The Baba Yaga (27 page)

“The Weird have been here my whole life,” said Feuerstein, “but they have not been here on Stella Maris as long as the settlement. That came first: a handful of escapees from a slave ship en route to a colony world. The ship docked at Shuloma Station, and some of them got free. One of them appealed to the priest there, and he helped them get away. Stella Maris was empty then. A hard bare time they had of it.”

“So the green land around the settlement—the water, the crops?”

Feuerstein nodded. “That is all because of the Weird. When the portal opened, and the settlers made contact, the Weird promised that they would succour the community. As the settlement grew, we found that the land that was available to us to cultivate expanded too. We found wells and springs whenever and wherever we needed them.”

Walker was amazed. “What are the limits, do you think?”

“We do not know.” Feuerstein smiled. “Perhaps we could spread across the whole of Stella Maris, and the Weird might still be able to nourish us. Perhaps we could spread throughout the whole known universe, and still they would succour us. But I do not know.”

Walker pondered this. “You’ve seen the images of other Weird portals opening on other worlds, now,” she said. “Horror stories. Assimilation, consumption, absorption into a hive mind. But that doesn’t seem to have happened here. At least,” she said, “I’m assuming you’ve not been assimilated. You at least certainly seem to have your own will.”

“Thank you,” said Feuerstein, dryly. “And in answer to your question—I don’t know. Remember, this is all I know about the Weird. Those pictures that I saw...” She shuddered. “They were a shock to me. But then your news of what had happened on Braun’s World was horrific too. Murderousness,” she said, “does not seem to be a species-specific trait.”

I sincerely hope not
, thought Walker. “So you’ve no idea what makes the Weird different here?”

“I’ve not communicated directly with the Weird, although others from the settlement have, insofar as one
can
communicate with something so very different. But from what I can understand of what they have said, there has been a schism of sorts within the Weird.”

A schism? Walker’s ears pricked up. This was language that she understood, and, if it was true, it would put a very different complexion on the Weird, whom they had hitherto believed operated under the control of a great mother-mind. But a schism meant that there was disagreement. That not everything was controlled as centrally as they had thought. “What was the schism about?”

“You must understand that I am only reporting what has been told to me. But I believe that there was a split between an assimilationist tendency in the Weird, and a tendency towards symbiosis. This is what has been told to me. I’ve understood very little of this, and perhaps thought the people were mistaken, but now, having seen the images you brought with you, I start to believe it. Some of the Weird wish to live by devouring. Others of the Weird wish to live by nourishing. Seeing the pictures you have brought, I now think this story may well be true. Here on Stella Maris, the Weird have succoured us. Elsewhere, they have murdered.”

Larsen, who had been listening with great interest, said, “I have a question. On the other worlds we’ve seen, the Weird got a clear benefit from being living alongside humans. They got to consume them. So what are your Weird getting from you?”

“
Our
Weird!” Feuerstein laughed. “They are their own, I think!”

“Okay, but my question still stands. They don’t eat you. So what are they getting in return for all the abundance they’re lavishing on you?”

“I’ll take an educated guess,” said Heyes. “The settlement was here first, you said. People escaping slavery who found themselves on a barren world, and who had to work together or else they were going to die. Humans and Vetch, having to put the war behind them. I think the Weird—or those who tend towards symbiosis—saw this and were interested. The portal opened here because these Weird wanted to understand it. They saw humans and Vetch living side-by-side, and they wanted to know more.”

Feuerstein smiled. “It’s as good an explanation as any.”

“You said that you haven’t personally communicated with the Weird,” said Larsen. “I know that back at the Bureau we’ve had no success—other than that telepaths were able to scan for mind-parasites. So how do you communicate with the Weird here on Stella Maris?”

“We have telepaths too,” said Feuerstein. “Runaways from your government, who resented the use they were put to, having to spend their days immersed inside criminal minds. They are our channel of communication. But the Weird have been here so long now, and understand our needs so well, that we rarely have to resort to direct communication. Sometimes I think that a little of their mind-powers have rubbed off onto all of us here on Stella Maris.” She shrugged. “I have no means of proving this.”

Walker and Larsen were looking at each other in dismay. “Hold on,” said Larsen. “You’re saying we need a telepath to speak to the Weird?”

