The Baba Yaga (12 page)

Walker stared down at her handheld. “Did you ever meet anyone who had been there?”

Failt shook his head. “Could all be make-believe, couldn’t it? Everyone needs to think they got a hope, don’t they? If you don’t think you’ve got a hope, you give up, don’t you?” He smirked at Yershov. “And some of us make our own hope and hide away on people’s ships when they’re not looking.”

Yershov pushed himself forward in his chair. “You filthy little bastard,” he said. “I should’ve pushed you through that airlock the moment I laid eyes on you—”

“You’d have gone out straight after him, Yershov,” Walker said calmly. “Sit down and shut up. Failt, is that all you know? Is there anything else?”

The child shrugged. “A name.”

“Go on.”

“Heyes. Everyone used to talk about Heyes.”

Heyes
... Walker jumped up from her sling and went over to the comm. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. And if this was a story that went round the poor benighted workers of Shard’s World, then perhaps Fredricks might be able to help. He was the kind of person that would have his ear to the ground...

Behind her, still sitting on the floor, Failt murmured to himself, “‘Live-in-peace-and-harmony’...” Then he snorted. “Bet it’s all make-believe, Missus Delia. Like famblees.”

“
H
ELLO, AGAIN,
W
ALKER,
” said Fredricks. “
Your pilot’s head imploded yet?
”

“We’re doing fine at this end, thank you,” Walker said. “But I need some information.”

“
Information, huh? Not a new ship?
”

“Not yet.”

“
And what’s in it for me?
”

He was, in Walker’s opinion, starting to get cocky. “Gerhardt Lopez is due for parole shortly,” Walker said; Lopez was Fredricks’ erstwhile boss. “I’d be happy to put a word in for him. And then I’d be happy to pass on your new name and address so that you two could get together and remember old times.”

Fredricks scowled. “
All right,
” he said. “
I was only having some fun. What do you want to know?
”

Remember who’s boss, Fredricks
, she thought.
Remember who’s slavey
. “Do you have much of a problem with runaways at your end?”

“
Now why would anyone want to run away from here? The opportunities that Shard’s World presents are unique within the Reach for anyone prepared to work hard—
”

“Parole board are waiting to hear from me,” Walker said, shortly.

“
All right. No. Yes. Sometimes
.”

“Those opportunities not so great after all, hey?”

“
The work ethic isn’t what it once was. But, yes—sometimes, people leave Shard’s World without paying off their debts. Breaks my heart to say so—not to mention hurts my wallet—but there it is. Some people don’t recognise an opportunity when they see one.
”

Or recognised when they’d been scammed into slavery. “This happen a lot, this sudden disillusionment?”

Fredricks looked at her cannily. “
What are you after, Walker?
”

“Have you heard the name Heyes?”

“
Heyes? You’re looking for Heyes?
” Fredricks burst out laughing. “
Christ, Walker, if I didn’t know better, I’d think the Bureau has lost the plot.
”

“I can assure you that we are as serious as ever we were. What’s so funny?”

“
You’d laugh if you knew Heyes!
”

“Why?”

“
Well, you know, the whole business was before my time, but people round here still spit when you mention the name. Caused a lot of trouble. Cost a lot of people a lot of money.
”

“Oh, I see—when you say ‘people’ you mean the kind of bottom-feeding bastard who might traffic other people into slavery, yes?”

“
Nobody
,” said Fredricks loftily, “
comes to Shard’s World against their own will
.
That would be illegal, not to mention unethical.
”

“I know, I know—and it’s not your fault if they don’t read the small print.”

“
Now you’re talking like someone I can do business with, Walker.
”

“But Heyes had a different kind of business, yes? Ran some kind of underground railway?”

“
That’s what I said. Caused a lot of trouble helping people—
”

“To escape?”

Fredricks glared. “
I was going to say ‘abscond.’
”

Walker tapped her upper lip. So the part of Failt’s story checked out. What about the rest?
‘Live-in-peace-and-harmony’?
Was that all make-believe? “You’re talking about Heyes in the past tense. Dead?”

“
I don’t think so. But long gone.”

Walker sighed in frustration. As soon as a lead presented itself, it was snatched away.

“
Look
,” said Fredricks, “
I wouldn’t do this for anyone, but because it’s you, here’s what I heard. Heyes got off Shard before people decided to put a stop to what was going on. Last I heard, he was heading for Shuloma Station. That’s all I know
.”

“Shuloma Station.”

“
I’ve got a friend there.
”

“A friend? Forgive me if I find that unlikely.”

“
An associate, then, if that seems more plausible. DeSoto. I’ll send over his details
.”

“Is he in the import business too?”

“
DeSoto? Of course not.
”

Fredricks cut the comm but, true to his word, contact details for DeSoto soon materialised on Walker’s handheld. “Yershov!” she shouted, and the pilot jerked awake in his sling. “I want a course set for Shuloma Station.”

Dutifully, Yershov obeyed.

Failt gave a low, throaty chuckle. “See what I mean? He’s slavey.”

