“They were,” Paul confirmed. “And we’re desperate too.”
Roeder took a breath. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ve inspected the records from Gladys. With your permission, Captain, I’d like to dispatch recovery teams to scavenge power cells and whatever else we can find from the hulk. We need power cells, even if they are drained.”
“Granted,” Paul said. He looked at Jeanette. “Did the doctor’s autopsy reveal anything useful?”
“Nothing we wanted to know,” Jeanette said. “According to her report, the corpse was apparently . . . well, desiccated. It looked to have been dried out completely, utterly drained of energy. The body practically collapsed into dust when touched.”
Slater gave her a look. “What can do something like that?”
Jeanette gazed back at him. “Whatever’s draining our power cells,” she said. “There’s something oddly intelligent about the . . . the whole thing.”
“It might be just a side effect of this region of space,” Slater pointed out. “People do have problems when the environment changes sharply . . .”
“Not like this,” Jeanette said. She waved her notebook at him. “So far, twenty-two crewmen and seventeen passengers, including Nancy Cavendish, have reported hearing indistinct voices. We’re all seeing things at the corners of our eyes. Something’s out there, Captain.”
“There does seem to be an intelligence behind the damage we suffered as we fell through the distortion,” Roeder said slowly. “The damage wasn’t enough to breach the hull. Most of the injuries or deaths came from accidents like people falling into bulkheads. Anyone powerful enough to generate and use a hyperspace storm would have no difficulty ripping us to atoms if that’s what they wanted to do.”
Paul lethargically shook his head. Unbelievable. Two days ago, he’d known there was no such thing as aliens. None of the tall tales he’d heard were remotely convincing. And now . . . the ships drifting through the graveyard were stark proof that alien life did exist beyond the edge of explored space. Perhaps the idea of powerful beings who’d yanked his crew into their domain wasn’t completely unbelievable after all.
“If this is true,” he said, “where are they?”
Jeanette looked uncomfortable. “The Brethren believe that they’re waiting for us to come to them,” she said. “I caught several of them preaching to the crowd. I think they’re winning converts.”
Slater snorted. “Captain, with all due respect, I don’t think we’re dealing with space gods,” he said. “Their actions do not suggest any desire for peaceful contact.”
A light danced at the corner of Paul’s sight. “No, they don’t,” he agreed. “So where are they?”
He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps there were hostile aliens lurking somewhere in the greenish light. Or perhaps they were just imagining things, assuming an order to the universe that didn’t exist. Hyperspace was a strange place.
“Perhaps they’re native to hyperspace,” Roeder suggested. “And if that’s the case, sir, they might be beyond our ability to perceive them.”
“Nonsense,” Slater said.
“Imagine you’re a crab, living in a rocky pool on the beach,” Roeder said. “You’re limited to the pool; you don’t even know there are other pools. And then you clamber onto the beach and see . . . well, you don’t know what you see. Those giant feet running around, shaking the ground underneath you. You don’t know that they’re children. You think they’re monsters if you somehow manage to look up and take in the sight. It’s much more likely that you’ll be running from them as fast as you can.”
Jeanette smiled. “My mother always said they were more scared of me than I was of them.”
“You’re much bigger than a crab,” Roeder pointed out. “How is the little beastie meant to comprehend you? You come from different realms.”
“I take your point,” Paul said. He frowned. “The lights we’ve been seeing . . . is that them?”
“I don’t know,” Roeder said. “Captain, this is remarkably unprecedented.”
Paul nodded. “We’ll continue our plans to escape,” he said. “Mr. Roeder, feel free to organize scavenging missions to Gladys and any other human ship you discover. I’d prefer not to board an alien ship unless we have no choice.”
“It would be a shame not to look,” Roeder said. “Some of those ships are clearly hundreds of years ahead of us.”
And they didn’t manage to escape either, Paul thought.
He kept that to himself. “Jeanette, I want you to start organizing the guests into work parties,” he said. “Keep them busy, whatever it takes. If there’s anyone with medical or military experience, send them to Sickbay or security. Everyone else . . . we have a lot of corridors to clear.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeanette said. She frowned. “I think we’ll run out of work for them to do.”
“Then we’ll give them busywork,” Paul said. “Mr. Slater, I want you to read this logbook carefully, particularly the final sections. We may have similar problems over the next few days. Warn your men to be careful.”
“Aye, Captain,” Slater said. “I have to warn you that our ability to control the crowd is currently limited. Stunners are offline, it seems. If the guests turn nasty, we might be unable to keep them from doing real damage.”
“That leads to my next point,” Paul said. “The command deck and engineering sections are to be completely sealed off. No one who isn’t on the access list is to be allowed to enter, and yes, that includes most of the crew. I don’t want anyone to have a chance to sabotage the power cells.”
Roeder blinked. “Captain . . . are you saying that someone might want us to stay here?”
Paul pointed at the logbook. “Read it,” he said. “Some of Gladys’s crew wanted to stay here too.”
“They must have been mad,” Jeanette breathed.