“I wish this had come up before,” said Walker. “We don’t have a telepath.”

“Yes, we do,” said Feuerstein.

“One of your people,” said Larsen.

“No,” said Feuerstein. “One of yours.” She looked at Heyes.

Heyes looked blandly back at her companions from the
Baba Yaga
. “What? Oh, didn’t I mention that?”

“No, you didn’t,” said Larsen.

“Anything else you haven’t mentioned?” said Walker, scowling.

“That I don’t like blackmailers?” said Heyes. “Oh, no, I think I have mentioned that.”

“Once or twice,” said Walker.

“Oh, shut up, Delia,” said Larsen. “It’s great we have a telepath. Hecate, I’m glad you’re here. I can only wish you were better disposed towards us.”

Heyes stood up. “I’m not ill disposed towards you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Larsen.

“I’m not ill disposed towards
you
,” said the priest, and she stumped off to look at the stars.

W
ALKER DID NOT
go after her straight away. She sat some way back from the rest of the party, watching the stars and listening to the quiet conversation. At length, Larsen tapped her arm. “Will you go and apologise?” she said. “We’ll be moving on soon.”

Walker stood up, dusted herself down, and went in search of the priest. She found her sitting some distance away, hunched over her knees. She was twisting some beads within her fingers and her lips were moving, silently and rapidly. When she saw Walker, she stopped, touched something silver hanging from the beads against her lips, and slipped them into her pocket.

Walker sat down next to her. “Did you think of mentioning you were a telepath?”

“You know, Walker, you’ve done little to earn confidences.”

“Is that how you knew I was pregnant?”

Heyes looked at her approvingly. “Well guessed. Yes, it was clear the moment you walked through the door. I only have low-level abilities but, well—not hard to spot.”

“I guess not,” Walker said thoughtfully. “Telepathy must come in useful for a priest. I imagine it makes you a good confessor.”

“It also made me a drunk,” Heyes said bluntly. “As to why I didn’t mention it—you know better than to wonder why. Your own government—the one you’ve worked for so assiduously over the years—regulates telepaths.”

“It certainly does.”

“Controls their activities. Licenses them. Makes them do their dirty work.”

“Not my area,” Walker said, flippantly. “I was External Affairs. You’d have to take that up with a different office. Did you avoid all that? Have you always been a renegade?”

“No, not always. The Church has special privileges. It regulates telepaths too. Under licence from the government—more or less.” She smiled. “The Church has always been good at being a jurisdiction within other jurisdictions. Empires rise, and empires fall, but the Holy Mother Church continues, a law more or less unto herself, century upon century, world without end.” She smiled. “We’ve both dedicated our lives to something greater than ourselves, you know. And we both saw when the organisation we served no longer honoured the values that had drawn us to them in the first place.”

“You pay me too kind a compliment in comparing us, Hecate,” Walker said, almost harshly. “What you did for the people of Shard’s World took real courage.”

For a moment, Heyes’ eyes softened. “I have never thought that you lacked courage,” she said. “What do you want from me, Delia?”

“You know what I want. Feuerstein has said we need a telepath to communicate with the Weird. None of her party are telepaths, neither am I, and if Larsen is, she’s kept that one up her sleeve for many years of friendship. I have no idea what it will entail, I have no idea whether it will be painful, or difficult, or traumatic—but I want you to communicate with the Weird on my behalf. Will you do that?”

Heyes studied her for a few moments. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Please, if you can, put aside our differences.”

Heyes gave her a very narrow look.

“Please, if you can, put aside the fact that I blackmailed you and threatened your life to get you to come with me. For which,” she added, as an afterthought, “I am sorry.”

“Better,” said Heyes. “Although you’re not sorry.”

“No,” said Walker, “I’m not. I’d do it again. I know,” she said, “that I am not the best advocate for my cause. Perhaps I have had a crisis of confidence. I thought I had won my case back at the Bureau, but I was deeply mistaken. But my cause is a good cause. It is the right cause. These people here are not in thrall to the Weird—that makes them unique, from all that I have seen. They may be, well...”

“Weird?” said Heyes.

Walker laughed. “A little, perhaps! But as far as I can tell they have not been assimilated. Not in the way that others living near portals have been.”

