Molehunt by Paul Collins

with the back ways and concealed entrances. A true professional would have them covered. She locked herself in, hoping for time to think what her next move should be. She did not get it.
    That night the assassin struck again.
    Through the haze of a dream she became aware that someone was in her apartment. Not possible. Not in theory, anyway. She had put the security and defence systems in place herself. Still, there was someone inside her apartment, and none of the alarms had gone off. She blinked herself fully awake.
    Somebody that good was definitely to be feared.
    On the other hand, she owed the fact that she was still alive to the complexity and sensitivity of her defences. Each of these would have taken time to overcome or neutralise and even now the killer would be moving with slow precision, measuring each move, scanning for interceptor beams, pressure pads under the carpet, mass detectors, and a million other anti-intruder systems.
    None of which had worked, except for the one in her head, the one that was jangling loudly and shredding her nerves.
    She rolled out of bed and in one fluid motion moved to the far corner, where the shadow was deepest. Here she pressed a button to open a panel in the wall. But it didn’t budge. She felt under the bench for her reeker, the tiny hand weapon allowing her to stun without killing.
    â€˜Lookin’ for this?’
    The sheer deadness of the voice made her go cold and clammy all over. It sounded like the voice of someone who had climbed out of a freshly dug grave.
    Which is just where I’d like to put you back into
. The thought flashed through her mind as her brain went into overdrive.
    â€˜You keep it,’ she said, springing straight up. The wall behind her vaporised soundlessly, but she was already out of the line of fire. Her extraordinary musculature always took people by surprise. Now she counted on it to keep her alive.
    She twisted, bounced off the ceiling, and dived across the room. Another soundless blast blew away a large chunk of the roof. The flash dazzled her, leaving dark spots dancing in front of her eyes. She thudded into something soft, but he was prepared for her, even though her strength had come as a shock.
    They tumbled onto the floor, broke apart, and were both back on their feet and striking in an eye blink. In an eerie silence in the dim light of the bedroom, they exchanged blindingly fast blows and counterblows. Anneke’s youth and strength gave her an edge, but her attacker had experience and confidence. After all, he had survived every fight he had ever been in.

M AXIMUS moved through the nighttime crowd on Lykis Integer like a wraith. He wore a cloak and hood and kept his face in shadow. He drew little attention, because many of those around him were similarly dressed. Privacy, on a world full of spies and secret agents, was jealously guarded. Even asking for a person’s given name was considered rude.
    All of which suited Maximus’s purposes.
    He threaded the maze of back alleys and dingy lanes, moving deeper and deeper into the Draco Quarter of the city, an area notorious for muggers, thieves and trigger-happy mercenaries. Life here was cheap, in some cases costing less than two bottles of Earth water. Many could not afford the ubiquitous neural neck jacks. There were no sanitation teams of droid sprayers, suckers, mulchers, spiders, centipedes and snakes, with automated dumpsters and central trucks. Rather than PhoneNet, they had ancient mobile phones with voice instruction. They even chalked street art on the sidewalks, rather than displaying data bubbles of their favourite art around their bodies.
    Maximus trod carefully, not through fear, but to avoid losing the precious moments it would take to kill any idiot who challenged him.
    He found the Cut Throat. On its swinging board there was a gruesome picture matching the inn’s name, but this was just to impress the adventure-tour people. The bar pretended to be a