“I think that was the point,” Paul said. He yawned. “I think . . . I think that whatever is sapping our power cells is sapping us too. Sleep deprivation can do unfortunate things to people after a few days.”
“Less than that,” Slater said. “How many guests have the actual experience of staying up on watch?”
“Very few,” Paul said. “We can check the records . . .” He shook his head. The records were inaccessible now. They’d just have to hope.
“We’ll keep them working,” he said. “Jeanette, make sure they know that they have to work to eat. I want them concentrating on working, not plotting trouble.”
“I’m sure that half the lawsuits are already written,” Jeanette said. “You do know we have a small army of lawyers on the ship?”
“As long as we’re trapped, I have authority to do whatever it takes to keep my passengers and crew alive,” Paul said. “If we get home, I dare say the naval attorneys will agree with me.”
He sighed, remembering what Robert Cavendish had told him. Corporate was in no state to defend itself, not if a horde of lawyers was battering down their doors. They might win the case, as there was legal precedent that granted commanding officers vast powers in an emergency, only to lose the corporation anyway. They’d probably try to scapegoat Paul for everything . . .
Which won’t do them any good, he thought wryly. It isn’t as if I could afford to pay billions in damages. Corporate would still get the bill.
“And in any case, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “If we stay here too long, we’re dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“They’re watching us,” Nancy said. She stood by the stateroom window, staring out into the eerie green light. “I can hear them.”
Angela glowered at her younger sister. Marie had kept the older sibling hopping, forcing her to do everything from unwrapping bandages to cleaning up puke, blood, piss, and shit. Her outfit was completely ruined, and she was aware, all too aware, that she stank like someone who’d just spent the week in a sewer. Not that she’d dared say it to Marie. Now that she’d seen the real person under the mask, she
didn’t know how she’d ever dared talk back to the governess.
And she sent us back here to rest, she thought. Her body was tired, but she didn’t feel like sleeping. And yet she knew they had to sleep. We have to be back in Sickbay in six hours.
“There’s no one out there,” she said tartly. She felt a surge of anger and resentment that surprised her. Nancy hadn’t been any bloody help at all. She’d sat on the chair and muttered about voices and things in the darkness while Angela had been fighting to keep people alive and well. “Just . . . just shut up.”
“They’re coming,” Nancy said. “I can hear them.”
“Shut up or I’ll hit you,” Angela snapped. She’d never struck her sister, but she’d never been quite so frustrated at her before. “Shut up.”
Nancy looked at her. “Did Marie manage to unnerve you quite that badly?”
Angela glared, torn between relief that the brat was back to normal and a desire to slap her anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Nancy said. “Did you honestly think that father wouldn’t pick someone capable to watch over his teenage daughter?”
“I didn’t think at all,” Angela muttered. She felt her anger draining away, leaving her feeling numb. “What is she?”
“Perhaps she’s a genetically engineered killing machine from Sparta,” Nancy teased. “Father probably had her grown to supervise you.”
Angela made a rude sound. “Do you know how many laws that violates?”
Nancy looked back at her. “Do you know how many laws that violates?”
“No,” Angela admitted. She was fairly sure it was illegal to grow genetically engineered killing machines, although she wasn’t sure just which laws banned the practice and why. Not for the first time, she wished she’d spent more time studying instead of partying. “Father wouldn’t do that, would he?”
“He’d do anything to protect you,” Nancy said. “He favors you, you know.”
Angela stared at her. “He does not!”
“He does,” Nancy said. “Why do you think he keeps letting you get away with everything?”
Angela snorted. She’d always assumed that Nancy was the favored child, the famous child . . . famous for something beyond her control. Certainly her father had spent more time with Nancy than Angela, although he hadn’t spent much time with either girl. She had honestly never considered that Nancy might feel that Angela was their father’s favorite. But then, Marie had been right. She was a selfish brat.
“I don’t know what Marie is,” she said. “But . . . I’m glad she’s on our side.”
“That’s probably a good attitude,” Nancy said.
“Thanks,” Angela said. She reached out and gave her sister a hug. “When did you become the mature one?”
“Someone has to be the mature one,” Nancy pointed out. “You’re not up to the task.”
Angela flushed. “Brat.”
“I think you’re the brat,” Nancy said. “Marie says so.”
“Yeah,” Angela said.
She looked down at herself. Her shirt was covered in . . . she didn’t want to think about what it was covered in, while her trousers were torn in a dozen places. If she’d known what was going to happen, she would have worn something more suitable. But she didn’t know if she even had something suitable. Most of her clothes were designed for happier climes.
“Fuck it,” she said. “I need a shower.”
“There’s no water,” Nancy reminded her. “And the toilet is down the corridor.”
Angela shuddered. She’d told herself that she was roughing it when she’d gone camping, but she’d still been surrounded by modern technology. Showers, baths, working toilets . . . she hadn’t known how artificial the whole experience had been until she’d found herself really roughing it. She was dreading her first trip to the communal toilet. God alone knew how she’d cope, trying to do her business with hundreds of strangers nearby . . .
“I need a shower,” she repeated. “Any ideas?”
