Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force (4 page)

Rix nodded and
headed toward the locker room. He washed off his face, then pulled his bag out
of the locker, checked his E-Thing for messages, and slipped his optic
membranes back on his eyes.

He walked back
out onto the main gym floor, wondering how much longer he should stay tonight.
He looked around the room for new faces. It looked like at least 10 more
fighters were working out. He glanced over to the wall by the heaviest free
weights.

He froze.

There, spotting
each other around a weight bench, were three bright red men. Their skin gave
off an unworldly red glow under the lights of the gym; they seemed even
brighter than if they had been outdoors under full sun. It was Joey Pegg and
the two companions KC had mentioned. Three Fightin' Mads. And one of them was
definitely the man in Open Sky's security video.

He quickly but
smoothly synced his E-Thing to his optics, and blinked the optics into transmit
mode. He called up Angie 6's access code. The feed flared to life after only
the briefest delay, and her face appeared in a small corner of his optical
display.

"Yes?"
she said curtly.

Rix engaged the
live feed. He zoomed in tight. "Look familiar?” he whispered.

She was silent
for a moment. “Don’t move. We’re isolating your location.” Her face disappeared
from his view.

Rix casually
drifted to a better vantage point, positioning himself so he could view the
three men while working out at one of the weight machines, and thus not look
like he was staring.

She winked back
on in his optical display.

"Christ,
Rix, you are quick. Can you keep him there until we arrive?"

"Uh, New
Mexico Territory is pretty far away… I'm not sure I can hold him here that
long."

"No, we're
in the DFW area chasing another lead. We'll be there within a half hour."

"I'll keep
him here or follow him if I can't."

"Great.
I've got a team already assembled."

 
Her image faded from his display.

Three
Fightin' Mads, hold 'em here… sure, no problem, I do it every day,
Rix told himself.
 
He continued to record as the murderer and his two red
companions worked out. He spent the next few minutes calculating his odds in a
three-on-one fight.

5

An alert flashed
in his optics. From his perspective, the ghostly three-dimensional readout
floated about a foot-and-a-half in front of him. The optic membrane was thinner
than an old contact lens, and was thus invisible to other people, but still
took practice to use stealthily. The perceived distance was adjustable for that
very reason, and Rix had found the mid-range distance allowed him to read and
scan while still maintaining conversations, without giving off a lost-in-space
look.

"Rix, meet
us outside." The message danced across his vision.

True to her
word, it had been 28 minutes since Rix had contacted Angie 6.

Fortunately, the
first doorman who had let him in had given up his post to another man, saving
Rix the disruption of being questioned on the way out. He slung his gear bag
over his shoulder, partly covering his face on one side, and walked out a
couple steps behind another group of fighters, just another athlete heading
home after his workout. The new doorman didn't even notice as he passed by.

Outside, Rix
walked around the corner to his truck, and loaded his bag in the lock box
behind the front seat. He grabbed a dark sweatshirt he kept stored there and a
cap that fit low over his eyes, and quickly put them on. A cold front had blown
in that afternoon, and the breeze was picking up. He glanced around him. The
darkness was no obstacle. His optics were the last version the U.S. government
had issued to its covert operatives before The Breakup, and still represented
the most advanced technology available, as far as he knew.

Therefore Rix
could make out Angie 6's team converging on him before they had come within 30
feet. Still, he was impressed. He had to quickly adjust the sensitivity to
focus on the three men and one woman moving toward him. The stealth fabrics
they were using were first class, the best Rix had ever seen.

Rix turned away
from the approaching figures, leaning against the tailgate of his truck. Best
they not know how easily he could spot them, he decided.

A couple moments
later he heard Angie 6's voice, whispering softly. "Rix, follow me."

He followed her
back to a dark corner of a parking lot across the street, where two vans were
parked unobtrusively in the dark. Rix boosted the low-light resolution on his
optics. She was dressed entirely in black, with a short jacket zipped to her
neck. Rix noticed, barely visible, a sheer set of goggles of some sort over her
eyes and secured around her head by a nearly invisible band. Two other men
standing back a couple paces wore the same gear.
 