Heyes looked at her thoughtfully. “You don’t like the set-up here?”

“It confuses me. I don’t see how it works.” She shivered. “And it’s... bloodless.”

“You prefer things bloody?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

Heyes waved her hand to stop her. “Leave it. Cheap shot. But when I say that I don’t know about communicating with the Weird on your behalf, I’m being nothing other than honest. I simply mean that I don’t know. I have no idea whether it’s even possible.”

“Feuerstein seems to think her own people have communicated with the Weird.”

“Maybe so. And maybe the telepaths here have become used to communicating with the Weird, or being born here alters them in some way. And maybe they haven’t been dulling their talents with drink for the past umpty years. Anyway, let us leave that aside. I’ll try—of course I’ll try.” She gave Walker a dry look. “What? Did you think I was going to refuse?”

“I genuinely had no idea.”

“Yes, well, don’t judge everyone by your standards. Your cause, at least, strikes me as rational and righteous.” Heyes gave a deep sigh. “Ah, now, there’s Feuerstein waving at us. I guess it’s time to move on. Ah!” She sighed again. “My poor old legs! Thirty years they’ve been kneeling in prayer, and now, at this age, when I should be sitting in a comfortable chair and putting them up, I’ve brought them out here to trudge up and down mountains and rest on hillsides! I should be at home, wherever that may be.” Heyes stood and—wonder of wonders—offered her hand to Walker to help her stand. She looked at the other woman thoughtfully and with a strange expression that Walker eventually realised was compassion. “What
are
you thinking,” said Heyes, at last, “coming on a journey like this?”

“Where else should I be? There’s nothing for me back on Hennessy’s World.”

“No? You were rich, weren’t you? Larsen told me how senior you were before they fired you—”

“Kay Larsen,” said Walker, testily, “should start minding her own business. She’s going to find herself in terrible trouble one day.”

“—there could have been lucrative contracts; they’d pay for nannies, daycare, all the help you needed. Whatever you wanted. Not like poor Maria. Not like thousands I’ve seen on Shuloma—struggling to put the food on the table and pay the rent at the end of the month. And instead you found a rundown ship and a washed-up pilot, and dragged yourself out to the back of beyond to haul yourself up a mountain in the middle of a desert, all to chase down some aliens who may or may not be there, and may or may not be hostile. Anyone might think you weren’t sure about this child.”

“They can think whatever they like.”

“Or you weren’t sure about what kind of mother you’d be.”

Walker turned away. “We should go,” she said. “There’s long road ahead of us yet.”

“I’m praying for you,” Heyes called after her. “Sorrowful Mysteries. They seemed the most appropriate.”

No doubt there was a backhander there, but Walker was blessedly uninformed. “I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about,” she said. “But thank you. At this point, I’ll take whatever’s on offer.”

T
O FIND A
priest, you first needed to find her church, but the Chapel of the Immaculate Conception on blue level, section seven, was closed. That did not deter Conway’s team; two of the crimopaths forced the door open, and the whole team went inside. Kinsella looked around with some distaste. Religion did nothing for him, and, in fact, he mistrusted those with religious belief. It had always seemed to him a kind of psychological failing; an inability to admit and come to terms with the meaningless of existence. There was no purpose, no grand scheme, and certainly no afterlife. This was all we had, Kinsella thought. We had better make the most of it.

Still, he could not easily watch what happened next. Whether from frustration at finding that their prey had escaped, or because they were bored, or because it amused them, Kinsella was not sure. But the crimopaths wasted no time in taking the church apart. Two of them worked their way around the walls, pulling down the hangings and tearing them into strips. The sound of the tapestries rending seemed to be funny, causing low laughter amongst them. Another of them kicked his way through the wooden chairs towards the altar. He stopped for a while to look at it—Kinsella almost thought it was veneration—and then the crimopath yanked at the cloth, screwing it up and throwing it on the ground. One of the women reached the statue of the woman in white and blue. The wooden flowers at her feet were thrown to the ground. Then she leaned forwards, put her hands around the woman’s face, and began to kiss it. Red lipstick, like smears of blood, smudged the statue’s marble face. Pleased with her work, she began to rock the statue to and fro, until it toppled from its table and shattered against the ground. Kinsella, watching in horror, turned to Conway.