Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force (8 page)

Big Fella's bionic
hand was no less impressive, although it was easier to acquire — a
completely above-board purchase from a Japanese company. But Rix had been in
quiet awe of Big Fella's decision to have his crushed hand voluntarily
amputated so he could have the bionic hand installed. It too was the most
advanced model available, with 28 sensors tied into the nerves.
 

And so Big Fella
Jackson had become the living embodiment of the potential benefits of
artificial Modification in humans, but he had never liked the idea. He would
never have voluntarily altered his body if not for the injuries he had
sustained in the war. Throughout the long months of Big Fella's rehab, Rix had
hinted that he knew of several new biological Modifications that could speed
along the healing process, most of them mild, like the blood boosts.

Big had shaken
his head. "Hardware, man. Leave the bloodware alone. Hardware." And
that had been his position ever since.

Now he led Rix
down the narrow hallway, which soon opened up into a wider room divided in two
by walls that were mostly glass. Behind those walls was the clean room where
the ProtoTech crew constructed the newest exoskeleton test units. There was a
separate room in the back where the actual installations were done. Two of the
men, Jonathan and Young-Soo, looked up from their work and waved as Rix and Big
Fella walked past.

The facility
required an enormous amount of electricity to operate, and masking the power
usage had been the most difficult part of establishing this lair. And hiding such
clues was vital, as the ASA security forces would always be looking for leads,
regardless of the fact the war was over.

To keep his
substantial power usage off-grid, Big Fella had installed solar panels at
various spots on the property, the type that didn't jump out on satellite
images. He also had a windmill, but one that looked like the type any
"off-grid" activist might own. But it was the same Australian fuels
cells that powered the XO that had also been the key to providing large amounts
of reliable power without drawing noticeably from the local utility.

The subterfuge
had worked remarkable well. So far.

Big Fella took
Rix through another door into a conference room of sorts, although that
description was being generous. The lighting was much less intense, and space
was clearly also used for storage. There was a simple wooden table in the
middle surrounded by three well-used metal folding chairs. Rix figured this
must be the poker room Big had casually mentioned once last year.

Big Fella pulled
one of the chairs out from the table, and sat down. Rix noticed this movement
was not entirely smooth and natural — the first indicator of the
limitations of Big's XO.

"So what's
this about? You're not here to sell me male enhancement pills of some sort, I
hope. 'Cause I'm large enough already."

"Yeah,
that's what all the girls at the Dairy Queen tell me," Rix said, pulling
out one of the chairs sitting down. "I'm actually here with a business
proposition."

"You know I
don't want to be a part of any trafficking in bio-Mods. Can't hardly swing a
cat anymore without someone trying to sell you some garage-mixed Brazilian
steroids."

"No, this
is more of a, well, not exactly a law-enforcement situation. But it involves
taking down some very bad people. Beyond that, it's kind of a security
gig."

"Security?"
Big Fella snorted. "I've got a job. I ain't walking no halls at night in a
blue uniform."

"Not that
kind of security, Big. We'd be a sort of
 
'special circumstances' team. And right now the special circumstances are
more than a dozen dead bodies and stolen materials for some unusual
Modifications."

Big Fella rolled
his eyes. "A bodycount over Modifications. Who could have seen that
coming?"

"There's
more. The kind of people I'm working with could be extremely helpful for your
own operation. If you really want to get this exoskeleton out into the wider
world, I'm working with some very influential people. Very. Influential. The
type who could help shield you when you decide to come out from
underground."

Big leaned back
in his chair. He fixed a level gaze on Rix. "I'm listening."

Rix started
telling the story from the beginning, with the raid on the Open Sky labs, to
the Red Men clue, to the apprehension at the gym, and then the counterattack on
Angie 6's team followed by his personal meeting with Rohm. It was subtle, but
Rix noticed Big's eyes widen slightly as it was revealed that Open Sky was the
client.

"I've got
KC signed on, and Marie will help as she gets her strength back. I'd like you
as part of this team too," Rix said. He leaned in over the table.
"These are bloody-minded people, Big, with a long reach, and I don't like
them operating so brazenly in Texas and New Mexico. We'd be doing a real
service for our country."

