The Baba Yaga (28 page)

“Jesus Christ! Stop them!”

Conway looked at him in surprise. “Is this offending you, Mr Kinsella? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not,” said Kinsella. “Not at all. But this is completely unnecessary!”

Conway did not make a move, and simply watched as the crimopath at the altar unhooked the crucifix hanging overhead and began to smash it with great force against the bare table. The cross began to splinter.

“Conway!”

Conway stepped forward. “All right,” she said. “That’s enough.”

The crimopaths stopped immediately. But the damage was already done.

“What the hell is
happening
here?”

Kinsella turned to see who had spoken. An old woman, purple-skinned and wrinkled, with protruding lower teeth that reminded him faintly of tusks, was standing in the doorway. Her bright blue eyes were all ablaze as she looked around the ruin of the church. She took a step forwards. “Who
are
you people?”

“Criminal damage, Conway,” Kinsella muttered. “You’re not within Expansion jurisdiction now. The authorities aren’t going to like this.”

The old woman walked further into the church. “I said, who are you? What’s been going on here?”

Conway stepped forwards. “We’re looking for the priest, Heyes. Do you happen to know where she is?”

“She’s gone. Settled her bar bill before she went.” The old alien looked sad. “I guess that means she’s not planning to come back in a hurry. And a good job—what have you lot been doing here?”

Conway, looking round, took in the destruction. “This? It was like this when we arrived.”

The old woman scowled. “Don’t take me for a fool, girlie,” she said. “I run the bar next door. You could hear the racket halfway to purple sector.”

Conway didn’t look perturbed. She tugged at her earlobe, thoughtfully, and said, “I wonder whether you can shed any light on where Heyes has gone?”

Then it happened. The crimopaths, as if some instruction had been issued, turned as one to look at the old woman. Suddenly Kinsella felt a terrible sense of dread. He opened his mouth to speak—to warn her, to tell her to run—but his tongue seemed to be glued to the top of his mouth. The old woman looked at the crimopaths. “Who did you say you were?”

“I didn’t,” Conway replied. “But since you ask, we represent the government of the Expansion.”

The old woman laughed. “You’re a long way from the Expansion, girlie!”

“Not that far,” said Conway thoughtfully. “But in many ways that works in our favour. We are not, for example, bound by the kinds of laws we might customarily have to follow if we were at home. We have what might be called leeway.” She turned to her team. “I believe we should ask some questions.”

“Questions?” said the old woman. “What kind of questions? What are you talking about?”

Conway did not reply. Instead, she turned to Kinsella and said, “You may like to leave now. This is not for the faint-hearted.”

Kinsella hesitated, and, then, numbly, he turned away and began to walk through the mess towards the door of the church. The old woman watched him go, uneasily. “What’s happening?” she said. “You!” she tugged at Kinsella’s sleeve as he went past. “Where are you going?”

Kinsella stopped, briefly, to push her hand away. “For the love of God,” he said roughly, “tell them whatever you know as quickly as you can. You might get out of this alive.”

“Alive?” She turned away from him, to look at the crimopaths, heading towards her. A glimmer of fear was starting to enter those startling eyes. She said to Kinsella, “Help me!”

“I can’t!” he choked out. “There’s nothing I can do!”

He left the church, pulling the door closed behind him. He heard a scream, high-pitched and terrible, suddenly cut off. He stood uncertainly outside, staring at the closed door. Could he contact somebody? Who? Would they be able to help? Or would the crimopaths murder their way through Shuloma Station if he tried? Kinsella could well believe that the death count would rise rapidly, should the authorities become involved.

There was a bar next door to the church, the Crossed Keys. Kinsella went in, and sat in a booth towards the back. After about an hour (Did they really need that long? What were they
doing
in there...?), his handheld chimed softly. He nearly hit the roof. With a trembling hand, he checked the message. It was from Conway.
You can come back now.

