The Baba Yaga (22 page)

And they murdered the whole population of the planet to cover up what they had done
. “Jesus Christ.”

Larsen gave her a tight smile. “Do you see the quandary I was in when, you told me your news? I had to make some very quick, very hard decisions.”

“Who’s involved?” said Walker. “Grant? Latimer? Does it go all the way up to the Council?”

“I don’t know how high this goes,” Larsen admitted. “They were onto me and I had to get out. But I’m guessing it goes pretty high.”

Walker sat for a while and contemplated Larsen’s story. A crime like this—would someone really murder so many people for no better reason than to oust their enemies within the Bureau? To secure their power base? The more she thought about it, the more she could believe it. The Weird were terrifying: hideously alien and utterly inscrutable. She had seen the terror lurking behind the eyes of many of her colleagues; the fear that here, at last, was an enemy that could not be defeated. Perhaps it was that fear that had driven them. Slowly, she said, “Do you have any proof, Kay?”

“No,” said Larsen. She looked at Maria. “But I’m hoping
you
do.”

Maria pulled out the datapin that Kit had entrusted to her, a few short days and a lifetime ago. Walker took the pin and inserted it into place on the companel. A passcode was required, which Larsen gave. There was a large number of video files. Walker picked one at random. It made for uncomfortable viewing.

The scene was a city street. The vidcam recording the scene was obviously hidden: every so often the image would suddenly go out-of-focus, or show the inside of the camera-person’s jacket. But there was enough to see what was going on. In the background, a siren was blaring, and a repeated warning blared out across the street to tell people that a curfew was now in force, and that citizens should return to their homes. A large crowd had gathered to protest this infringement of their liberties, and the security forces were attempting to contain them. Eventually, they opened fire. After a few seconds, the recording cut out.

Larsen took it back to the beginning, and freezed the image to show the city street. “This is the centre of Elliston,” said Larsen. “That’s the second biggest city on Braun’s World’s main continent. There was footage from there in the Bureau, Delia—do you remember? Showing the Sleer and the Flyers arriving and beginning their assault.”

Walker nodded. She remembered. She could hardly forget. “So there’s been a riot on Braun’s World. What does that prove?”

“It’s to do with the dates, isn’t it?” said Maria, suddenly. “I bet if we checked the footage you saw, you’d find that this is happening
after
the Weird were supposed to have attacked. After Elliston was laid waste by the Weird.”

Larsen nodded. “That’s it exactly, Maria. It seems that the people on Braun’s World got wind of what was planned for them. They protested, and they were murdered for those pains.” She frowned. “Perhaps they were the lucky ones. They didn’t have to die in the bombardment.”

Slowly, painstakingly, they worked their way through more of the files. The story was the same across Braun’s World. Larsen pulled out another datapin, and fired up the footage of the Weird assault Walker had seen back at the Bureau. “It’ll take some work,” Larsen said, “but I’m sure we can prove that the recordings don’t match up. That the dates and the times are wrong.”

“So this is why Kit died,” Maria said softly. She rubbed her eyes. “I’m glad it was for something that mattered.” A new edge entered her voice. “Who could do such a thing? Tell a lie like this? They can’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Delia, I’m sorry,” said Larsen softly. “I threw you to the wolves. But I think we’re still on the same side?”

Walker stared at the images on the viewscreen. It was hard to let go of anger. But it was a relief too—and a relief to know that her judgement hadn’t been impaired. She had been right to trust Larsen. But she hadn’t known the extent to which the parameters had changed. “I understand. Desperate times, desperate measures. You’re here now.”

“And we should probably get away,” Larsen said. “I don’t know if I’m being followed, but my absence has surely been discovered by now. They’ll be sending somebody after me. They want me dead, and they’ll come after anyone with whom they think I might have shared this information. That means you now, Delia.”

“I imagine they think I’m part of it already,” Walker said. “I disappear, then you disappear. That’s bound to raise suspicion.”

“What about me and Jenny?” said Maria. “Are we still not safe? I thought that if we handed over the datapin, then perhaps we would be safe... But we’ll never be safe again, will we? Whoever did all this”—she swept her hand toward the viewscreen—“they wouldn’t think twice about killing me and Jenny, would they?”

