Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force (11 page)

She broke into a
smile. "Not bad! Won't work long against a determined searcher, or someone
with high-end optics, but that thing could buy you a crucial few seconds. I'll
have to talk to Open Sky and see if they'll let me retail them," she said
with a chuckle.

****

Rix and Big
Fella, after scouting the surrounding neighborhood several times, pulled into
the parking lot of the gym. It looked a lot more run-down now that Jake wasn't
here to manage things, Rix noticed. The Empire Gym sign was faded and in need
of paint. Only a few vehicles were scattered across the parking lot on this
mid-morning weekday.

The metal handle
wobbled in Rix's hands as he opened the door. The floor was sporadically lit,
with several overhead lights burned out. The smell of sweating bodies had
already overcome the ventilations system's modest capacity.

The room quieted
as the gym regulars noticed Big Fella enter, nearly seven feet tall and larger
by far than anyone in the building. Big Fella slowly looked around the room,
then yawned.

Rix glanced
around too, but did not recognize any of the people working out. The group he
used to see there when Jake first opened the place was probably long gone.

A man they
assumed to be Carlos looked up and weaved his way around the weight stations
toward them. He was wearing a shiny tracksuit and the latest Gip Chow athletic
shoes. His hair was carefully slicked back, the better to display his diamond
earrings. The latest E-Thing headset, the one that was popular with teenagers,
lay loosely around his neck.

"Hi
dudes!" Carlos called out. "Here for a membership? I'm offering a
special for six-month commitments…." His voice trailed off as he slowly
realized who Rix and Big Fella were.

"Oh, wait.
Jake said two dudes like ya'll might show up. You know, Jake doesn't really
have the final word around here anymore…" his voice trailed off.

Big Fella,
towering over Rix's shoulder, raised an eyebrow.

"No, he
doesn't, Carlos," Rix said, fixing a stare on the man. "I do."

Carlos flushed
with anger, but backed away a couple steps and began wringing his hands
together. "Man, I bought a piece of this place from Jake. Ain't nobody
gonna walk right in and tell me…"

"Shut
up."

"Wha… man,
this is not cool I oughta call a cop I don't believe this…"

"Shut. Up.
Here's how it's going to be. We'll let you keep your piece of the gym —
the piece you bought by giving Jake that shitty old car that croaked after
three months — and you're going to do something for us."

Carlos backed
away another step. His eyes darted around the gym nervously. "Why the hell
would I do that?"

"Because
that way there won't be any trouble. For you. But there's also an upside if you
can manage to do this little task without pissing your pants at a crucial
moment."

His face
darkened. "Yeah?"

"You do what
we request and you can buy out Jake completely — at fair market value, of
course. How's that sound, Carlos? Be a big-time entrepreneur, own the gym free
and clear in your own name. I can see it now: Big Time Carlos' Bad Ass Gym.
You'll need a bigger sign, of course."

He looked at Rix,
eyes wide, and chewed lightly at his lip.
 
"Jake never wanted to sell out before…"

"Jake has
reconsidered. He's decided that the gymnasium industry is not as healthy an
occupation as he thought."

"So what do
I gotta do?"

"Let's go
back in your office and discuss this."

Carlos by now had
a sweaty sheen across his forehead, but he nodded and led Rix and Big Fella to
his office in the rear of the building. They entered, and Rix walked around the
cheap desk that dominated the room and sat in the chair behind it. He propped
his feet up on top of the papers scattered across the desk.

Carlos,
irritated, sat in a folding chair in the corner. Big Fella stood by the door,
arms crossed.

Rix casually
picked through the papers on the desk, and then looked up at Carlos. "We
know you've been running B2s and blood boost packs and adrenal juice on the
side here, God knows what else, pocketing some cash out the back door."

"Jake did
too!"

"Yes, lots
of people are doing that these days. We're not here to shut you down."

Carlos seemed to
lose some of his nervousness. His fidgeting limbs almost reached a state of
stillness. Almost.

"What do you
want?"

"We want to
meet your South American suppliers."

Carlos crossed
and uncrossed his legs. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he
said at last.

"Sure it
is!" Rix said with a laugh. He spread his arms theatrically. "It will
be great business for
everyone
. Tell
them we want to place the biggest order for ModWare that's ever been placed in
New SA.
 
Enough stuff to rig this
town from top to bottom."

"Why would
they believe that?"