T
HEY WALKED FOR
about an hour, after which Jenny had to be carried. Maria had never felt so tired, not even in the early days of Jenny’s life. Her every limb ached with a bone-deep weariness. They walked the length of one section of the station, and then a second, and most of a third. Then there were some steps to climb, and then a dropchute (mercifully) and then past a big interchange where some kind of festival seemed to be happening: great drums were beating, and reedy pipes cheeping, and a tall man in a flame-coloured robe held aloft a great golden artefact cast in the shape a fiery sun. People rushed past in excitement after the procession, and nobody, it seemed, had time or space for a lonely, frightened new widow and her exhausted little girl. They slipped away from the crowd down a wide, busy thoroughfare, and soon after found the neighbourhood they were heading for: a rather gloomy area, set back from the thoroughfare, with narrow hatch-like doors on either side of the corridor, and grimy orange light coming from strips in the ceiling above. Maria found the door by the string of letters and numbers marked on its surface. The door opened and, with great relief, she ushered the little girl inside.

The room was completely bare. Maria almost burst into tears, but she remembered Jenny, and got a grip on herself. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “let’s see what we can make of this!”

“There isn’t a bed, Mummy.”

“I know. Perhaps we’re missing something.” Maria held the door open with her foot to get some light from the corridor into the room, and, feeling around on the wall by the door, managed to find a light switch. A grubby yellow light made the room more visible, although it showed, too, the extent of its uncleanliness. Maria let the door close behind her, and saw that there were more switches on the wall. Turning one of these revealed that the room had a drop-down bed, and other switches opened up a water supply, a heat supply, and some meagre toilet facilities.

“Are we staying here long?” Jenny said, doubtfully.

I hope to God not
, thought Maria, but said, “Hop into bed now, Jenny. Time to get some sleep.”

“I won’t sleep till Daddy arrives,” Jenny said, firmly, but the minute her little head touched the pillow she passed out, lying in a heap in the middle of the tiny bed.

Maria didn’t sleep. She lay beside Jenny and listened to the distant beat of the drums from the festival. She heard people pass along the corridor outside, laughing and singing. One time she thought she heard someone scrabbling at the lock outside. She sat up, wondering how she might protect herself and Jenny, and then she heard a mumbled curse, and whoever it was went on their way. She lay back. Her eyes were gritty and her head buzzed with exhaustion. Eventually, she realised that it wasn’t simply her head buzzing. Someone was trying to get through on the communicator Kit had given her.

She moved to sat on the side of the bed and switched the communicator on.

“
Emerson?
” The voice coming through the little device was distorted and Maria could make out nothing about the person speaking: not age, not gender, not accent.

“Who is this?” she said, quietly.

There was a short pause, and then: “
Who are you? Where’s Emerson?
”

“Kit,” Maria said, passionately, angrily, and from a place of great, aching grief. “His name was Kit!” She looked back over her shoulder, afraid she had woken Jenny with her outburst, but the little girl was still deeply asleep. “I imagine he’s dead by now. There were people following us, and he sent us away because they had found us.”

There was silence from the other end, and Maria started to think that the communication had been cut. Then she heard a deep sigh. “
I see
.
I’m sorry. I wish it hadn’t come to this—
”

“But it has,” Maria said. “And it’s because of you—”

“
Emerson chose to help me—
”

“And now he’s dead. You’ll forgive me if I don’t have very warm feelings towards you.”

“
You’re the wife, aren’t you? I told him not to go back for you. It’s probably what cost him his life. He should have left you—
”

“So that I could die on Braun’s World along with everyone else?”

Again, a short silence. “
What do you know about that?
”

“Only that the Weird came, so Fleet bombarded the planet, and now everyone there is dead.”

Again, she thought she heard a soft sigh come through the communicator, but she couldn’t decipher the meaning. Perhaps it was genuine feeling; perhaps she had been utterly mistaken and it had simply been a crackle of interference. “
If they’ve found Emerson, they’ll be coming for you next, I’m afraid. You should try to get away.
”

“Away? To another safe house? Do you have one here? You sent us on here, I’m guessing—”

“
There isn’t another safe house. I’ve done all I can. If you want, you can try to get away from the station. But I have to be honest with you—it won’t make a difference, not in the long run. They’re set on finding everyone. I’m sorry. Really, I am. This isn’t your fault. But they can’t leave anyone alive.
”

“For God’s sake!” Maria said, frantically. “I have a little girl! You’ve got to help us!”

But the communicator had gone silent. Maria reached into her pocket and twisted the datapin around between her fingers. She had no way of accessing the secrets on it. But what was it that Kit had been willing to die for? What was it that people were willing to kill for? Kill even her, and her little girl? Beside her, Jenny sighed in her sleep. And Maria lay down next to her, and held her daughter close to her, curling around her as if she really could shield her from a terrible, hostile world.

I
T WAS BARELY
a month since Andrei Gusev had been pushed, but his presence within the Bureau was all but eradicated. Four decades of service, and it was as if the man had never been there. A new dispensation reigned. Gusev’s style, under successive Bureau heads, had been firm but almost collegiate: policy was decided in comfortable sessions in his office; minor infractions were treated with an arched eyebrow and a gentle word in private. (Major infractions, it was true, were more summarily treated. Even a man as genial as Gusev had his limits. He wouldn’t have remained so influential without them.)

Now the air of bonhomie was gone. Latimer, ostensibly, was at the head—but nobody in the upper echelons of Bureau officialdom could forget how he had crumbled when the news from Braun’s World had arrived. The tone of the Bureau, as ever, was set by the second-in-command. But Commander Adelaide Grant, formerly of Fleet Intelligence, was a colder and more humourless person than Andrei Gusev. The Bureau was a colder, more humourless place.