“No,” said Walker.

“So what shall we do?” asked Larsen. “Where were you going next, Delia? Are you any closer to finding this mythical colony world?”

Walker sat in thought for a while. “I think I know someone who knows where it is, but she’s proving unwilling to provide further information.”

Larsen laughed. “It must be a while since that happened to you.”

“I lack the resources I once had.” Walker leaned back in her sling and stared at the ancient control panel. They had to go—and soon. The Bureau—or whoever controlled it now—would be pouring resources into finding Larsen, and the evidence she had that the destruction on Braun’s World had not been caused by the Weird. They needed a bolthole—and a mysterious planet where the Weird flourished would be ideal. If only she could persuade Heyes that it was in her interests to talk...

Slowly, Walker began to smile. “I think that I have an idea.”

T
HE CRIMOPATHS LOST
no time settling in on the
White Horseman,
assigning themselves quarters and making themselves comfortable in the small rec room. When the ship left Shard’s World, Kinsella felt a terrible claustrophobia engulf him. Wherever he went, he seemed to feel the eyes of the crimopaths upon him, studying him, observing him. Even locked away in his quarters he did not feel safe, fearing to fall asleep in case, waking, he found one of them looming over him or, worse, simply sitting by his bedside, watching. Struggling to rest, he could only feel a cold, bitter anger towards Grant, putting him into such a small space with these unpredictable animals. Whatever Conway thought, Kinsella did not believe that they could be controlled.

He abandoned attempts at sleep, and went in search of Conway. She was alone in the rec room, eating a solitary, functional, and industrial meal. “We need to think about our next move,” he said. “Fredricks was my best lead.” His only lead, in fact, but he didn’t need to make himself seem incompetent. “The ship’s computer has accessed his files on Shard—those, at least, survived—and it’s going through them. But it’s going to be a slow job and I’m not sure how long it will take. But at some point we’ll find something to give us a clue where Walker was heading next.”

Conway cut her slab of protein into neat cubes. “We know where we’re going next. Shuloma Station. We’re looking for a priest, named Heyes. We went into phase while you were sleeping.”

“You didn’t think to discuss this with me?”

“You were asleep,” she said, as if having to explain something straightforward and obvious. “There was no point in wasting time.”

“So what’s the reasoning behind Shuloma Station? What makes you think that’s our best option?”

Behind him, someone began to laugh. Kinsella looked back over his shoulder. One of the crimopaths was standing in the doorway, watching. And laughing.

“Stop that,” Kinsella said, but the laughter continued.

“All right,” said Conway softly. “That’s enough.”

The crimopath immediately went silent. But he stood there, still, watching Kinsella. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his skin crawling.

“You can go,” Conway said. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

The crimopath obeyed. Kinsella shuddered. “You’ve not answered my question,” he said. “Why Shuloma Station?”

Conway sighed, as though the question were impertinent. “How do you
think
I know where we need to go next?”

If Kinsella thought he’d felt chilled before, it was nothing to how he felt now. He looked back over his shoulder to where the crimopath had been standing moments before. “They weren’t on Shard’s World for us, were they? When did they arrive?”

Conway didn’t answer, but continued eating.

“Conway, how long had they been there?”

“I don’t know,” she said, through a mouthful of food. “Long enough.”

Long enough to get to Fredricks, and kill him. But not before extracting the information that they wanted from him. Kinsella shook himself to dispel the thought. He didn’t want to dwell on how Fredricks might have died. He had seen crimopaths in action before, as a young man, before their use was outlawed. It had been a profound relief when the ban had come into force, and they were all retired. Kinsella had slept more easily at nights, knowing that they were locked in deep dungeons with miles of ocean above them. They shouldn’t be on the loose now. “I know you think you can control them,” he said. “But I swear to you—you can’t. We... We never could. They’ll be looking for ways to get away, and I swear—they’ll find them. They are smarter than you—smarter than both of us—and they
will
get away from you.”