"Are they
still there?"

"Yes.
They'll be leaving soon."

"Good. I
have my men positioned around the property." She checked the screen of her
E-Thing, or at least that's what Rix assumed it was. Like their optical
headgear, it was of a type he had never seen before.

She eyed him
thoughtfully for a moment. "You sure do move fast, Rix. How did you find
these guys? We hadn't considered the possibility that the guys with brightly
tinted skin would
actually be that color.
"

"I have my
sources. How about you? You were up in this area too. Any good leads?"

"Limited.
We were visiting some specialists in the custom pharmaceutical biz to see if
they had caught wind of our property entering the underground market. We also
had some frank, face-to-face discussions with certain buyers and installers of
Modified technologies. Everything comes through Dallas eventually. So far, it's
been quiet. Whoever took our stuff isn't trying to move it quickly."

She tensed up
for a moment, cocking her head slightly as she listened to reports from her
team.

"Ok, enough
chatter." She turned to her team members behind her. "Resume your
positions. They should be leaving soon. Rix, if you want to hang back from the
perimeter and watch, feel free. You can be the last line of defense," she
said with a slight smile. "Not that we'll need it."

Rix drifted back
into the shadows across the street from the warehouse gym and waited. He could
see, faintly, the positioning of some of the team. They seemed well hidden and
properly placed for the coming abductions. But it seemed to him a small team
for taking three Fightin' Mads. With a sinking feeling he began to wonder if
this Open Sky team knew anything about the capabilities
Peruvian Steroid
Numero Dos
gave to a person.

He was thinking
about sending a warning blip to Angie 6 when light from an opening door sliced
through the darkness. The three Fightin' Mads filed out, bulky crimson
silhouettes filling the doorway.

 
They had walked a few steps beyond the
circle of light when the first members of the team acted.

Through his
optics, Rix could see the confrontation clearly. He recognized the weapons the
team was brandishing. One team member was wielding a net gun, another a tranq
pistol. He watched them fire the net gun at the first man — looked like
Joey Pegg — followed instantly by a tranq dart from the concealed team
member. Pegg shouted out and fell to his knees. Rix heard a soft
chuff
and another net came unwinding from the darkness,
engulfing the second Fightin' Mad giant. He too stumbled as tranq darts found
their target.

The third man,
however, reacted immediately, exhibiting reflexes clearly hyped beyond human
normal. Rix had seen the red men in action before and knew they were capable of
explosive bursts of power, the kind that most people would not have believed
possible. The man leaped into the air, far above and beyond fallen comrades,
startling the team closing in around him.

One of the Open
Sky operatives from the outer ring of the team's perimeter ran to intercept the
red man, blocking his path. The bulky red figure leaped again, causing the
approaching man to check up. In one fluid movement the red fighter landed,
rolled and popped to his feet, delivering a monstrous punch to the side of the
man's head. The thin helmet was meager defense. The man crumpled, a motionless
pile of body armor and stealth fabrics.

Rix was in
motion the moment the third Fightin' Mad had made his first leap. He angled to
intercept. The red giant hurdled a car parked along the curb and sprinted
across the street, already beyond the team's perimeter.

Rix reached him
before he could charge down the nearest side street, lowering his shoulder as
he ran, and hit the larger man with a classic football tackle. The two tumbled
across the pavement, scrambling to recover their footing. The Fightin' Mad
swung wildly, reacting before he had a clear bead on his opponent. He did not
connect directly, but managed to grab hold of Rix's sweatshirt.

The red giant
pulled Rix in closer to him, and grinned as he delivered a savage blow into
Rix’s ribs. Sharp pain seized his left side, radiating the length of his body.
Yet even through the pain, Rix was evaluating the man, sizing him up. He
calculated that with the man's frightening strength, he had just received what
would probably have been a killing blow to a normal human. If anyone else had
been on the receiving end of the punch, it probably would have sent shattered
ribs into internal organs.

Not this
time, shithead.

The red man had
taken a step back after Rix had faltered, as if he wanted to watch his opponent
collapse and die, just for the sheer satisfaction of it.