Big was silent.

"Oh, and I
mentioned 'special circumstances' earlier. Here is another one of the special
circumstances," Rix said, as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled
out two rolls of one-ounce coins, each tightly wrapped in a light mesh
material. He gently set them down on the table — one roll of platinum and
one roll of gold territorial bullion coins.

"These were
minted from precious metals extracted from the Open Sky asteroids, Big. And
there's lots more if we can do this job. Enough to construct a motorcycle frame
out of pure platinum, if you want," Rix said with the barest hint of a
smile.

"Damn,"
Big Fella said quietly. Rix knew that Big didn't have his head turned by money,
for the most part, but all of them had suffered from the currency collapse
leading to The Breakup, and the subsequent scramble for stable money as the
United States dissolved into the new nations and territories scattered across
North America. It had been a massive relief when the first silver and gold
coins had been minted by a Texas Republic that had finally accepted that no one
would trust paper money again for a long time.

The payment Open
Sky was offering was powerful. Rix knew that the kind of money being discussed
would allow the XO team to finance their next-stage scale-up costs without
having to shake the bushes for outside investors, and thereby running the risk
of attracting ASA operatives. And having Open Sky as a potential benefactor or
research partner was a huge inducement.

Rix knew he had
played his best card. He waited patiently while Big thought the matter over.

"Ok, I'll
play. But I still won't wear a blue uniform."

"Deal,"
Rix said.

10

It was the
scales that bothered Vinicius Cunha.

He had refused
to call them scales, of course. And definitely so had everyone else in his
employ. Anyway, the condition didn't really look like scales, not like on a
lizard or a snake.

But he did now
have patterned, lumpy skin that felt callused to his touch. This naturally
bothered him. This was the first Modification that affected his physical
appearance in a negative way. He could not deny his vanity — he had spent
his youth strutting on the beaches of Fortaleza, after all — but still
liked to think himself the master of such emotions, not the slave.

He tried to
return himself to a positive mindset.
If my appearance is now more fearsome,
this is not a bad thing…

What was
remarkable to him was how quickly it had all happened. It had taken barely 72
hours for the Open Sky drug to produce this condition. Vinicius had always
known there might be unexpected side effects. That was the risk with every
Modification. And the Open Sky researcher who had accidentally discovered the
link between the Brazilian B3 steroids and Open Sky's radiation shielding
treatment had not really had time to explore all the possibilities. As soon as
the fool stumbled upon the unexpected properties of the combination he had
immediately tried to shop it to every vendor of Modifications he could find. As
the man had quickly discovered, there was really only one significant global
vendor of human Modifications. And Vinicius set the terms for the deal.

The idiot had
been in such a hurry to cash in. Naturally, once he had sold the information to
Vinicius, he had gotten careless in his haste to start living a life of wealth
and power. Making crude advances on that female co-worker right before he was
supposed to deliver the key components had been unforgivable. He had forced
Vinicius to conduct a raid upon the headquarters of one of the most powerful
corporations on earth in order to get this extraordinary Modification.

Well, he'll
hurry no more.

As he sat in the
office of his estate, behind the large desk made of Brazilian Rosewood,
Vinicius reflected on the risks he had taken lately.
Money makes people
careless,
he sighed to himself.
They
all believe that I am getting careless. But there comes a point in any
enterprise where one must take risks to achieve greatness. And I am not in a
business of timid people.

He had heard the
whispers and seen the looks, especially recently. As he had moved to establish
his dominance, many people in his orbit apparently viewed him as some sort of
maniac.

In Vinicius'
mind, however, he had actually built his empire slowly and methodically, simply
walking through doors that had opened before him. He'd started with a single
blood farm, keeping a mere dozen
Tapirapé Indios
captive, chained to cots, supplying the plasma he could sell to the
blood manufacturers during the first wave of mass market boost packs. Along
with the new generation of steroids, the blood boost breakthrough had also
occurred in Brazil, leaving him well positioned to become an exclusive supplier
of biological raw materials. Within weeks he had established four more blood
farms, and had shifted all his efforts and resources over to the growing market
for bio-engineered Modifications.
 

