Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Read online

  Rules of Force

  Connor Rix was there at the beginning, when the second-generation Brazilian steroids first arrived on the scene, along with the blood boost packs. It was his job to keep the newly-superhuman rowdies under control and shut down the most poisonous of the new Modification labs. Not an easy job, but unbreakable bones and state-of-the-art optical implants sure help.

  But now the list of bio-engineered miracles available to the public has grown as broad as the desires of mankind. And one man is leaving a trail of bodies across the Texas Republic as he brutally takes control of the market in human Modifications and suppresses all competitors.

  What will it take to stop him? And what price must Rix pay to bring the man to justice? Fortunately, Rix isn’t working this job alone. He has a nearly 7-foot giant on his team with a one-of-a-kind exoskeleton boosting his strength off the charts. And then there's the night owl who never sleeps (or so she says) but that's not her only Modification. The woman Rix wants to make his wife is along for the ride too, if she can keep her fears in check.

  These four must square off against an army of Modified enforcers to bring down the man who seeks to rule the bio-enhancement trade. And somewhere along the way they have to figure out if their famous benefactor is a friend or foe….

  Rules of Force

  By Steve Statham

  Dedicated to the memory of

  Michael James Statham

  Table of Contents

  Teaser

  Dedication

  Rules of Force

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Also by Steve Statham

  1

  They staged the raid at night, not that the numbers on a clock mattered much. The Great Hall was equipped with infrared sensors, patrolled by guards with night vision gear, and watched over by a protective cover of private drones.

  All of which would have worked as designed if the intruders did not have an insider’s path into the Hall.

  The team huddled up near the cab in the false compartment of the delivery truck, uncomfortably close. The first gate was no problem. Things had gotten tense at the second checkpoint, but the credentials had passed there, too, thanks in part to the volume of trucks trying to get past security and deliver their goods. Getting onto the loading dock without drawing attention was going to be the hard part.

  Mr. Blue hated rush jobs, and this was a rush job. The Open Sky researcher they had paid to steal the information and samples they wanted had been fired that very afternoon, before he could complete his theft, and they did not know how long they would have before the company changed the access codes and passwords. Surely not more than a few hours, and even that would require luck.

  Their insider had managed to acquire only part of the formula, as key sections of it were segregated as part of the company’s security procedures. Likewise, the manufacturing process was broken up into “need to know” cells. He had promised he could get the rest eventually, but then the asshole went and played ass-grab at the office and got himself fired. And later that day, far away from Open Sky’s facilities, terminated permanently, as Mr. Blue had witnessed.

  And so this haphazard raid, which Mr. Blue had no doubt would get messy before everything was over. The sneaking around would work for a while, but he was certain brute force was going to be required before the night was done. But the prize was great. And the boss was insistent.

  It will work, he told himself. It will. It will. Open Sky’s internal security was sound, he had judged when planning the raid, but, like a lot of companies, they never truly anticipated a physical frontal assault, a battering ram at the gates. Risky, but their best shot.

  He gave a final look around the confines of the van, taking one more reading of his men. Yellow was grinning like a coyote enjoying a mouthful of warm guts. Red looked nervous. Green was engrossed in his Everything Device, grasping for last bits of information. Mr. Blue believed they all relied too much on the E-Things, but such was the world. Copper was quiet, eyes focused in the distance, but then Copper was always quiet. Black, the least conspicuous of the team, was driving. He had been giving a quiet running commentary in Blue’s earpiece. So far so good.

  They drove behind Building Six, and Black backed the truck up to dock 6F. Black got out of the cab, walked around to the back and raised the rear door. He walked past the dummy cargo and into the back of the enclosed truck, where he unlatched the nearly invisible panel to the false compartment.

  The men filed out quickly, silently. Except for Black, who stayed behind to guard the truck, they jumped over to the loading bay and fanned out according to plan, running down the warehouse aisles toward the doors that led to the engineering and R&D labs.

  Mr. Blue arrived first and passed the late researcher’s security card in front of the reader. He held his breath for half a heartbeat. Everything hinged on this. They were gambling mightily that Open Sky employees were people like any other, not some pack of hyper-competent supermen. If the company had already deactivated the card, and changed the security codes….

  Green light.

