Molehunt

by Paul Collins

  Maximus was seized by an enormous force and plucked from the disintegrating threader. He found himself winded, in clear air, falling toward the surface of Big Dome, the heart of Uptown. All around him were bodies – some blackened, some still alive – and smoking debris trailing plumes of dark, greasy smoke. Already alarms were blaring.

  Although dizzy and confused, Maximus felt little fear. He knew that automatic rescue fields would be deployed, suppressing inertia, allowing the victims to impact the surface with little damage, whether dead or alive. The field soaked up the energy transfer that turned human bodies into bloody pulp when they fell from great heights. If not, he had his own field activator. There was a risk in using it, however. With all the fields in use inside the orbital city he could pick up interference. Indeed, fields might cancel each other out and that would kill him quite thoroughly.

  He looked down. Air buffeted him, making his eyes water and visibility poor, but the surface was rushing up fast.

  An interesting problem, he thought. I won’t really know if the Reema field is working till I hit. If I hit and am still breathing, then it’s working. But if I use my own field activator I could cancel out – and splat!

  How to tell? He pulled open his shirt, eyeing the tiny console biowelded seamlessly to his stomach near his hip. As a precaution, it was not linked to his neural net. He tentatively pressed buttons, trying to read the projecting holoscreen. If he interpreted this correctly, he was picking up interference; that meant a large distortion field was at work nearby.

  Unless he was reading the device incorrectly.

  There was one other possibility. Keeping one finger on the button that would deploy his personal field, he scanned the sky below for bodies that had been blown downwards, placing them closer to the ground than he with added velocity.

  They would hit the ground first. At most, he would have six or seven seconds to interpret what he saw, make a decision, and press the button. He focused on three passengers several hundred metres below him. Two waved their arms while screaming.

  With one finger on the button he watched them hawk-like. At the same time he was aware that the surface and its buildings were rushing towards him at lethal speed.

  If the other passengers hit open ground and he had the bad luck to be headed for the top of a tall building, he would have even less time to make a decision.

  BAM. The first one hit. Then the next two in quick succession. Maximus started counting the seconds, not tearing his eyes away from the prone bodies.

  Come on. Move. Do something!

  Time became elongated. The bodies on the ground seemed frozen. Were they dead? Brains pulped inside their skulls? Should he depress the button?

  Suddenly one started to sit up.

  Maximus pulled his finger away from the button then – BAM – smashed into the surface.

  He felt nothing, but remained alive and conscious.

  For a long moment he lay there wondering at the weird sensation of impacting a solid object at a dizzying speed yet feeling nothing. It was like a dream. Of course, people did this for sport – an expensive hobby, because cancelling out high speed drained a lot of energy. He could see why they did it though – it was exhilarating. Sitting up, he did a quick body check to ensure everything was working.

  A man rushed up. ‘You all right, mister?’ he asked as he assisted Maximus to his feet.

  ‘Fine,’ said Maximus. ‘I’m fine. Just a little unsteady.’

  The man helped him to a bench then ran off to check on other survivors. Maximus took several deep breaths to get his thoughts in order.

  Deathword. Investment at midnight.

  The timing of the contract meant that Myoto hoped he would be isolated and vulnerable, unable to call on Quesada for help, making him an easy hit.

  Maximus’s natural cockiness kept him from conceding this point completely. He had to consciously remind himself that here, on Reema’s End, he did not have the normal backup he had on Lykis Integer.

  Staying alive until midnight might be a challenge.

  ANNEKE grabbed Deema’s hand and ran, half-pulling and half-carrying the girl in her wake. Her Normanskian muscles aided her enormously, as did the layout of Lotang’s headquarters being mentally tattooed to her cortex – as it had been for Maximus.

  Unfortunately, these layouts were not always up-to-date, and unlike Maximus she was unarmed.

  As she ran, Anneke mentally counted down the seconds. She knew Lotang would be good to his word.