His first real
attempt to stake out market share in the Modification business was trafficking
in testosterone. Some anonymous genius in a lab somewhere had developed a
refined and affordable low-dose testosterone treatment with high absorption
rates and nearly non-existent side-effect grief from the estrogen and DHT. Word
had spread quickly that men of all ages could now benefit from the increased
energy levels and improved mood that supplemental testosterone delivered, without
the sagging tits and other physical embarrassments that had marred the
hormone's reputation.

As Vinicius
quickly realized, testosterone was the perfect "gateway Modification"
to a wider customer base. Men understood it; it was not some science-fiction
gene-splicing technology that still lurked in a shadow world of rumors and
horrifying cautionary tales.
 
In
the people who adopted the testosterone treatments the anabolic effects
represented themselves quickly, through increased muscle mass, delivering a
satisfied customer base and good word-of-mouth.

 
The new testosterone injections had been
his personal initiation into physical enhancement, and he remembered it fondly.
The energy! Of course, Vinicius had needed that energy to suppress all the
other testosterone suppliers in the city and consolidate the business under his
umbrella. And later, all the states of eastern Brazil.

It seemed to him
a long time ago that he had only been enhanced with that single Modification, a
common one at that. But he had not stayed in that condition for long. From that
humble beginning he had methodically yet eagerly expanded his personal
portfolio of Modifications, using his position to scout out the newest and most
promising treatments.

He had crushed
or incorporated the smallest and weakest of the garage bio-chemists, and
established an exclusive product line that he controlled with brutal severity.
He kept the best and most powerful Modifications for himself and an elite
client base, which kept the prices for the rare treatments high. Sometimes he
introduced artificial shortages into the system, as he had done by strangling
production of the B3 steroids, to inflate their market value and thus his
profits. And always he relied on corrupt government officials to aid his efforts,
or at the very least look the other way. He had never stopped being amazed at
how much dirty business could be conducted if a government set all the rules of
the game. Government people were easy to manipulate.

And so his
personal physical abilities had grown along with his business empire. He had
his own physicians who vetted the material of course — he wasn't
that
careless with his own health. Still, he had been
disappointed that none of his doctors had given their blessings for the Open
Sky treatment.

It irritated him
that they might be right.

His wife Larissa
walked in at that moment, confronting him with the other reason he was still
unsure about this newest Modification. She had returned last night from a
shopping trip in Sau Paulo, and had naturally been surprised by his altered
appearance. She had said nothing directly, of course. She knew what his
business entailed, and was no stranger to artful Modifications herself. But he
could read her — she was repulsed by his scaly skin.

She walked smoothly
across the thick rug and said nothing until she sat down at the leather chair
in front of his desk. Larissa was still the most beautiful woman in all of
Brazil as far as he was concerned, and Vinicius had been to enough beaches and
seduced enough
gostosas
to judge.

Her eyes roamed
over his body, the deliberate inspection of a wife.
 
"How are you feeling?"

"As good as
always. But the new… texture… is taking some time to get used to."

She nodded.
"Is this a temporary side-effect, or do you expect it to be
permanent?"

"Either is
possible, I'm afraid."

"And what
is this one supposed to do?"

He smiled.
"If it works, I'll give you all the details. If not, well… You can have my
lumpy body mounted and placed in a trophy case."

For the first
time in two days she smiled. "Oh, I have just the perfect spot picked out
for a deceased lumpy husband."

The thought
flashed through his mind reflexively
 
—
You probably do. You probably do.

****

The next morning
Vinicius called in Mr. Blue and a small team of bodyguards for a small, but
necessary task.

"Mr. Cunha,
you really should just let me handle this," Mr. Blue said.

"Normally,
yes. But I have spent much time lately in North America establishing my new
networks. I think perhaps my fellow countrymen no longer respect me as they
should. I think a personal appearance would make the necessary impact."

Vinicius had
always believed the reputation of the man at the top was truly what made an
organization powerful. Easier to fear someone specific than some faceless
management. They would fear him again.

