He notified Grant to tell her that he was ready to leave Hennessy’s World, passing over the delay, and requesting that the ship she had promised be made available to him. Arriving at the small secluded spaceport that the Bureau used for its own business, he discovered that not only had Grant been as good as her word, she had excelled herself. The ship was compact, but fast and powerful; not the latest design, but more than adequate for his needs. It was called
The White Horseman.
As Kinsella approached it to board, he found himself almost looking forward to flying it. He was a decent pilot, not flashy but more than competent, and he had not had the opportunity to put in many hours in recent years.
“Kinsella.”
He didn’t recognise the voice, and something about the tone triggered an old instinct that had him reaching to his side for a weapon that he hadn’t carried on a regular basis in years. Turning, he saw a young woman walking towards him, dressed in the familiar—and disliked—dark blue uniform of Fleet Intelligence. She clearly caught the movement of his hand, but she didn’t smile, or blink, or in any other way give away what she thought. She simply registered the information and filed it away. When she reached Kinsella, she tapped the identity chip on the back of her hand. “Commander Grant sent me,” she said. “But you can check my credentials if you like.”
“You know,” said Kinsella, “I think I will.”
He took out his handheld and ran the scanner over the chip.
Scarlett Conway, Major, Fleet Intelligence. Currently seconded to Commander Grant, senior operations officer, Expansion Information Bureau.
Scarlett? Good God, what names these children had. The handheld offered him her full service record, which Kinsella downloaded for future light reading. Then he looked at the woman more closely. She was in her late twenties, he guessed; on the tallish side, muscular in a slender way, and obviously extremely fit. Despite her relatively slight build, he decided he wouldn’t like to have to arm wrestle her, not after so many years behind a desk. And she had the cool air of one whose eye was on promotion, who was cultivating the right people, and who didn’t intend to allow anyone to stand in her way. Particularly not a middle-aged spook whose own patron had recently been found washed up on a beach. That kind of single-mindedness, combined with the cruelty of youth, was, in Kinsella’s experience, a potentially deadly combination.
“Well,” he said. “Major Conway. What brings you here this fine spring morning?”
“I gather Commander Grant thought you might appreciate some assistance on your mission.”
“‘Assistance’? For God’s sake, I’m not an idiot,” Kinsella said through gritted teeth. She was here to watch him. To make sure he didn’t jump ship the moment he was out of Expansion space. To make sure that he brought back Larsen and Walker rather than joined them on whatever madcap quest or insane escape attempt they were currently embarked upon.
Conway looked back impassively. “If you have a problem, you should probably take it up with Commander Grant. I’m here at her request.”
“Yes, yes, following orders. Jesus Christ!” He turned away, back to his sleek little ship. “Well, you can go back to Grant and tell her where she can stick those orders. I have been loyal to the Bureau and the Expansion for the whole of my adult life. I don’t need a minder, particularly one half my age, and I’m certainly not taking one with me.”
“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Mr Kinsella,” Conway said calmly.
He stared at her. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“Do I need to make some kind of threat?”
“You’re welcome to try.”
“Very well.” She folded her arms behind her, then glanced up at his new ship. “It’s a very good ship. One of the best. Be a pity to die on it.”
Kinsella almost jolted in shock. Jesus, who was this woman? Was this the kind of person Grant was bringing in as a matter of course? “What the hell do you mean?”
“Mr Kinsella,” she said patiently, as if he did not have all his wits about him, “do you really think the Commander is going to let you fly off into the wide blue yonder without insurance? No, of course not,” she said confidently, and now that she said it, Kinsella couldn’t believe he had thought it either. “This ship,” Conway went on, “will phase into the void—but it won’t phase out. Not without the right codes. Which I have and you don’t. The void is a boring place. I doubt you want spend the rest of your life floating around in it trying to get out. Though you’re welcome to try. I doubt it would be a long life. Suicide would surely be a rapidly attractive option.”