  ‘He said he’d let us go,’ gulped Deema, her breath ragged.

  ‘He changed his mind. Probably didn’t want me out there hunting for Brown. I would put a dent in his life insurance.’

  ‘Are we going to die?’

  ‘Not if I can help it. Shush now. I need to think.’

  Last night she had plotted out a number of escape routes, barely hoping she would be in a position to try them. Of course, the real reason Lotang had let them go is that he wanted their deaths to look natural. That way, if RIM turned up or a Sentinel Investigation Squad arrived, he could shrug helplessly and say, Sorry, officer, it was an unfortunate accident.

  One minute. Sixty seconds.

  Pursuit began.

  Which way would they expect her to go? Were they tracking her? She knew the mole had been here, that he had managed to escape also, and that he had set off a series of explosions. Her intel suggested not all systems were back on line yet. One of those was internal surveillance.

  She sighed. She had to assume that was right. And when you assumed you usually ended up dead meat in a coroner’s facility

  Anneke focussed. She was pounding down a corridor when two men came charging round a bend. With barely a second to react, she head-butted one, slamming him backwards off his feet. Shoving Deema aside, she piled into the other, letting her momentum carry her.

  They all hit the floor, the second man landing on his back. Anneke brought her elbow down hard into his solar plexus. He wheezed, and Anneke knew that for some minutes his diaphragm muscles would be spasming, so he would be preoccupied with trying to breathe. She quickly relieved both men of their weapons, shoving one in the back of her waistband and priming the other, before grabbing Deema’s hand.

  Now the odds were slightly better.

  They knew where she was headed, which meant she had to feint them out and head somewhere else. She needed more contacts, a brief pattern of them, suggesting she was heading in one direction. Then she would double back and go where she intended.

  The encounter with the two men decided her. Anneke knew the others would figure she would head for their vulnerable point, where Maximus had blasted the perimeter defences.

  Since she had hit the two men whilst going away from that point, it suddenly made sense to go there. She needed two more contacts to confirm her supposed intentions.

  And within three minutes she had made them. One was a fleeting sighting, the next was an encounter with a small squad of armed men. Again, the element of surprise was with her. She shot two in the legs and the others scattered. By the time they regrouped she was gone, and doubling back.

  On the way, she explained to Deema what she was doing, and coached her in the turns she needed to take to get there, in case something happened and Deema had to go on by herself.

  Something did happen.

  Anneke was barely aware of it at first, no more than a whisper in her mind. This way, it seemed to say. Go this way. Left. Left. And a little later: No, go right.

  They were using subsonics, probably a mixture of invitor and recoil frequencies. Luckily she had prepared a defence against them, though stress would make her more vulnerable to their subtle neural manipulations. And right now she was stressed.

  ‘Listen,’ she said to Deema. ‘If I try to go off route, you have to stop me, okay? And if you cannot, do not go with me. You understand? You stick to the route I told you.’

  Deema nodded mutely, biting her lower lip. Fortunately the subsonics only tuned in
to Anneke’s adult neural structure.

  Anneke and Deema were close now to the weak point and time became the critical factor. Lotang’s people would soon figure out she was not showing up where they projected her to go and the alternate exit would be swarming with Quesadans.

  Suddenly Anneke and Deema came to an intersection. Without hesitating Anneke went left.

  ‘Anneke!’ Deema called.

  Anneke skidded to a stop. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re going the wrong way.’

  Anneke looked back at the intersection, rechecking her mental map of Lotang’s headquarters. ‘This is the right way, Deema.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. You told me the right way before.’

  ‘And this way is different?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Anneke said gently. ‘You’ve just forgotten what I told you, that’s all. Come on, we have to go.’

  ‘No. You said not to.’

  ‘Deema! I don’t have time for this.’

  Anneke, please listen to me. This is the wrong way!’

  Anneke noted the intensity in the young girl’s eyes. Could she be wrong? Could Lotang’s subliminal suggestions be that good? Could she be that vulnerable?