That opening
allowed Rix to slip inside the man's reach and deliver a straight,
nothing-held-back left hand directly to the man's nose. The blow sent the red
giant stumbling backward, eyes crossed. He brought his hand to his face as if
in disbelief. He stood frozen for a second.

Rix dropped to
the ground.

The next sound
was the whine of capture nets launching from guns, followed by the
whik
of tranq darts in flight.

The man swayed
briefly, dropped and lay still.

The team
carefully surrounded the fallen fighter. Angie 6 walked through the circle of
men and looked down at him. She was shaking slightly. "Get the vans. Load
them," she ordered.
 

She came over to
Rix. He could tell she was trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice.
"You're quite the handy fellow today, Rix. Are you trying to wrangle some
more platinum out of Open Sky?" She laughed nervously, and looked down at
the fallen red man. "
Jesus Christ,
Rix, who the hell are these people?"

"The
future," he said simply.

The vans pulled
around, lights off. The team loaded the captured men quickly. Rix looked to
Angie 6. "That's one down. I hope you get the intel you need on the
rest," he said to her.

"Oh don't
worry. This bastard's going to talk."

Rix walked back
to his truck. He got in and put his arms on the steering wheel and rested his
head there for a moment.
 
It had
been a long day, with a lot of driving still ahead. But he was glad the job was
over so quickly. Bad guy caught. Money well earned.

6

Vinicius Cunha
hated coming to the new Texas Republic. Sure, there was a comfortable lack of
internal security compared with most countries, which worked to his advantage.
And the economic opportunities in the young nation were simply irresistible.

But the people….
Que saco!
They simply did not understand
the order
of things. They were
entirely too arrogant, stubborn and especially entrepreneurial. Worse, almost
all of them were armed. How a government could allow that to happen was beyond
him.

In Brazil the
people understood the way of things, he reflected. They did not wish to make
trouble now that the country was so thoroughly prosperous. There were plenty of
ways to make money, so it was not difficult to convince attentive businessmen
that a particular avenue of commerce had already been claimed, and no new
participants were necessary.

But this way of
thinking was alien to the Texans, so puffed up as they were with their new
independence. They seemed to genuinely believe themselves free from outside
influences and global forces, as if any such nation had existed in human
history.

He sighed. He
should be back in Brazil, managing his many business affairs, instead of in a
suburban Dallas medical park finalizing what should have been a standard
arrangement. At least the operation in New Mexico Territory, ragged as it was,
had yielded results.

He turned back
to his latest problematical Texan. Vinicius had tried to be patient, as the
man's product was exceedingly intriguing. A treatment that could regenerate a
limb would be incredibly useful, both for his own organization and a number of
his high-level customers. And there was no telling what other products the man
might be persuaded to develop in the future. He was truly brilliant, a cut
above the usual engineers laboring in the field of human Modifications. But
Vinicius' patience was starting to wear thin.

"Come, Dr.
Jonstone, it is time for us to conclude our business arrangement."

"Business?
Business?
You're trying to steal my life's work!" The man
cradled his left hand. Blood was starting to seep through the crude bandages.

"This talk
of stealing is impetuous. There is no stealing. You will be well compensated
for your work."

"My
work
will never see the light of day! It all goes to you,
for God knows what purpose."

"As I told
you, it serves
my
purposes, and that is
all you need to know. But trust me, many will benefit from your labors."

The man slumped
in his chair. He lifted his bandaged left hand from his lap, turning it over,
examining it from all sides, disbelief in his eyes.

"Nine
fingers are sufficient for your profession," Vinicius said softly, but
firmly. "Consider it motivation for you to continue your particular
research. I want this product brought to market — my market —
within the next three months."

The man's
features hardened. "I won't do it," he said through gritted teeth.

"That is an
interesting perspective. Because your wife thinks I would make an excellent
business partner. In fact, I could show you proof of her conversation with my
associates."

Vinicius watched
the color drain from the man's face. He smiled inwardly. He never tired of
witnessing such an honest reaction to terror.

"My
wife?"