Nancy shook her head. “You’ll be wasting water,” she said. “I dare you to explain that to Marie. Or Captain VanGundy.”
“He works for our father.”
“And now you’re sounding like a brat again,” Nancy countered. “Do you really want to be thrown into the brig?”
Angela gave her a surprised look. “We have a brig?”
Nancy winked at her. “You’ll be surprised what gets left off the official plans,” she said. “I had a lot of fun comparing dad’s datapacket to the standard introductory spiel sent to all the guests. Yes, we have a brig. And quite a few other things too.” She shrugged. “There might be some wipes in the room, if you go look,” she said. “But I don’t think you can get a shower.”
“You stay here,” Angela ordered. She was tempted to insist that Nancy accompany her, but that would be too weird. They’d never shared a room, even on the fake camping trips. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
She turned and walked into her bedroom. Boxes lay everywhere, their contents scattered on the deck. Angela felt a moment’s dismay—her proud collection of handbags and frocks lay on the ground—which she ruthlessly suppressed. She was going to grow up, damn it. And if that meant learning to do without material things, she’d learn to do without material things. Besides, she told herself as she picked up a particularly pricey handbag, it wasn’t as if they’d brought her real happiness. She’d bought half of her stuff only because she’d been competing with the other rich kids.
And they’re brats too, she thought. What will happen to them?
She dismissed the thought. The room was a mess. It was hard to believe that she’d made love to Matt, then had a nasty fight with Finley, and then . . .
If we don’t get home, she thought as she found a pair of slacks and a jumper, I don’t have to marry him.
She carefully removed her shirt, trying not to breathe. The top was beyond repair . . . not that she’d ever bothered to repair anything in her life. She started to drop it in the washing basket, then caught herself. No point in putting it there, not now. She dug through her drawers until she found a plastic bag and dropped the shirt in there, followed by her bra, trousers, and panties. None were salvageable.
Damn it, she thought.
Someone, probably Marie, had left a box of wipes on her bed. Angela rubbed herself down as best as she could, then splashed perfume liberally over her chest. She could still smell herself, but she hoped she was the only one. But then, she wasn’t the only person who hadn’t had a shower for the last . . . how long had it been anyway? It felt like years since they’d fallen through the distortion and arrived . . . wherever they were.
She bent over the drawers, looking for something to wear under her slacks. Most of her underwear was designed for appearance, not resilience. Once, wearing them had made her feel deliciously naughty. Now, they were useless . . .
A hand touched her bottom. She jumped, stumbling backward. Finley was standing there. His face was so different, so animated, that she found it hard to believe it was actually him. There was a nasty cast to his face she didn’t like at all.
“You look good,” he said. He leered at Angela as she tried to cover herself.
Angela felt a hot flash of rage. “Get out!”
“I’m afraid I’ll be coming in,” Finley said. He sounded different too. “You and I are getting married.”
“Fuck off,” Angela said. “How did you get in here anyway?”
She grabbed the nearest dress and held it against her chest. She would have preferred to put it on properly, but that would have meant blinding herself at the worst possible time and giving him a show.
“The door locks aren’t working,” Finley said. He sounded almost amused, but there was a cruel edge to his voice that worried her. “Annoying and dumb. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, you know. I wouldn’t want to marry someone who wasn’t pretty.”
“I don’t want to marry you,” Angela snapped. She wanted to take a st
ep backward, to run and throw herself through the hatch, but she didn’t dare show weakness. This wasn’t the Finley she knew.
His face twisted with rage. “You do realize that you are going to marry me? I believe we’ve already had this discussion.”
“You do realize we’re trapped, right?” Angela replied. “If we can’t get out, if we can’t get home, our marriage is pointless. A farce of a farce of a farce of a—”
“Be quiet,” Finley said. He took a step forward. “We are going to get married. Our families need us to get married. And that’s the end of it.”
“We are not going to get married,” Angela said sharply. She risked a glance at the hatch behind him. Where was Nancy? Was she still staring out into the green light, unaware that Finley had entered the stateroom? Or was she in trouble too? Finley had cronies. One of them might be keeping Nancy under guard while Finley had his fun. “We’re certainly not going to get married if we don’t get out of here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Finley said. He took another step forward. “You and I are meant to be together.”
Angela laughed at him. Finley reached out, yanked the dress from her arms, and threw it right across the cabin. Angela yelped in shock as he grabbed her arm, yanking her forward and then pushing her towards the bed. Her mind churned, unable to quite follow what was happening. He was going to . . .
Her back hit the bed hard. Finley held her down.
“How dare you betray me?” The fury in his voice terrified her. “How dare you?”
Fuck you, Angela thought. No matter how she struggled, she couldn’t break free. Let go of me!
“Lie still,” Finley growled.
Angela pulled back her legs and kicked out as hard as she could, striking him in the face, and Finley staggered backward, grunting in pain. Angela forced herself forward, trying to strike between his legs, but he jumped backward. She caught herself as he reached for her again, then rolled over and off the bed as he lunged forward. He caught her a glancing blow as she yanked herself to her feet. Finley was growling, madness clearly visible on his face.
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