"Well, this,
for starters," Rix said, glancing up at Big Fella. At that, Big Fella
reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat, chrome case, tubular in shape,
hinged along one side. He opened it, revealing a long row of one-ounce gold
coins. They glistened, even under the feeble office lighting.

Carlos jumped out
of his chair, and reached his arm half-way to the coins before drawing back.

"What's that
for?"

"It's good
faith money for the South Americans, so they know I'm not blowing smoke up
their asses. Tell them it's a down payment on my first shipment. Can you do
that without soilin' yourself? Because they need to understand that I'm a
legitimate
buyer
. Your part is to make sure they get
that message."

Rix blinked his
optics into message mode. He sent a number to the gym's web message page, using
an untraceable path from the Open Sky network.

"I've sent
my contact protocol to the gym's e-house. Give it to the South Americans. Of
course, they might want you to act as a middleman. Who knows?"

Rix pulled one of
the gold Texas Pronghorn coins out of the case. "This is for you," he
said, placing it on the desk. "Now, I have very good bookkeepers. So do
the South Americans, no doubt. I'm sure I won't have to worry about this gold
not making it to its destination, will I?"

"No…
sir," Carlos said softly, eyes fixed on the solitary coin on his desk.

"Excellent!
You see Carlos? Opportunity was knocking for you today, and you were smart
enough to open the door."

14

Rix knew before
he even opened his eyes that something was wrong. He was normally the type of
sleeper who liked to linger a bit in the shadowland between dreams and
wakefulness, but he felt himself being ripped from sleep by a burning pain in
his shoulders, and along the length of his legs.

He rolled out of
bed and immediately stumbled to his knees. He fell onto his side on the floor
and lay still, hands curled into fists, sweat beading on his forehead.

Fear welled up
inside him
. Not now! Not today…

Marie rolled from
her spot on the far side of the bed and looked over the side of the mattress.
Her eyes were wide behind her dark tangled hair.

"Connor!
What's the matter?"

He said nothing for
several moments, his body clenched against the ferocious pain.

"Something….
Something inside…" He convulsed, and then emptied the contents of his
stomach on the floor.

Marie leaped out
of bed and ran across the room. She flung open the door and shouted across the
room. "Big! KC! Something's wrong with Connor!"

Rix was still
conscious but unmoving when the others rushed into the room. With his
peripheral vision, he could see them crowded over him. He could hear their
terse conversation, but did not focus on it. The shock of the sudden awakening
was wearing off, and he turned his attention inward, trying to analyze the war
taking place within his body.

As another spasm
rocked him, Rix recognized the familiar aching in his frame that had
intermittently plagued him since the last of the bone density treatments.

It should be
lessening by now, not increasing,
he told
himself through the pain, but he also knew with a sudden finality that the
planned course of events was not conforming with reality.

The minutes
rolled past, smothering him in a blanket of pain. His friends were still
talking to him, which he could hear, but their voices drifted through from a
distance, as if he were dozing inside a tent in the woods, and they were
outside conversing by the fire.

A memory shambled
to the forefront of his consciousness.
He was lying on a reticulated table.
It was the first day of the bone density regimen, the worst by far, as he would
later come to find out. He had just undergone the initial transfusion, and they
were about to immerse him in the tank, the last step before the endless
injections.

Agent Brock
had come personally to inspect the process. He had had final say on all
personnel decisions with regard to experimental Modifications. He had not been
a fan of Rix, almost as if he could perceive ahead of time how events would
eventually play out, and to his detriment. But objectively, Rix had been the
best candidate for the process.

"Well,
Rix, you're really going to be something special — if you survive."
He had spoken the last under his breath, as if either option was fine with him.

At last the pain
lessened its grip slightly, grudgingly, and his consciousness surfaced fully
into the awaiting world. He opened his eyes, his view at ground level. He
stared for a moment at the shoes under the bed, which were directly in his line
of sight.

Rix marshaled
what little strength he had and rolled over on his back. He looked at each of
the worried faces surrounding him.

"So,"
he whispered softly. "Who cooked dinner last night? I'm thinkin' that
chicken needed longer in the oven," he said in a shaky voice.

Rix saw the body
language of relief sweep through the group. Marie reached out her hand and felt
his forehead, in the instinctive way human beings check each other for fever.
She leaned down and put her head on his chest. "Oh, Connor. Let's not do
that anymore, OK?"