He finished his drink, paid, and went back round to the church. Unwillingly, he opened the door and went inside, terrified at what he might find.

There was, at least, no blood. The crimopaths had picked up a few of the chairs, and two of them, one of the men and one of the women, were sitting down, talking quietly to each other. Conway was standing beside them, and seemed to be busy with her handheld. Receiving more of her precious orders? The other two crimopaths were not to be seen, nor was the old woman. Slowly, Kinsella walked towards the altar. There was not much more damage that he could see, although the head of the statue of the blue-and-white woman had been detached from the body, and now lay on its side upon the altar. She still had red smears on her cheeks, and someone had painted her lips red too, with what Kinsella hoped was lipstick.

Behind the table where the statue had once stood there was a small door, through which one of the crimopaths emerged, whistling tunelessly. The other followed, and closed the door afterwards. “All done?” said Conway, and the pair nodded. “Good, good.” Then she turned to Kinsella. “We’re finished here,” she said. “And we have our next destination. Follow the star. The star of the sea.”

Kinsella finally found his voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s what we’ve been told,” said Conway. “From a reliable source. The star of the sea. Mean anything to you, Mr Kinsella?”

Kinsella shook his head.

“Well, it does to me. Star of the Sea. Stella Maris.” Conway waved the handheld about cheerfully. “I have the co-ordinates right here.”

O
N THE THIRD
day of their journey, the land started to become rougher and low hills began to rise and fall in front of them. Towards the end of the day’s walking, the quiet hour before dawn, they came to the banks of a wide, slow-moving river. Here, Feuerstein told them, was where they would leave the desert plains behind them, turning north-west to follow the course of the river into the mountains. They still had several days of walking ahead of them.

They could perhaps have walked on for another hour or so before the cool dawn, but the riverbank seemed a natural break, and so they stopped and made camp. When the tents were up, and the food was eaten and cleared away, Larsen came to sit beside Walker. They sat together in silence, looking up at the stars.

“I grew up on Lindisfarne,” said Larsen, at last. “Quiet colony world. Not much industry. All tourist trade and hospitality. Beautiful mountains and rivers and lakes. Adventure sports.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Larsen shrugged. “It was boring, actually. All highly-regulated and super-safe. Nobody wanted to risk getting sued. I came to Hennessy’s World to study medicine. Never went back.” She lay down on the ground. “I’ve spent so long on the inner worlds that I’d forgotten what the stars look like. How incredible they are. I’d forgotten there was so much to see.”

“There’s the quiet too,” said Walker. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so remote in my life. Even on Andrei’s boat, you could hear the flyers in the distance and the throb of the city. I’ve never heard quiet like this. When I lie down to sleep it’s as if I can hear the blood pumping around my veins. As if I can hear her moving within me...” She fell silent. Larsen’s hand rested for a moment upon her arm, and Walker relished the contact and the gentle, wordless comfort. They listened to the soft sounds around them: the others settling down to sleep; some quiet coughs and muted conversation; Feuerstein moving to take the watch; and, below it all, the low steady rush of the river. At last, Larsen stretched and stood up.

“Get some sleep, Delia,” she said. “Even an hour or so will be good for you.”

Obediently, Walker lay down on her mat, curling up on her left side like Larsen had suggested. The child moved inside her.
Hello
, she thought
. Time to rest. Time for us to rest.
What she had said to Larsen was true. She had found herself, the past few days, in the silent emptiness of this desert, talking more to the baby. Listening for her responses. Feeling her. This journey had pared her down to the essentials. Down to the two of them.
Are you comfortable? Get comfortable. It’s time for us to rest.

She hovered on the edge of sleep. The child settled inside her, and she pictured her, legs and arms curled around her small self, sucking her tiny thumb, maybe. Suspended. Dreaming. Covered. Protected.

Loved
...

Walker woke, suddenly. There were voices at the edge of the camp, raised, and movement all around her. She sat bolt upright, clutching herself. Had they been found?

