The Hyperspace Trap

by Christopher Nuttall

  Move, damn it, she told herself. Finley was coming after her, taking off his belt and swinging it madly. You have to move.

  There was no time to try to open the emergency hatch, not when she wasn’t sure it could be opened without power. Instead, she darted around the bed and ran for the other door.

  He thinks we won’t get out, she thought as she reached her open hatch. Her palm slapped the emergency button, desperately. She didn’t know if it was working—the fact that Finley had somehow managed to enter the cabin without permission suggested it wasn’t—but there was nothing to lose by trying.

  She stopped outside, unsure which way to go. The master bedroom, where Nancy had been, or the hatch?

  Finley burst through the door behind her, barreling into Angela and knocking her to the deck.

  “Get off,” she managed. The impact had knocked the breath out of her lungs. “Finley, get off!”

  Finley ignored her. His face was so different that she hesitated to suggest he was human.

  Despite feeling sick, she forced herself to breathe. “Finley . . .”

  His face was consumed by lust and utter madness, the bruise on his cheek only making him look worse.

  Angela drew back her legs and kicked again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “They’re still preaching,” Carla said.

  Matt nodded as he joined her by the hatch. Brother John and five of his brethren were in the brig, but the remainder were still trying to win converts. The preaching sounded pretty crappy, from what little he could hear, yet the audience was eating it up with spoons. And who could blame them? The Brethren were giving them hope.

  He peered into the ballroom. “Can’t we stop them?”

  “I doubt we have the manpower,” Carla said. “Getting a few dozen guests to actually work isn’t easy. They’re still gorging themselves on food.”

  Matt nodded. One upside to the whole crisis was that he’d been able to taste expensive foodstuffs he didn’t have a hope of affording on his salary. He’d eaten his way through a dozen different pâtés and bread, then followed them up with jam that apparently cost a month’s wages for a single pot. In truth, he hadn’t considered any of the dishes to be particularly special. The only thing that gave the food any real significance was the price.

  “That won’t last,” he said. “Some of the food has already spoiled.”

  Carla made a face. “Never mind that,” she said. “What did you see on Gladys?”

  “A floating tomb,” Matt said. He quaked. He hadn’t had a chance to catch any rest before he’d been ordered straight back on duty. “I . . .”

  His wristcom bleeped, signaling an emergency alert. Matt looked down at it, surprised. He hadn’t realized that some of the emergency systems had been rebooted. And then his blood ran cold as he realized where the signal was coming from. Angela’s suite. She was in trouble . . .

  “Come on,” he said. “Hurry!”

  He ran down the darkened corridor, one hand gripping the shockrod at his belt. It wasn’t that much more reliable than the stunners, he’d been warned, but he knew from experience that one could still use the device to deliver a nasty blow. And it was all he had. He’d hoped to be issued with a chemical weapon as he did have a firearms certification, but they were apparently being held back for trained security personnel.

  The hatch to Angela’s stateroom was ajar. As he peered inside, he could hear the sound of someone screaming. Angela was lying on the deck, Finley looming over her. The terror on Angela’s face told him immediately that she wanted no part of what was happening. And then Finley looked up at him.

  Matt recoiled. This wasn’t Finley. Not the Finley who’d threatened his career if he didn’t leave Angela alone. This Finley looked more like a snarling werewolf preparing to bite its prey. There was no humanity on his face at all, merely unbridled lust and anger. Matt fought down a primal urge to flee as he heard Carla entering behind him, tapping her wristcom to summon help. He knew it might be a long time in coming.

  “Get away from her,” he snapped, drawing the shockrod and thumbing the switch. It lit up with a sickly yellow color that vanished an instant later as the power cells failed. Matt swore. “Get away from her now.”

  Finley sprung to his feet and threw himself at Matt. Matt lifted the shockrod, but it was brushed aside as Finley crashed into him, growling like an animal. Matt fell backward, hitting the carpeted deck hard enough to hurt; he struggled, trying to throw Finley off before the aristocrat could choke him to death. He’d never thought of Finley as strong before—Matt had assumed his muscles came from a bodyshop—but grappling with him was like grappling with a lion. Finley seemed driven to hurt Matt as much as possible.

  “Get off him,” Carla bellowed.

  She brought her shockrod down on Finley’s back, hard. His entire body jerked as the charge ran through him. Matt jerked too, feeling the unpleasant tingle running through his form even though he wasn’t the target. But the shock didn’t stop Finley. He should have been a twitching wreck, unable to move a muscle; instead, he was still trying to hammer Matt into a pulp. It was all the steward could do to keep dodging his blows.

  He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Matt thought numbly. It was hard to move. Sooner or later, Finley would score a direct hit. If he knew . . .

  Carla zapped Finley again. The madman’s body jerked, but somehow he remained conscious. Matt saw his chance and slammed a fist into Finley’s throat, sending him into a choking fit. Carla hauled him off Matt and shoved him to the ground, then sat on his chest and punched his face again and again. The sheer level of hatred on her face shocked Matt to the core. He disliked Finley too, and it was clear the asshole had been trying to rape Angela, but Carla . . . ?

  “I think he’s stunned,” Matt said. “Carla . . .”