****

After Marie
pulled away, Big Fella scooped up Rix from the floor as easily as if Rix were a
child and placed him back on the bed. Rix wasn't sure, but he thought he could
hear the faint whir of Big's exoskeleton at work.

"Hell, dude,
this is a lousy time to fall apart, one day after shooting up a big ol' flare
to attract the attention of the meanest mobster in South America." He said
it with a half smile, but Rix could detect the tremor in his voice. "I'm
assuming this little episode has something to do with you finger-painting with
your DNA. I had no idea you were so shabbily rigged."

Rix smiled
weakly. "Oh, we haven't even begun to attract his attention, Big. Just
wait. I just need a few hours to sleep this off. You know what they say… no
pain, no gain."

Marie sat on the
bed next to him, while KC and Big Fella turned to leave the room. Big Fella
shook his head as he walked out the door. He turned back around to look at Rix.
"It's like I always tell you, Rix. Don't mess with the bloodware.
Hardware's the ticket."

Big Fella closed
the door behind him. Rix's eyes turned back to Marie. "I'm sorry about
this babe. I don't want to worry you. It's just a little hitch with this last
Mod. I'll feel better this afternoon."

He exhaled deeply
and closed his eyes, feeling himself already drifting back to sleep, the
physical trauma having drained him.

Marie watched
him, saying nothing.

****

When Rix awoke it
was mid-afternoon. He did not open his eyes for several minutes, but
experimentally wiggled his fingers, straightened his legs, and rotated one of
his ankles. He felt in command of his body again, although there was still a
dull throb from deep in his bones. It was not debilitating, however.

He sat up,
creaking and groaning like some aged submarine diving deep, one last time.
Sunlight was streaming through the window. He could hear motion downstairs and
people talking. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed and walked to the
door. He forced himself to amble slowly, steadily.

Yes. This will
do. Human again.

Rix found the
others in the downstairs garage, busy assembling gear. As he stepped onto the
metal stairs, their faces turned up in his direction.

"Well look who
shows up when all the prep work is already done," KC said with a grin on
her face.

"Yeah, I
guess nobody told him when he bought the Zombie Modification from the guy with
the van at the flea market that there might be side effects," Big Fella
chimed in.

"Yes, Connor
needs brains," Rix croaked as he walked slowly down the stairs. "Know
where I can find any?"

As he stepped
onto the garage floor, Marie trotted over and gave him a hug. She then pulled
back and looked into his eyes, searchingly.

"I know it looked
bad," he said softly. "But I'm back on the way up now."

She nodded,
almost imperceptibly, clearly unconvinced.

Rix looked over
to the others. "What's our status?"

"Our
'status' is that Marie has been keeping watch over your E-Thing while you've
been nursing your hangover, and we received a message from the South Americans.
They're not wasting any time," Big Fella said. "They want to meet
tonight. So we've been recalibrating the plan to make do with three
people…"

"Three?"

"Yeah, Rix,
after your little dramatic performance this morning we figured you might need
more sack time, if not a ride in an ambulance."

"Forget all
that. I'm going."

 
The three looked from Rix to each other.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

"It's not
even a question," Rix said, looking each of them, in turn, in the eyes.
"I'm going. The plan stays."

"Ok,
boss," Big Fella said. "It's your operation." But he casually
walked over and threw his arm around Rix's neck. "But after tonight, you
and me are going to have a talk." He leaned down to whisper in Rix's
ear.
 
"I think the braintrust
should look you over."

****

Three hours later
they finished loading up Big Fella's van. From the outside it was impossible to
tell anything unusual was contained inside. It was a common, nondescript
tradesman panel van, neither particularly dirty nor clean enough to draw
attention to itself.

Of course, there
was another practical aspect to it as well — it was one of the few
vehicles with enough room to accommodate Big Fella's towering frame.

KC had left
earlier on Rix's motorcycle to secure a hidden spot. Before she had left, Rix
changed the number on the liquid crystal license plate. The plate was one of
his favorite anonymity tools, a useful souvenir from his days as a special MI
crimes investigator for the U.S. Navy. He affixed a second one to the van.

Satisfied that
they had everything they needed, Marie, Rix and Big Fella climbed into the van.
Rix slid into the driver's seat, Big Fella having relinquished driving duties
in deference to Rix's local knowledge.