Furiously, he turned away from her, and strode across the hangar to his now considerably less-than-attractive ship. Conway followed close behind, comfortably matching his pace, only adding to his aggravation. As they made their way up the metal steps outside the ship to the entry hatch, Kinsella found himself wondering: was he angry because Grant did not trust him, or because a potential avenue of escape had now been closed to him? He wasn’t entirely sure himself.
T
HE CREW OF
the
Baba Yaga
was sitting at an intersection, watching the station traffic pass them by and trying to decide their next move. Failt was happy exactly where he was: he had found more alien delicacies to nibble on, and as long as Walker kept them coming, he would sit where he was and watch the world go by forever. It was as if he was making up for the lost years of his childhood, Walker thought; years of privation and hard work, with very little to live on. Years stolen from him.
Yershov wanted to return to the Crossed Keys. He had liked the place, despite the unexpected arrival of a Catholic priest, and he saw no reason not to go back and sample more of its wares. Besides, he said, if there were still people hanging around the ship asking questions, did they really want to run into them? No, he said, shaking his head—let them get tired of waiting and go away.
Or else give them plenty of time to settle in and shoot them all on their return, Walker thought, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. She was beyond tired; an ache had settled in her bones and all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep... Yershov, looking over at her, cleared his throat. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Not... sick?”
“No,” said Walker, shortly. And it was true: she had not been sick at all. She’d been expecting it, but it hadn’t happened, as if her body was colluding with her mind to keep her in denial about what was happening to her. But she couldn’t remain in denial, could she? She had to make some hard choices. Her body was, after all, on a schedule...
I must be mad. I should go home. But I can’t go home
, she thought desperately.
There’s nothing for me there and it’s all gone too far. But where do I go instead? Where do we go, little one? Where can I take you where you will be safe?
Where else? Onwards. To live-in-peace-and-harmony.
I’ll find this place if it kills me
, thought Walker.
I’ll find this place for you, little minnow. Peace and harmony
.
She rubbed her eyes. Her fingers came away damp.
“Missus,” said Failt, tugging at her arm. “Why don’t we try the little man again?”
Walker tried to focus. “I’m sorry, Failt, I don’t know who you mean.”
“The little man. You know.” The child rounded his shoulders so that his wiry, hungry little body seemed suddenly plump, and then pulled at two of his tentacles, which bounced up in curls. Walker burst out laughing. For all the world, the Vetch child looked exactly like DeSoto.
“Didn’t know you were a mimic along with everything else, Failt.”
He sketched a small bow. “Many talents, missus. All yours.”
“Well, I think you’re probably right. DeSoto might know something...” She sounded doubtful even as she said it. “But I suppose there’s nobody else to try.” She called over to Yershov. “I’m going to try my contact again,” she said. “I think you should go back to the ship and see what’s going on.”
“Back to the ship?” said Yershov. “Are you insane? I’m going back to that bar.”
“Yershov,” said Walker, wearily, “I’m tired. Don’t piss me off. Not today.”
With a low curse, Yershov pulled himself up and followed her and Failt across the intersection. Their way went together for some distance, and all three of them stepped onto the huge moving walkway that connected this sector of the station with the next. They were wide as well as long, with enough space for eight or nine people to stand abreast. An unspoken rule meant that no more than four stood, however, letting those who wanted to skip along more quickly stream past. It was a civilised system, Walker thought. Not something she’d associate with the Reach.
She and her companion stood while people dashed past. As they moved, Walker raised DeSoto on her comm. “When are you available?” she said. “We need to meet.”
“
No way!
” the man hissed, loudly and angrily enough that the couple standing in front looked over the shoulders at her in surprise. She baulked at issuing threats in public, so she tried something else. “Fredricks said—”
“
Fredricks!
” he hissed. “
Damn Fredricks! He’s left me in a lot of trouble
—”
“Left you? Why? Where’s he gone?”
“
To Hell, I should imagine, that double-crossing, double-dealing bastard. Wish I’d had the chance to lay my hands on him before whoever got him...
”
“Hold on a minute. Fredricks is dead?”