  His friend looked up. “I think so too,” she said without emotion. “Find something to bind his hands.”

  “There’s some duct tape in Marie’s cabin,” Angela said. She sounded haunted. Her body was covered in bruises. “I’ll find it.”

  Matt watched her go until Carla yanked his arm, hard. “She’s nearly been raped,” Carla hissed so quietly that Matt could barely hear her. “Don’t try anything with her. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Matt said. Sexual assault was unusual in the Commonwealth—it was normally easy to identify the perpetrator and prove what actually had happened—but pirates were fond of raping their unimportant captives. “I—”

  “I’ll deal with her,” Carla said, cutting him off. “You take care of the bastard.”

  Matt took the duct tape from Angela and used it to secure Finley’s hands behind his back, then bind his legs together. He had no idea how Finley had managed to remain conscious after being zapped twice with a shockrod, but it didn’t matter. No one could break through several layers of duct tape without more enhancement than a military super-soldier . . .

  “Nancy was in the master bedroom,” Angela said. Her voice was deadened, completely drained of vigor. “Can you check on her?”

  “I’ll do that now,” Matt said. He didn’t want to look at Angela, not now. She deserved some privacy. “Carla, can you take Angela into her bedroom?”

  “Of course,” Carla said, sounding oddly insulted. “You check on Nancy.”

  The door to the master bedroom was closed and locked. Matt hoped that Finley had locked it before going after Angela, although he had no way to know for sure. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding his shockrod in one hand. Nancy was sitting on the bed, staring out into the luminous, eerie green light. She showed no sign of knowing he was there until he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Matt,” she said. She didn’t appear to be alarmed. “What happened?”

  “Finley tried to attack your sister,” Matt said. Had Nancy missed everything? But then, the door had been closed, and the suite was fairly soundproofed. The guests didn’t want their servants or children hearing them making love under the sta
rs. “Are you all right?”

  Nancy looked up at him. “Is she all right?”

  “I think so,” Matt said. He wasn’t entirely sure. “Do you want to see her?”

  Nancy didn’t answer. “I can hear them,” she said, nodding towards the windows. Uncanny greenish-yellow light flooded into the room. “They’re talking.”

  Matt felt his blood run cold. “What are they saying?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said. “But I can hear them.”

  “You told me you heard voices in hyperspace,” Matt said. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to ask the next question, but he had no choice. “What do you think they are?”

  “. . . Things,” Nancy said. “I can hear them, but . . .”

  Matt closed his eyes for a long moment. He’d have to bring this to the captain’s attention. If the rumors—and the Brethren—were correct, something was out there. He couldn’t deny that he’d felt watched ever since they’d been dragged through the distortion, or that the sensation had been stronger on Gladys. Nancy might be the key to communicating with the . . . with the whatever they were.

  “I’m sure your sister will be fine,” he said, instead. Outside, he could hear the security team arriving . . . finally. Finley would wake up in the brig if there was any space left. “And then I think you need to have a word with the captain.”

  Nancy looked pensive. “Do you think he’ll tell me how to command a starship?”

  Matt blinked. “You go to the academy and learn,” he said. “You can enter Piker’s Peak at sixteen if your grades are high enough.”

  “I will,” Nancy said. She turned to look out the window. “If they ever let us go.”

  “I need to ask some questions,” Carla said. “I need you to keep focused.”

  Angela wished Carla would just shut up. Right now, she wanted . . . she didn’t know what she wanted. An armed bodyguard, perhaps. Or a team of marines. Or whatever it took to make her feel safe again. Finley hadn’t stolen her maidenhead, but he’d stolen her sense of security. The universe was no longer a safe place. She should have realized that years ago.

  “He was trying to rape you,” Carla said. Having it put into words was somehow all the more horrifying. “Did he actually succeed?”

  “No,” Angela said. Her memories were jumbled, but she was fairly sure Finley hadn’t managed to do more than batter her into submission. “He . . . I . . . I fought him.”

  “Good for you,” Carla said, a hint of warmth in her voice. “What happened?”

  Angela fought to keep her memories straight. “He came into my room,” she said. Her hands began to shake as she remembered the moment he’d touched her. “We argued . . . he threw me to the bed. I managed to escape, but he caught me outside and . . .” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve been very lucky,” Carla said. “Did you hit the emergency button?”

  “Yeah,” Angela said.

  “That called us here,” Carla said. “Good thinking.”

  Angela smiled despite her shaking hands. “He . . . he was going to rape me.”

  “He’s done worse,” Carla said. A shadow crossed her face as Angela looked up. “Believe me; he’s done worse.”

  Angela blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “He . . . invited . . . me into his cabin a few times,” Carla said. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “Oh,” Angela said. She found herself casting around for something to say. “Why didn’t you report him?”

  Carla made a rude noise. “To who?”

  Angela swallowed. “Captain VanGundy?”

  “Hah,” Carla said. She picked up a pair of trousers and thrust them at Angela. “It may surprise you to know that no one gives a damn about people like me. There are millions of young girls desperate for a job like mine. If I bitch about someone like him, guess who Corporate is going to believe.” She shrugged, callously. “Being married to him would have been a nightmare.”