From his
unfamiliar roost in the passenger's seat, Big Fella glanced over at Rix,
eyebrow raised. "So what's with the cowboy hat? Trying to make yourself
look taller?"

"Gotta sell
it, man," Rix replied. "Sometimes playing up the stereotype of the
loudmouth Texan can work to your advantage. Gets under some people's skin, you
may have heard. And we wanna get under Cunha's skin."

Big Fella grunted
in response. Rix put the van into gear and they rolled out onto the road.

The meeting place
the South Americans had designated had not surprised Rix in the least. It was
exactly what he'd expected — right in the middle of a sprawling,
light-industrial area, one of the older ones on the near East Side. There were
lots of roads in and out. There was the usual activity of business, enough so
that strange vehicles would not stand out, but still plenty of empty buildings
for people to hide in, if necessary.

In fact, KC was
hiding in one now, if all was going according to plan.

Rix drove past
the specific area the South Americans had designated, grabbing a quick view of
the layout, then drove four blocks further and backed the van into a loading
dock of a little-used warehouse.

Rix pulled out
his E-Thing. "KC. What's the word?

She answered back
instantly. "Yeah, like we thought, they've already got a guy posted here.
Big puffed-up dude, hair slicked back, dressed too nice for this area. He's
hiding in this old uniform-supply building."

"Toss me a
view," Rix said. He blinked his optics to accept the feed from KC, and
examined the video that poured into his vision. In the fading daylight it was
difficult to make out detail inside the building, so he switched to night mode,
and saw the man moving behind a ground-floor window.

"Got it. Can
you handle him?"

"I'll wrap
him in a bow, if you'd like."

"Perfect."

"And it
looks like the official greeting team is pulling into place at the meeting
spot. Only two guys. Check it out."

Rix accepted the
new feed from KC, and saw the large Audi sedan pull up next to the curb. As the
two men got out, Rix zoomed in, searching for detail. The driver did not match
any of the profiles of the known assailants. He was muscular, as expected,
doubtless rigged with basic inexpensive Modifications. He was dressed like a
local, wearing the type of short-brimmed Panama hat that had exploded in
popularity in New San Antonio during the past year.

But the second
man…

"OK,
positive ID," Rix said. "One of these guys was definitely in on the
initial Open Sky raid. It's the yellow guy." He turned to look at Big
Fella and Marie, for emphasis. He left the link open for KC. "You've seen
the file. You know what this guy can do. What this guy
will
do if given the chance.
 
So we're going to do more than just deliver a message today.
We're going to capture him and send him as a gift to Rohm."

They nodded. Rix
started the engine in the van and dropped the shifter into gear. He pulled away
from the loading dock and drove the four blocks to the meeting site. No one
spoke during the short trip. Rix gripped the steering wheel tighter, then
relaxed, working his hands to send the lingering pain in his bones to the
background. One good thing, he conceded, was that at least the pain was keeping
him in a lousy mood. It would feel good to take out his pain on someone else.

He piloted the
van into the designated lot and parked the vehicle about 40 feet from the Audi,
angled in such a way to make sure KC's view of the meeting wasn't blocked.

Rix and Big Fella
got out of the van, leaving Marie inside.

As they did so,
the two men opened the doors of the Audi and stepped out. They looked around,
and then casually walked toward the van. The man they recognized as the
yellow-tinted lunatic from the Open Sky massacre walked in front, the leader of
the duo. "You the guys throwing around all the gold?"

Rix smiled at the
men and stretched out his right arm for a handshake. As the South American
reluctantly replied in kind, Rix threw a savage left uppercut to the man's jaw.
He staggered, falling backward slowly, catching himself with one hand behind
him on the ground at the last minute. Rix dropped to the pavement and swept his
leg underneath the man, dumping him flat on his back. Rix sprang on top of him,
pulling from his jacket one of the more intriguing instruments he had brought
back from Open Sky — a bulky metal ring with a small needle for injecting
a neuromuscular-blocking agent. Open Sky pilots kept these on board to subdue
the rare person who panicked within the confines of a spaceship. Rix ripped off
the protective plastic cover from the stubby needle and jabbed it into the
fallen man's chest.

The man's face
contorted with rage. He shoved Rix from on top of him and rolled to a
three-point stance. He lunged at Rix, murder in his eyes, and then stumbled to
his knees, and skidded on his face to a stop.