The Baba Yaga Read Free

going to lose this one.”
    Andrei sighed. Under the guise of reaching for her glass, Walker took a good long look at him. He seemed tired, as he often had in recent months, as if the thought of the fight ahead wearied him. Not long , she thought, coolly, but not entirely without compassion. Not long before he quits all this and goes back to his island to potter around on that little boat . She had seen it many times: officers for whom the fight lost its allure; who became wearied at the thought of yet another round of chilly, committee-room combat. They sickened, sometimes suddenly, and then they were gone, a lifetime of effort all brought to nothing. But the battle went on, and Walker, at least, hadn’t tired of it yet. Not with people like Grant on the warpath.
    The heavy double doors swung open, and the room went quiet as Latimer entered. Everyone—hawk and dove alike—studied the man carefully as he made his way round to the head of the table. The newly appointed head of the Bureau was an outside man, parachuted in by Council to unite what had always been a hotbed of personal rivalries in the face of the Weird crisis. It had not yet done the job. The competition remained, although now just two groups were competing for Latimer’s attention and approval. At some point he would have to show his cards and back somebody. Walker was damned if it was going to be Grant’s lot.
    Latimer settled in his seat, taking his time. He was tall man, austere, like a Benedictine monk. He didn’t laugh much—in fact, he didn’t laugh at all—and he didn’t talk much either. He watched. As he laid out his handhelds and screens, the rest of the room shuffled impatiently. Walker saw Grant roll her eyes. If the people in this room had one thing in common, it was resentment at how Latimer was playing them: biding his time; keeping them guessing. This was not how it was supposed to be. Council was supposed to jump when the Bureau ordered, not the other way round. What was the point otherwise of having all that dirt on the political class?
    Latimer looked round the room and gave a thin smile. The assembled elite of the Expansion’s spy corps smiled back, wanly. Walker’s stomach lurched again. It has to be today, she thought. What Latimer decides today will affect the Expansion for decades to come... Beside her, Andrei sighed again, as if letting a little more of his will leave him. “Let the revels begin,” he murmured.
     
     
    T HE BATTLE LINES were clear from the outset and, throughout the morning, the hawks seemed to have the upper hand. Certainly they were making the most of available evidence, in the form of graphic and gruesome images from worlds where the Weird had attacked. Hardly anyone in the room could watch them in full. The Weird—in their ambulatory forms as Sleer—were repulsive to look at, like mobile, human-sized afterbirth, and their destruction was without conscience, although clearly with purpose. In the images Grant was now showing, the hideous creatures—human-shaped but palpably other—ravaged a city on the world of Rocastle, tearing the human population apart, limb from limb. The hideous Flyers, vast monstrosities of bulky grey flesh, flanked with tiny eyes and suckers, had come in waves, landing and disgorging a relentless tide of pitiless, hideous Sleer. It was carnage, and of the bloodiest kind.
    Walker forced herself to watch the devastation for as long as she could, but eventually she had to look away. Instead, she started to watch Latimer. He gazed steadily at the screen, hardly seeming even to blink. Walker glanced across the table at Kinsella, who was looking at her with a question in his eyes. When , he seemed to be saying, are you going to step in, Walker? When are you going to respond?
    Walker shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Not now. Not in the face of this. But her moment would come.
    The footage came to an end. Grant, turning to her rattled audience, said, “This is the enemy we face.