the power cell and then strapping the stunner to his belt. He’d been trained how to use the weapon but had never used it in real life. Sweat ran down his back as the other stewards joined them, some clearly woken up from sleep. A low vibration ran through Supreme, warning them that the ship was changing course. Matt’s blood ran cold.

  “RETURN TO YOUR CABINS!” the alerts kept repeating. Matt could feel his head starting to pound. “THIS IS AN EMERGENCY SITUATION. RETURN TO YOUR CABINS!”

  “Move out,” Falcon shouted. “The casino has to be cleared.”

  The stewards hurried through the hatch and into the guest section. Hundreds of guests ran past them, some carrying children and infants, others glancing around in panic as though they’d lost someone. A set of nude swimmers were dripping wet as they fled, their hands covering their private parts as best as they could.

  The casino was a nightmare, jam-packed with guests shouting and screaming at the tops of their voices. Matt couldn’t keep track of the different arguments—the constant howling made the task impossible—but he thought he had the general idea. They all thought they were going to break the bank and that their rivals had somehow triggered the alert.

  “Move,” Falcon shouted. His voice was barely audible over the alarms. “You have to return to your cabins!”

  “I’m not leaving,” a fat man shouted. He clutched a set of cards to his chest protectively. “I was winning!”

  “You have to leave,” Falcon said. He drew his stunner and zapped the man. Matt watched him crumple to the deck. The move was draconic but got the point across. “Now!”

  Matt gritted his teeth as the crowd slowly b
roke up, muttering dark threats about lawyers and lawsuits. One of them even waved a terminal in Matt’s face, getting a snapshot for later use. The photo wouldn’t do him any good, Matt was sure. Normal procedures were suspended during an alert. The lawyers would either advise the passenger to drop the case out of court or let him go broke trying to win. Besides, Matt hadn’t stunned the fat man.

  And Falcon will be in the clear, he thought.

  The alarms stopped howling as the last guest left the casino. Matt allowed himself a moment of relief, even though his ears were ringing. Emergency notes were still sounding, red lights still flashing . . . the emergency, whatever it was, wasn’t over. He glanced at his wristcom, but there was no update from the bridge. He suspected that wasn’t good news. If the bridge crew were too busy to update the stewards . . .

  “There’s a handful of others still out of their cabins,” Falcon called. “Dispatch will give you the details. Go chase them back into their cabins.”

  Matt exchanged glances with Carla, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The promenade seemed weirder, he decided, as they hurried down the passage. Hyperspace looked . . . strange. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Describing hyperspace was far from easy, but something was there, nagging at the back of his mind. He wanted to stay and stare, yet he knew there wasn’t time. The decks had to be cleared.

  “Perhaps we’ll find Finley Mackintosh out of his cabin,” Carla teased. “Wouldn’t you like to stun him?”

  Matt ignored her as they peered into a small room. A pair of teenagers were cuddling, wearing VR suits. Matt felt a flicker of disgust mingled with a certain kind of wry amusement. There was something . . . silly . . . about making love to one person while pretending to be making love to someone else. But at least their lovemaking explained why they hadn’t heard the alarms.

  Carla stepped forward and tapped the off switches. “There’s an emergency,” she stated as the couple stared at her in shock. Being yanked out of the sim had to be slightly disorientating at best. “You have to go back to your cabins!”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Matt said. He did his best to sound gentle. The couple didn’t need to be pressured, not while they were still trying to work out what was real and what wasn’t. “Leave your gear here and go back to your cabins.”

  He watched them go, then glanced at the VR helmets. “He was banging a pop star and she was banging an actor,” he said. “Go figure.”

  “I imagine it’s easier that way,” Carla said. She stuck out her tongue. “No drama.”

  Matt elbowed her. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Carla nodded as the dispatcher located a handful of other wandering souls. Two were sleeping on the promenade—Matt was privately impressed they’d managed to sleep through the alert—and a third was clearly sulking. He ordered all three of them back to their cabins, half wishing he could join them. Or go find Angela. She had to be out of her mind with fear.

  “This isn’t a drill,” Carla said. She sounded worried. “What is it?”

  Matt had no idea. If there had been a major drive failure, the captain would have ordered a crash-transit back into realspace. Hyperspace would murder an unpowered ship, even if the energy surge didn’t trigger a storm. But something else . . . pirates? Suddenly the horror stories he’d heard about pirate crews boarding merchant ships seemed alarmingly plausible.

  Carla caught his arm. “Matt, promise me something,” she said. She met his eyes. “If it’s pirates, don’t let them take me alive.”

  “I . . .” Matt swallowed, hard. Angela and Nancy and the other upper-class passengers would probably be safe. They’d be held for ransom, but they wouldn’t be hurt. Carla and the other stewards . . . fair game. Corporate wouldn’t ransom any of the crew. The pirates would rape and kill the stewards for laughs. “If I have to.”

  “You will,” Carla said. She sounded as if she was on the verge of panic. “I won’t let them take me alive.”