  “I didn’t know,” Angela said.

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” Carla said. “You never know what’s hidden behind their masks until it’s too late. And the ones who have the money to make their fantasies real . . . he got off on making me hurt. Maybe he would have been nicer to you. I don’t know. But you never know what a person is like until you see them without the masks.”

  “I thought I knew him,” Angela said. “I thought I . . .” She shook her head. “The marriage is off,” she said firmly. “I don’t care any longer.”

  “Good for you,” Carla said. She tossed a jumper at Angela. “Get dressed. I don’t know if there’s any point in filing a formal report or not, but you’ll probably want a word with your father. Or the captain.”

  Angela felt cold. What if . . . what if her mother and father didn’t listen? Her marriage had been arranged because the family needed Finley’s family. What if Father told her to marry him anyway? She found it hard to imagine that he would; the snarling monster Finley had become was not the sort of person who might be of any real use. But it was hard to escape the quiet, nagging doubts. God knew where her mother was . . .

  “Thanks,” she said. She felt unwilling to get dressed. “What . . . why does it happen?”

  “Because someone thought he could get away with it,” Carla said. She sounded vaguely interested. “Is that really what you wanted to ask?”

  Angela looked down at the deck. “Does it get better?”

  “I was raped when I was a couple of years younger than you,” Carla said. Her voice was quiet. “There was . . . never mind. Suffice it to say that I didn’t have a hope of fighting him off. He had his fun and left me lying there. It was all I could do to drag myself up and report it to the police. They caught him a few days later and . . . and, well, he’s still in a work camp. Asshole refused the opportunity to be dropped on a penal colony when he had the chance.”

  Her voice hardened. “I could have sunk into myself. I could have allowed it to dominate the rest of my life. Instead, I threw myself into my studies. I graduated well, got a good job . . . I thought a couple of years on Supreme would give me a nice little nest egg. I could put up with assholes like him if it meant getting paid enough to retire early.”

  Angela swallowed. Marie had told her that some girls had to go through hell to earn money, but . . . but she’d never really believed it. Carla had actually been raped. And she’d somehow kept going, pushing her way through life. Angela could do it too.

  “I won’t let him win,” she said. She promised herself, silently, that she’d file a report for Carla too. And if her father tried to tell her she should marry Finley anyway, she’d black his eye. “I won’t.”

  “Good,” Carla said. She glanced towards the hatch. “Put on your clothes. There are some people outside who want to talk to you.”

  “Well,” a wry voice said, “what are you in for?”

  Finley barely heard it. The roaring in his head was overpowering. Someone was shouting at him, mocking him . . . he had visions of Angela, naked and lovely, then . . . he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All he knew was that he wanted her, that he wanted to make her submit to him . . . like the others. But they hadn’t been real. They’d do anything as long as he paid them. The voices encouraged him, urging him onwards. He couldn’t make out actual words, but no matter. He knew what they were saying.

  He forced his eyes to open. He was in a cramped room . . . a cell. A prison cell. His hands were bound tightly behind his back. Hot anger flared through him. Didn’t they know who he was? How dare they leave him in a cell like a common criminal? He looked around, feeling his head starting to pound as the voices grew louder. A robed man was sitting on a bunk looking down at him. Who was he?

  “Stop shouting,” he said somehow. He felt another surge of pure rage and staggered under the impact. “What are you doing?”

  “That is the voice of the gods,” the robed man informed him. “They are speaking to you.”

  “How nice,” Finley said.
He struggled against his bonds. “Let me go!”

  “The gods have a purpose for you, Finley Mackintosh,” the robed man said. “You wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t called you.”

  The voices rose to a crescendo, then fell back into the background. Finley moaned. It was hard, so hard, to think straight. He wanted Angela, his bride-to-be. He had a right to her . . . didn’t he? He’d have to teach her to mind her place, of course, but afterwards . . . she was his. The voices whispered to him, promising the world. He could have whatever he wanted, if he did their bidding.

  “I believe you can help me find someone,” the robed man added. His expression twisted into something that might charitably be called a smile. “A special young lady.”

  Angela, Finley thought. He felt another hot flush of anger. Angela was his. He wasn’t going to share. And then it struck him. Nancy.

  “You want Nancy,” he managed. The Brethren believed their gods lived in hyperspace . . . and Nancy was the first child born in hyperspace. Or at least the first one within reach. “Don’t you?”

  “Of course,” the robed man said calmly. The voices started to rise again, growing louder and louder. “Will you help us?”

  Finley closed his eyes and surrendered. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” the robed man said. “Be ready. It’s only a matter of time before we leave this place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “No, Captain,” Dr. Joan Mackey said. Her eyes were lined with dark circles. Paul didn’t think she’d had any sleep since Supreme fell through the distortion. “But it’s the only option on the table.”

  Paul nodded sourly. Nancy appeared to have a connection to the aliens . . . or something, at least. Joan had suggested hypnosis, reasoning that Nancy might not have any conscious control over the connection. And Paul had had to ask Robert Cavendish for his permission to proceed. And then Nancy had refused to undergo the procedure unless her sister was allowed into the room too.