Larsen was leaning over her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything’s okay. But you’d better come. Your shadow is here.”

Walker looked up at her friend in confusion. She thought, obscurely, of Kinsella, whom she hadn’t thought of in ages. He had pursued her with courtesy and obstinacy; ever-present and persistent. He had said that he loved her. “My shadow?”

“Your Vetch shadow.”

“Failt? He’s here?”

“He’s here and he very much wants to talk to you.”

Walker scrambled to her feet and made her way through their little camp. Sure enough, Failt was there, sitting between Feuerstein and one of her people. Heyes was crouched down next to him, but when he saw Walker, he jumped to his feet.

“Missus Delia!” he cried. He ran towards her, flinging his arms around her. She found herself patting the top of his head and, then, more to her surprise, stroking his mane of hair, very gently.

“Well, Failt,” she said. “I have to say that I’m glad to see you, but why aren’t you back at the
Baba Yaga
? Has something happened?”

He looked up at her with his strange, blood-red, sorrowful eyes. “Bad news!”

Walker’s heart clenched in her chest. From behind her, Larsen said, “Jesus Christ, what’s happened? Where’s Maria? Where’s Jenny?”

“All safe. Leastways, I think so. Did my best, my very best, to make him follow. But, missus, he’s on his way!” He clutched at her with his paws. “Couldn’t shake him off!”

“All right,” Walker said in a calm, clear voice. “Slow down. Back up and tell me what’s happened.”

Failt was shaking his head, sending his tentacles quivering this way and that. “Never trusted him. From the beginning, the very beginning. He had his eye on me. Wanted to space me! That’s why I stayed. Keep my eye on him. Knew after you fought he was going to try something, and he has done.”

“Okay, Failt, we’re talking about Yershov, yes? What’s he done now?”

“Been and gone and done it, missus. Heard him on the comm. Wants new implants. Wants to work again.”

Larsen said, “I told him the op would probably kill him.”

“Reason doesn’t come into it,” said Walker. “I imagine that whoever he’s been talking to has been very convincing. But Failt—do you have any idea who it is he contacted? Who he’s been talking to?”

Failt nodded. “Checked the comm when he was asleep. Didn’t get a name, but they’re Fleet. Come all the way from the Expansion. He’s sold you out, missus. Told your bosses where to find you. Knew I had to keep an eye on him. He wanted to space me!”

Walker and Larsen turned to each other. “Well,” said Larsen. Her voice was shaking. “I guess we knew this was coming.”

“I know,” said Walker. “Still, I hoped we might have enough time...”

Feuerstein was watching them closely. She stepped towards Walker and said, “Does this mean what I think it means?”

Walker hesitated before replying, and Heyes said, “Tell her the truth. You owe these people that much.”

Walker nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid so. If Failt is right—and I have no reason to doubt him—then it sounds as if our pilot has sold us out to the Bureau.”

“And what does it mean for us? For Stella Maris?”

“I don’t know,” Walker said honestly. “But these people are prepared to do whatever it takes to protect their secret. And they have the capability to wipe out millions.”

Feuerstein and her people gathered together and began to confer in soft, worried voices. Walker became aware that Failt was tugging at her arm.

“Missus,” he said, urgently. “You gotta listen. Think I didn’t shake him off. Think he’s still coming after me. Tried my best but think he’s here—”

He was right, and he didn’t get to say any more. From somewhere in the darkness, an energy weapon was fired at them. The line of light burst overhead and hit one of the trees on the river bank, setting it ablaze. They all scrambled for cover; Walker pulling Failt after her and leaning over to protect his small body. From the distance, she heard Yershov, yelling.

“You little Vetch shit, I should have finished you when I had the chance! But I’ll get you! I’ll get you now!”

The weapon fired again. This time it hit one of the tents, right in the middle of the camp, where they had been gathered moments before.