PROLOGUE

THE VESSEL with the killer on it moved through space.

The vessel was small and quite energy-efficient. It moved quickly and briskly through the depths of the void. Its destination lay not too much farther off.

Soon.

Soon the business would be done.

The killer stared out one of the small viewports, watching the distant stars move past. His thoughts were his own, his face inscrutable.

Soon.

Soon it would be done. . . .

But of course before it was done . . . it had to begin.

This was not going to be a problem for the killer. He was quite certain of that.

He had had a long and very successful history. He went where he wished. Did what he wished. None could anticipate his moves. None could stop him.

He would visit terror upon them and do his business, and then he would leave, when he felt like it.

And none would stop him. None could.

He turned away from the window . . .  and released the shape he had assumed. His body oozed downward, reconfigured itself. . . .

And, moments later, had become a simple suitcase.

The killer went to sleep and dreamed of the killing to come. . . .

And no one would ever see him. . . .