Blue nodded, and
the group of men piled into the two German luxury cars that had been pulled to
the front of the main house. The trouble was on the other side of the city
— his own city, which Vinicius could scarcely believe. Some young tiger
was trying to establish a distribution trade for B2s and other Modifications.
Vinicius' organization had commanded the South American trade for such products
for two solid years. He supposed it was inevitable that some fool would try to
carve off a slice of the lucrative business, but he had been convinced he had
left enough horrifying examples scattered across the city of what happens to
those who infringe on his territory.
Apparently not
, he reflected grimly.

They arrived at
the operations hub of the interloper's Modification business, parked the cars a
discreet distance away, and donned their shimmer masks. Their target was a
temporary building amongst a scattered assemblage of makeshift construction
offices. Vinicius had heard reports about the location through his network of
spies, and then had sent underlings to make a couple of purchases, thus
confirming the location as well as digging up intelligence on his opponent.

 
Vinicius appraised the set-up, and
admired the thinking behind it. It was one of many portable buildings on the
fringes of a colossal development of high-rise condominiums. The booming
economy had generated dozens of such condo projects in recent years. At such a
location there would be constant activity, people coming and going at all
hours, wealthy investors and common laborers. To place a front office here
among the variety of trailers would only require a strategic bribe to the right
person. For a start-up organization it was a very smart storefront — high
traffic yet low visibility, and he wasn't even selling anything that was
technically illegal.

Too bad for him
he was breaking Vinicius' laws.

 
Like the others, their target building
was cordoned off with slapped-together chain-link fencing, and had a sign for
what was of course a fake construction company. The newcomer's plan was
obviously to work here temporarily, score some quick money, and disappear,
convinced he had picked the master's pocket. The
bohla
was probably already thinking about the parties he
would throw.

Vinicius and his
men drifted to form a loose perimeter around the target building, while he sent
his No. 2 enforcer to approach the door. The man was dressed in common work
clothes and would pose as a buyer. He was a good actor, and an even better
killer.

Vinicius watched
his man from a spot behind one of the earth-movers scattered around the
worksite. He had planned every move, of course, the night before, but this
wasn't going to be a particularly sophisticated engagement. Still, it was a
shame that his operative "Copper" had been killed during the Forward
Aeronautics raid in Dallas. He would have been useful in analyzing the
financing and cash flow of this intruder's operation.

He also
regretted for a moment leaving "Yellow" in North America to consolidate
his Texas operations. His viciousness would have come in handy today.

Vinicius'
enforcer slowed as he neared the wobbly gate. He removed his hat from his head
and held it in his hands, just another humble laborer looking for the strength
to rise above his surroundings. A guard stood up from his chair near the front
door of the office trailer and walked to the gate.

Vinicius watched
his man lean in close to speak to the guard. The enforcer reached into his
pocket and pulled out two small gold coins and held them in his open hand for
his inquisitor to see. The guard nodded and opened the locks to the gate.

The guard was
thrashing on the ground, clutching his throat before the gate had even swung
fully open.

Vinicius and his
men erupted from their hiding places and raced toward the building. At the same
time, the door of the office trailer slammed open and men spilled out. They
were brandishing guns, but aiming unsteadily as they searched for targets.

Vinicius'
enforcer dropped to one knee and fired at them with his flechette gun. The soft
"chuff" of the flechette weapon could barely be heard over the nearby
construction noises. The screams of the men, however, were inconveniently loud.
It was a slow way to die, although Vinicius' men would speed the process along
momentarily.

The enforcer
closed the remaining distance to the office and tossed a flash-bang into the
partially open door. He crouched along the outside wall of the building as the
blast rattled the windows.

Vinicius and his
men filed through the open gate and sauntered up to the door. Smoke was pouring
out, and Vinicius could hear coughing and cursing from inside.

"Boss, you
should let me go in first," Mr. Blue said.

Vinicius nodded,
and motioned for his lieutenant to proceed.

Blue slipped
through the door in a crouching run, flechette gun in hand.

Three seconds
later, to Vinicius' shock, Blue came crashing through the wall of the building.
He landed on his back, sliding across the gravel. He lay stunned with a shocked
expression on his face for a handful of seconds. Then he quickly kicked to his
feet and assumed a defensive posture.