  She ran a quick internal diagnostic, assessing all variables.

  Okay. Given the circumstances, given her worry about Deema’s safety, there was a marginal possibility that she had been overridden.

  But how could she be sure?

  One wrong choice and they would both be dead.

  ‘Trust me, Anneke.’ That look again. Absolute certainty, mixed with fear.

  Anneke made a decision. ‘Lead the way.’

  Deema turned and ran. In quick succession she zigged left then right then took two more left turns, before finally stopping.

  ‘It’s just around this corner,’ Deema said. ‘That’s what you said, anyway.’

  ‘Okay. Here’s what we do. I’m going to rush them. There’s no time for anything else. When you hear me open up you come round this corner as fast as you can and keep low, real low. And you keep going, right? You don’t stop for anything. I can’t do this if I have to worry about you. Okay? If we get separated, meet me back at the hotel. They’ll let you in, you’re registered.’

  Deema nodded. Anneke kissed her quickly on the cheek then drew both guns, clocking off the safety catch on one and checking the charges in each.

  Then she went back ten metres and broke into a run. She rounded the corner at top speed, faster than a ‘normal’ human could have, and fired both MK8 laser guns, arms outstretched, fingers pumping the tabs. Before her was the checkpoint; behind it stood the jury-rigged entrance like an invitation.

  A man in the checkpoint reacted too fast, twisting round and losing his balance. He toppled over, smashing his head on the way down, putting himself out of the game. The other two scrambled for positions. Still running at full pelt, Anneke winged one.

  Behind her she heard a scrabbling noise. Deema.

  As she neared the checkpoint she skidded to a stop, keeping up the incessant barrage of pulses. Almost nothing was coming back at her, the guards were too intent on staying alive. Just the way she wanted it.

  Deema whizzed past her like a missile on legs. Anneke smiled. That girl could move. Maybe she had some Normanskian blood in her.

  When she was sure Deema was safe she bolted past the checkpoint. On the other side of the bulkhead she hurled the spare laser gun back at the men sticking their heads up to see what was happening. Taking careful aim, she scored a hit, taking out the gun while it was still in mid-air. The energy core detonated with a deafening explosion, forcing them to take cover again.

  And then they were free.

  Anneke was in a ship in space, following a high orbit to the far side of Telugus.

  Once again, Fat Fraddo had come to her aid, helping her find a deregistered two-seater ship, which some might have uncharitably described as a scooter. Regardless, it was a top end scooter, and untraceable.

  After she and Deema had escaped Lotang’s labyrinth, she had changed hotels, increasing security level by several factors. Fraddo knew the hotel owner, an underworld figure, inevitable in such a place, and all part of doing business. It helped that he was not especially friendly with Lob Lotang.

  As soon as Anneke had a chance, she checked the signals from the suitcase probe and its little sister, whose task had been to board the OEP. What they had found left her stunned.

  Although Anneke did not think Lotang would pursue Deema, she was of some value as a hostage and bait. Fraddo assured Anneke that she was in trustworthy hands.

  Anneke input the coordinates returned by the probes, and launched.

  Below her hung the green and lush world of Telugus. She would never go there. In another two hours she would be docking at an old Orbital Engineering Platform.

  MAXIMUS ran for his life. It was two hours until midnight but he had begun to suspect that he might not live to see the next day.

  After the threader had been hit, he had sat on a bench for fifteen minutes, assembling scattered thoughts. Apart from the disorientation of hitting the ground at a hundred kilometres per hour and living, he suspected he had been affected by ‘field daze’, intense field harmonics which created biochemical scrambling of the brain’s neural pathways.

  Maximus felt as though he were drunk, and because he never allowed this to happen, it was something he was unused to. People made bad decisions when they were drunk; pouring vodka into the cracker bowl and setting it alight to liven up the party, or vomiting in the host’s fish tank so they wouldn’t feel that humans were having all the fun.