  Matt nodded. He didn’t want to be taken alive either.

  Angela covered her ears as the alarms grew louder, then slowly made her way to the inner door and into the antechamber. She wanted to stay and hide, to think of some way to escape her fate, but she understood that she had to make sure everyone knew where she was. Marie was sitting on the sofa, her face cold and hard. Angela glared at her, not bothering to hide her dislike. One way or another, Marie wouldn’t be her problem much longer.

  “Sit down,” Marie ordered. Somehow, she managed to be heard over the sound of alarm bells ringing. Her stern face dared Angela to argue with her. “Now.”

  Angela sat down, rubbing her wrist slowly. The pain was almost gone, but enough remained to remind her of everything that had happened. She forced herself to think, to distract herself from the incessant alarms . . . perhaps as a married woman she could gain control of household management and use the situation to her advantage . . . Finley wasn’t going to be interested. The rich generally hired managers to run their houses for them.

  Perhaps we can’t afford it, Angela thought. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought, but it was something. Besides, it helped keep her mind off the emergency. Or . . .

  She looked up as Nancy stumbled towards the sofa, eyes wide. The younger girl looked scared . . . no, terrified. Her entire body trembled like a leaf. Angela reached out and guided her sister to sit down next to her, then wrapped an arm around Nancy’s shoulder.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she said, although she didn’t have the slightest idea what was happening. A drill . . . no, she didn’t think anyone would run a drill now. The disruption would be immense. She could feel the deck thrumming under her feet. Something was clearly wrong. “We’ll be fine.”

  “No, we won’t,” Nancy whispered.

  Angela hugged her sister more tightly, trying not to be scared. Everyone had told her that the cruise was safe. Pirates wouldn’t dare to attack Supreme, right? Maybe there had been an engine failure. Her imagination provided a dozen scenarios, each one more shadowy than the last. She told herself, firmly, not to say them out loud. Nancy was already scared to death.

  “I can hear them,” Nancy whispered. Another shiver ran through the ship. Angela heard the drive throbbing louder and louder. “Can’t you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “The enemy ships are altering course,” Tidal warned. “I don’t think the drones fooled them.”

  Paul gritted his teeth. It looked as though she was right.

  “Hold us steady,” he ordered stiffly. “Take us along the edge of the distortion.”

  He forced himself to think despite his steadily growing alarm. Three pirate ships, any one of which could presumably batter Supreme into an air-streaming hulk if it wished. The distortion might hide his ship long enough for the pirates to lose interest and back off, but he doubted it. If they had any idea of the prize awaiting them, and he assumed they did, they’d spend weeks prowling the edge of the distortion, looking for the liner. The ransom for Robert Cavendish alone would be enough to buy a new starship.

  “The distortion is growing stronger,” Rani warned. A dull vibration ran through the ship as a distortion wave crashed into the hull. “It’s reacting to our presence.”

  Paul swore under his breath. The distortion wasn’t a full-blown energy storm, but it was still powerful enough to do serious damage to his ship. They might be crippled if they even brushed against the edge of the distortion, forced to rely on the pirates for rescue. Or the pirates might simply back off and leave them to die. No one would know to come looking for some time. Supreme had already been off the main transit lanes when the pirates revealed themselves.

  No, they won’t leave us alone, he thought. They’ll take the richest prizes and leave the rest of us to die.

  “Hosting confirms that the passengers are all in their quarters,” Jeanette said. Her face floated in his display. She looked worried. “They’re bombarding the crew with questions.”

  “Say
nothing,” Paul ordered. The last thing he needed was panic. He’d have let the passengers continue partying if he hadn’t needed to clear the passageways. “Just tell them to remain in their quarters.”

  “Pirates are altering course again,” Tidal reported. “They’ll be within weapons range in seventeen minutes.”

  Paul nodded slowly. The pirates might be reluctant to open fire in hyperspace because a standard warhead could trigger an energy storm. He considered, briefly, trying to trigger an energy storm himself, but Supreme wasn’t fast enough to escape. A crash-transit might be possible if they used the storm for cover, but it would be chancy. Supreme just didn’t have the flexibility of a warship.

  We should have built her on a battlecruiser hull, he thought. He’d seen the proposals, back during his retraining. Corporate had asked him to comment on them. If nothing else, a battlecruiser hull would look like a real battlecruiser. We might have been able to get the hell out of town.

  “Hold her steady,” he ordered.

  He felt the tension rising as the enemy ships drew closer. Skirting the edge of the distortion would make it difficult for the pirates to localize Supreme. And yet . . . he knew it was just a matter of time. Flying away from the distortion would allow the pirates to run them down, while flying into the distortion would be certain death. Part of him suspected the latter course would be the better option. Corporate wasn’t going to ransom his crew. He’d seen the aftermath of enough pirate attacks to know that death might be preferable.

  Another quiver ran through the ship. “Captain, the distortion is building in intensity,” Tidal said. She sounded perplexed. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”