Conway had lost interest partway through this speech and had turned her attention to a carton of juice. “The inhibitor will control them,” she said offhandedly, sipping at the juice. “That’s all I need.”

“For now, but it won’t last—I can tell you that. Don’t you think they’re going to be doing something about that? They’ll work out how the inhibitor works, and disable it. When they’ve done that they’ll coming looking for you to repay you.”
And I
, he thought,
will be collateral damage.

“So how would you have obtained the necessary information from Fredricks?”

Kinsella didn’t hesitate for a second. “I would have paid him, of course. That was the language that Fredricks knew best.”

Conway gave him a scornful look. “And he would have taken your money, lied to you, and sent you on your way. But he would not dare to lie to my people. Not if he knew he was bargaining for his life. And so now we are
en route
to Shuloma Station, rather than hanging uselessly in orbit around Shard, waiting for your computer to sift through files for information that might not even be there.” She stood up, and began to gather together her empty food cartons. “I believe I prefer my way, Mr Kinsella. It gets results. We’ll arrive on Shuloma Station soon, and when we get there, we will find Delia Walker, and then—” She stopped herself, as if she had suddenly remembered she had an audience.

“And then what?” Kinsella asked softly.

She looked down at him with her pale eyes. “What else? We will learn the nature and extent of her treachery.”

Her cartons were now stacked in a neat pile.
Cold, cold
, Kinsella thought.
So very, very cold
. “Is this the future?” he said. “The future of the Bureau?”

“It is the future of the Expansion, Mr Kinsella,” Conway said. “We live in a terrible time, a time of great danger. We must make hard decisions, and we must not be afraid to act on those decisions. Because otherwise we will be destroyed, consumed by a merciless enemy that cares nothing for our scruples. I do not wish to be destroyed. And so I will act to protect and preserve the Expansion.”

Kinsella did not reply.

Conway, having taken her cartons over to the recycler, stopped briefly on her way out. “Good night, Mr Kinsella,” she said. “You can sleep easily—truly, you can. The Expansion is safe in our hands.”

She left, and Kinsella sat for a while alone in the empty room. What would be left of the Expansion, he wondered, by the time people like Grant, and Conway—and their damned crimopaths—were done? Who exactly would be left standing? And what would the Expansion look like? Like Braun’s World, he feared; burned to the ground. He wondered whether they might be better surrendering to the Weird right now, rather than going through the terrible self-destruction upon which the people around him seemed set. He found himself thinking about the grey empty swirl of the void, that empty, soulless space, where nothing lived. Except the Weird. Once again, he found himself cursing Adelaide Grant, sending him to this hostile place, with such hostile companions. This world that she was set on creating—this was not what he wanted. Not what he wanted for...

His child.

Kinsella shook himself. That had come from nowhere, and he suppressed the thought as quickly as it had arisen. There was nothing there. He wasn’t even convinced that Delia had told him the truth about the pregnancy.

About their child...

No, none of this was what Kinsella had wanted—but then he hadn’t wanted Andrei Gusev dead either, and Walker, it seemed, had a hand in that. Maybe, he thought, as he rose wearily from his chair and went back to his quarters, there was nothing to be done. Maybe all the good guys were dead and buried. He lay on his bunk in the darkness in fruitless pursuit of sleep. Perhaps it was better to surrender to the inevitable, rather than fight. Better to go peacefully, rather than rage against the dying of the light. That way you might last a little longer. Long enough to save something that mattered.

W
ALKER TOOK
L
ARSEN
with her, and nobody else. Failt didn’t want to leave her side (“
Someone
got to look after you, missus...”), so she told him she needed him to keep an eye on Yershov. Maria remained with Jenny, naturally, although this suited Walker’s purposes. She didn’t particularly want either of them to see the conversation that was about to follow. Let Maria remain idealistic about her for a little while longer.

The church was locked and dark, but that proved no barrier to finding Heyes. At the Crossed Keys, old Viola, sitting behind the bar and puffing on a small wooden pipe, watched them enter. She gave a slight nod of her head, and a big young man came from the other end of the bar and made himself quietly, but noticeably, present.