  Thus Maximus had sat on a bench for a quarter of an hour, a luxury that had nearly cost him his life. Watching other bewildered survivors stumble about, he had snapped out of his stupor, standing up quickly to scan the area. This action made him stand out. He saw them immediately, judging by the way they moved, three hit-mercs.

  Maximus did the only thing possible. Sauntering over to a hovering ambulance, he climbed into the front seat and floored the accelerator. Fortunately, the ambulance was empty except for two corpses from the initial blast, both far too mangled to be rebuilt.

  Even as he acted, Maximus knew it would be close. He was right. Having secured full kill-rights under the Myoto deathword, the hit-mercs opened up with everything they had.

  Laser pulses, n-beams and pea-sized explosive mortars blasted towards him. This was to be expected. The hit-mercs had anticipated a moving target, zeroing the possible vectors open to a hover vehicle. But hovers don’t hover, they fly. Thus they zeroed in on the horizontal vectors, rather than the vertical ones.

  After feinting a sideways move for an alleyway, Maximus rerouted all power to the vertical jets and stabilisers, hit the safety override bar and stamped the throttle to the floor. The acceleration slammed him into his seat, shock absorbers whining in protest. The view outside changed drastically. He was airborne, the sudden thrust flinging the vehicle one hundred metres straight up. He trimmed the stabilisers and kicked in the rear jets. The great thing about ambulances was that, unlike urban vehicles, they were designed for emergencies. In fact they were like urban racers with an emergency room welded on.

  As far as Maximus was concerned, this was a medical emergency. And he was the patient.

  The ambulance shot forward. Maximus brought the nose down slightly, picking up more speed as he lost height and leaving the chattering, flashing combat zone in his wake. The onboard computer flashed red continually, indicating what Maximus was doing was outside its design specs.

  On the other hand, if he had taken the control systems of the ambulance by surprise, the same could be said for the hit-mercs.

  There was a downside to escaping them. Wounding the pride and reputation of a predator made the job personal. They would be gunning for him now – he’d made them look like fools. Then again, saving their pride would have got him killed. It was a fair exchange.

  If he made it
to midnight it would be prudent to leave Reema’s End for a while. No problem. He was planning a vacation to the Orbital Engineering Platform on the other side of Telugus anyway. Vacation? he thought. No, more of a business trip.

  Shots were still being aimed his way, however. Maximus steered the ambulance for cover between buildings, whipping down a broad boulevard, the walls looming on either side. He banked sharply and shot into a side street, skimming over the heads of citizens diving for their lives.

  A building at an intersection took a direct hit from a homing mortar that failed to make a left hand turn as sharply as Maximus had. Maximus imagined glass and plasteel debris raining down on the street below, but by then he was several blocks away, wearing the grin of a survivor.

  This time he did not allow himself to get cocky.

  Grounding the ambulance on a ten-storey building, he jumped into a drop tube. The ambulance had been great to escape in, but it was like a flying bullseye.

  Maximus stepped out of the drop tube, went down the emergency staircase of the building and out the back exit into a smelly little lane lined with the cardboard huts of the homeless. After what he’d been through, he looked like one of them, though he smelt of sweat, explosives and burning plastic rather than stale urine. This was the way he wanted it, being anonymous, being part of a crowd. Those chasing you had to take out a crowd to get you. Taking out that many people meant taking out part of the city, and doing that meant getting the deathword from thousands of angry friends and relatives.

  After casually scanning the lane he walked briskly to the left, looking more as if he were late for a drug deal than running for his life. He headed deeper into the city, making for Hurqurl, where the local citizens were more respectable, unlikely to lift a finger to aid the hit-mercs or give a damn about a deathword unless there was something in it for them.

  For the next two hours he loitered about, stopping people to ask for directions just to be seen talking to them. He doubled back on himself, bought souvenirs and left them in random places after writing meaningless messages on them. Those pursuing him would have plenty of false leads to slow them down.