"Yes. This
very morning, she was shouting as loudly as she could that we should do
business together." He pulled his E-Thing from his pocket, and touched the
screen. A video sprang to life. He held it in front of Jonstone's face and
watched the cascade of emotions flow as the man witnessed his wife's screaming,
begging, crawling.

"You… She
isn't…
What did you
…."

"Yes, she
is still alive. Such a sensible woman deserves better. Will you provide her
with better, Doctor Jonstone? Will you show her the consideration she
deserves?"

His head
slumped, eyes focused on the floor. "Yes, I'll do it," he said in a
barely audible voice.

"This is
very good news Doctor Jonstone. What a great shame we did not reach this
agreement yesterday."

Gustavo Tavares
quietly opened the door and slipped inside the office. He raised an eyebrow.
Vinicius still wasn't used to calling the man Mr. Blue, but it had stuck
immediately after the raid on the Open Sky laboratories. Gustavo had been with
Cunha for years, his top lieutenant, and everyone knew his real name.
 
But since the raid when Gustavo had led
the team and they had all adopted the tinted skin colorings, each referring to
each other by color for security purposes, the men had continued calling him
Mr. Blue. It seemed to fit somehow.
 

With a slight
nod of his head, Vinicius motioned Mr. Blue to a corner of the lab. He walked
over to join him.

Mr. Blue leaned
in close. "Our red team has not checked in," he said quietly.

"Oh? I have
an enforcement job for them. What was their schedule?"

"They had a
night off. They were supposed to report for their assignment this morning. They
don't respond to my calls."

Vinicius closed
his eyes. He should have brought his entire team from Brazil, he reflected
.
Even his own Texans were now making trouble for him.
He impatiently tapped a command into his E-Thing. "Here are the codes.
Activate the trackers," he told Mr. Blue. "Do these
babacas
not remember the trackers placed under their skin?
Are they that stupid?"
 

"They
remember. That's what concerns me." Mr. Blue entered the codes into his
E-thing, and studied the location maps.

"They are
all together, and not far. It looks like a large industrial site near the
airport. Let me get information on the building." His eyes traced the
movement on the screen. He stiffened. "It's Forward Aeronautics. That's an
affiliate of Open Sky."

Vinicius said
nothing. This was a dangerous development. Open Sky was apparently not going
through regular law enforcement channels, and they had evidently been bold
enough to capture his men. But he had expected this would happen eventually. He
was making a global play, and the risks would sometimes be quite large. The
small-time operators were all falling in line — he would have to make
sure the big corporations did too.

"Obviously
we have to move quickly," he said to Mr. Blue.

His chief lieutenant's
eyes shifted to the doctor. "What about him?"

"We have
reached agreement. Release his wife.
 
But remove another of his fingers for wasting so much of my time. And
then assemble your men. All of them."

****

Vinicius knew
the men were intimidated by his presence. He never went on missions directly,
at least not any more. They were clearly nervous at the thought of being judged
in action by the boss. But he saw that there was also a certain restrained
eagerness, perhaps an undercurrent of curiosity. He was larger than any of
them, and had every Modification known to man — at least, that was the
image he had deliberately cultivated. No doubt the rumors had raced beyond the
truth, but the truth was still formidable.

Even with all
his enhancements, he was eager to add the Open Sky product to his own
portfolio. If the research on that treatment was even remotely accurate —
specifically, how it combined with other enhancements —
 
he would make a fortune on that
Modification alone. Or maybe he would keep the secret to himself and trusted
associates. The idea of it gave him the little thrill of anticipation he always
got when he was on the verge of a new physiological improvement.

But that would
have to wait a little longer. After this action he would have to return to
Brazil, of course, as there was no way the assault they were about to undertake
would fail to bring out every law enforcement agency in the nation. Not to
mention the resources of Open Sky.
 

He was in the
lead vehicle of four large, rented SUVs. They were nearing the airport at a
high rate of speed. There were only a few more minutes left to go over details
before they arrived. He cursed himself for letting his mind wander to thoughts
of home and future Modifications. He returned his focus to the raid at hand. He
had been putting off a key decision until the last minute, but finally made up
his mind.

