Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force

by Steve Statham

  He called for a short break, and then he forced himself for a few minutes more to play the role of sparring partner, absorbing punches, making half-hearted jabs and kicks in return, showing just enough ability to make his presence in the ring believable.

  Rix noticed that Hernandez was getting kind of ragged in his punches, and seemed frustrated at his inability to land clean hard shots. Rix decided to end his session the smart way — he allowed one of Bitchslap Hernandez's haymakers to land cleanly on his jaw. It was a hard shot, and Rix only had to put on a little bit of an act as he dropped to one knee. This would end the session convincingly. His jaw ached, but it was the price for getting in the door.

  "Had enough?" Hernandez asked, trying to control his panting. Sweat streaked down his face.

  "Yeah, it's a good time for me to sit for a while," Rix said.

  "Alright. Nice work. Come back again sometime if you want another workout."

  Rix exited the ring and made a mental note of Hernandez's abilities for the report he would add to his own files later. Hernandez was clearly using B3s, probably milder blood boosts as well, to take advantage of the steroids. But nothing else was obvious. It was a fairly modest list for a MoFo. Rix was frankly more impressed by the minimal Modifications than if Bitchslap Hernandez had been rigged with an entire checklist of Mods. He must have spent years doing it the hard way in the gym. That was still the key for the pure strength junkies. Unless you wanted to go mech, which was a very different matter.

  Shorty came around from the other side of the ring and squared up in front of Rix. "You made him sweat, Burnet," he said. "Not bad at all. A few good moves. Go get some water and towel off and I'll see if I can find someone else for you to work with."

  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 Jonsto
ne? 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.