“
Dead? Of course he’s dead! They’ve caught up with him at last—whoever it is he pissed off this time—and if you were so thick with him, I don’t want anything more to do with you. So sod off, Ms Walker!
”
The line was cut. The couple in front, with one last glance backwards, decided that they were better off walking for a while now.
Dead...
It was not that she had liked Fredricks—quite the opposite—and he had obviously led the kind of life that earned him many enemies. But she had seen him so recently and he had been thriving. A shiver passed up her spine. There was something else: those bodyguards she had seen had clearly been well paid and well able for their task. The villains and vagabonds of Shard were certainly no match for them. But someone more skilled? Someone from the Expansion, perhaps, with the resources of a big organization behind them...? She shuddered. She had thought that if she returned, she would get no more than a slap on the wrist. But perhaps the sudden disappearance of a disgruntled ex-Bureauwoman was not being treated so lightly. Perhaps they thought she was infected—she had never had the scan, after all. Perhaps they were coming after her. Perhaps they were already here, at the
Baba Yaga
...
Jesus Christ, what do I do now?
“Something the matter, missus?”
“What’s that?”
“You worried? You uneasy?”
She sighed. She didn’t want to frighten him. “No. But I’m shocked to hear about Fredricks, and I’m still wondering what to do next.”
But that wasn’t the truth, by any means, and the sharp look Failt gave her made her suspect that she wasn’t fooling him. Was it coincidence Fredricks had been murdered so soon after their meeting? Or was it time, Walker wondered, to start being more than a little afraid?
The walkway came to an end and the three of them—man, woman, and child—huddled together at the edge of a busy concourse. “All right,” said Walker. “Change of plan. We’re coming back to the ship with you, Yershov. I want to know more about the people who have been asking questions about us.”
He shook his head. “Still think we should lie low for a while.”
“Well, I don’t agree. But first,” she said, “I want to buy a little protection.”
Yershov frowned. “Protection?”
“A weapon, Yershov,” she said, patiently. “I’m going to buy myself a weapon.”
She was armed within the hour. It had cost a substantial chunk of her savings, and it had taken them to a desperate part of the station. “Now,” she said, “we’ll go back to the ship.”
A
MBER TOOK
M
ARIA
by the arm and led her out of the bedroom and back into the main room. A part of Maria’s mind was screaming that she did not want to be touched, that she wanted the younger woman to take her hands off her, but somehow that part of her brain could not gain control, and she did not struggle or even complain when Amber pushed her down onto the cushions beside the still-sleeping Jenny.
She did manage to speak, however. “What have you given me?” She was trembling, desperate to grab Jenny and leave this awful place, but she couldn’t make herself move. “What is it, for God’s sake?”
Amber eased herself into her big armchair, lazy and satisfied as a cat. “I’ve not given you anything,” she said.
“You must have done!” Maria gasped, forcing herself not to speak through the fog descending upon her brain, but struggling even to form the thought that Amber was dangerous and not to be trusted. “I’ve been half-asleep since I got here! I thought I must be tired after all that’s happened...” For a brief, terrifying moment, Maria couldn’t remember anything that had happened before meeting Amber. Nothing at all. It was as if this was where the world had begun—and this was where, inevitably, it would end. She felt Jenny against her. Maria glanced down at the girl, and she thought,
Oh, Kit—what have I done?
Oh, my darling Kit—I’ve let you down!
“You slipped me something, didn’t you?”
Amber smiled and her gold teeth glinted. “I promise I’ve not given you anything,” she said. “You slept because you were tired. You’d had a bad day, I think.”
The part of Maria’s mind that still felt under her control cried,
He’s dead! My husband is dead! What kind of person are you, to take advantage of someone like me?
“Springer saw you wandering about. So we decided... Well, we decided you both needed someone to take care of you. You came back here, you ate some food, and you felt safe and you fell asleep!”
Maria pinched herself on the arm, hard. It cleared her head for a moment. “But I felt something!” she said. “I believed I could trust you—no, it was something more than that. I felt like I could only be safe if you were there. That I had to come with you, and do what you said. You must have drugged me!”