He turned in the
seat to face his associates. "There is a bonus for all if we get our red
men out of there alive," he said. He had seriously considered having the
red men killed along with whatever abductors they found. There was no telling
what they might have told their captors. They were not high up in his
organization, but they could still make things extremely inconvenient if they
revealed information.

But the red men
had been useful, and may yet be again. He employed 20 of the 34 on earth, and
they had been grateful for the work. After all, where could men with
ridiculously bright red skin find employment?

Plus, it would
not do to treat their lives so cavalierly, especially with so many of his
people involved in this raid. True loyalty is cultivated, not simply demanded,
and having so many of his men witness the brutal dispatch of their fellows
would make it that much harder to convince his associates they were genuinely
valued.
It is good business to let them live,
he finally decided.

From the middle
seat, Mr. Blue led the team in a final check of the weapons — flechette
shotguns, crossbows, traditional handguns, flash-bangs — while Vinicius
relayed his final commands to the other vehicles. They had called up all
available satellite imagery when planning the raid an hour ago, both overhead
and low horizon angles, and were confident they had identified the proper
entrance points and escape routes. They had found some building layouts on the
web from when the facilities were under construction and were still for sale,
giving them a basic read on the floor plan. It seemed doable, much easier than
the assault on the Open Sky headquarters had been.

Even so,
Vinicius reflected on the risks he was taking on this expedition of
acquisition. In building his organization he had often taken risks, some of
which could be classified as skating on the verge recklessness. All of his
moves had been bold and direct, of course, as businesses such as his could not
survive indecision and weakness.

Reckless.
The word echoed in his mind. He did not like the
thought of being reckless. Recklessness was unprofessional. Amateurish.

No, he was not
reckless, he decided. He was building an empire. And an empire needs an emperor
who is not afraid to take risks.

****

Angie 6 decided
that the men's red eyes — some sort of ocular hyper-rosacea? — were
the creepiest part about them. Even though they were well-restrained and
completely in her power, it was hard to look them in the eyes and conduct a
proper interrogation.

She hated to
admit it, but the creepy red eyes were throwing her off.

She was also
restless. She was eager to get these men back to Open Sky headquarters in New
Mexico territory, where they would be much more secure. But time was crucial if
they were to extract information and gather up the others who might be nearby,
so they had been directed to this location by Mr. Rohm himself. Forward
Aeronautics was an affiliated company, and was a convenient temporary base to
draw out as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. It was a
Sunday as well, which simplified her task somewhat, as the usual scrum of
employees would not be wandering the halls.

So far, the information
gathering was going well enough. Two of the men were not talking. But
apparently, one of the three red men was not mixed up with the others. He
appeared genuinely ignorant as to why he was being held and, when separated
from the others, had talked a little bit about his compatriots before going
silent.

From him they
learned the names of the three men. He also told her the two less talkative red
men had some sort of business relationship with a group of Brazilians, which
was interesting. She had sent regular brief reports to Mr. Rohm as they
uncovered bits of information.

She asked him
more about his skin and learned a great deal about the man's personal
background and condition. She had, of course, done some quick research once Rix
had linked to her with the image of the three red men, and so had learned the
basic story of the failed Peruvian steroid and its brutal side effects. It was
astonishing, really.
Men. They'll put anything in their bodies.

Using Open Sky's
private network she had accessed some South American news clips from shortly
after the steroid came to light, a couple medical reports of the victims, and
even watched a few minutes of one of the Modified Fighting Organization vids.
These Fightin' Mads appeared to have their own little subculture, although
there were few enough of them. Most estimates put the number of red men at less
than 50. Oddly enough, no actual samples of the steroid itself seemed to exist,
and its creator had turned up dead in Lima a few years ago.
Peruvian Numero Dos
was considered a tragic failure, but no one had been
able to break it down and explain with precision where the mistakes had been
made.

She sighed.
I
really am going to have to make a better effort to stay on top of all the new
Modifications. These people are turning up everywhere. They're going to make my
job a lot harder in the future. Not that it's easy now.