  He pushed the door open and his team spilled through. They walked quickly down the hallway toward the R&D sector. Mr. Blue was relieved that this area was indeed deserted at night, as they had anticipated. Open Sky's assembly and launch areas had night shifts and work schedules that never ceased, but the engineers and researchers mostly worked traditional daylight business hours. Mostly.

  Still, he knew they had been under at least some electronic surveillance since they jumped out of the truck. Time was short.

  They continued down the hallway another 50 yards. Blue shook his head — Christ, the size of this place is impossible! At last they found the corridor they were seeking on the right. They turned the corner, increasing their pace, reading the numbers and names on the doors.

  They had just found the door they wanted when two security guards rounded the corner. One was moving a handset up to his mouth, the other reaching down for his weapon.

  His men moved so fast that even Mr. Blue could not quite believe it, although he, least of all, should still have been surprised by their capabilities. Yellow reached the man with the handset first and jabbed out with a shockingly fast blow to the throat. The man staggered and collapsed before uttering a word. Yellow swung backward with his other arm simultaneously, knocking the shock gun away from the second guard. He then delivered a crushing kick to the stomach that sent the man backward into the wall with such force that they could hear what sounded like the wall cracking. Or bones breaking.

  Yellow stood over the two men. They were gasping. Last breaths.

  “Screw it,” Yellow said. “This ain’t no Bollywood spy movie. This is a smash and grab. And I feel like smashin’.” He still had that grin on his face, which looked even more sinister behind the prosthetic features and yellow tinted skin. Gonna have to watch this guy more closely, Mr. Blue decided. But now Red and Green were grinning too. Bloodlust was traveling fast.

  There was no time for regrouping. Blue ran the security card through the slot and was frankly amazed when the door opened. Not that it mattered much, this far into the job. If it had not worked, he had no doubt his crew could have just broken down the door. They rushed inside. People — lots of them — looked up from workstations, heads swiveling from all across the office.

  Mr. Blue strode over to the nearest desk, where a middle-aged woman sat, her expression radiating shock. He grabbed her by the throat. “Tell me what I want to know,” he said, slowly squeezing tighter, “or this will go badly for you.”

  She was struggling to speak — Mr. Blue was pretty
sure she was prepared to tell him what he needed, when from the other side of the office a man lifted a phone to his ear, a movement that was obvious in the still room.

  Green vaulted over the cubicle wall, grabbed the phone from the man and crushed it in his hand. He then punched the man in the face so hard that the people within view gasped. Another man rushed over to the cubicle, yelling at Green to step away. A woman ran toward the cubicle as well, calling out the fallen man’s name.

  Green stood up straight and laughed, while Red rushed over to join him. They struck out at the people converging on the cubicle, dropping them instantly. Other Open Sky people who had taken a few tentative steps toward the fallen man hesitated, and Green and Red, followed by Yellow, waded into them, embracing the mayhem with apparent joy, delivering savage beatings.

  Mr. Blue shook his head. Sloppy.

  He leaned in closer to the woman he still held by the throat, looking straight into her eyes. “Tell me. Tell me how to get this,” he whispered fiercely, holding up the screen of his E-Thing in front of her. The display cast a soft glow on her face, casting her terrified look into stark relief. “You know what it is. I need samples and all data.”

  From across the room two people screamed in agony.

  She told him.

  He called to Yellow and Green to watch over the people in the room. Copper sat at the woman’s terminal and downloaded the files they needed, while Mr. Blue and Red used the combination supplied by the woman to open and gather samples of the product from a refrigerated locker.

  Material secured, they left the office and ran back toward the truck. The need for stealth was obviously no longer necessary, so they pulled out their guns as they ran. They used them once in the Great Hall, and twice in the warehouse.

  Black had the truck running and waiting. A security guard lay on the ground, motionless, about 30 feet from the truck. Mr. Blue jumped into the front seat this time, as he would need to help navigate the truck to the helicopter pick-up site. He put on the optical headset that would help him locate the airborne drones overhead, and reached for the fulgent gun that would blind them.

  He let out a long breath. Christ, I hope Mr. Cunha knows what he’s doing. This stuff better make a man sprout wings and fly. Because these guys are going to go apeshit.

  2

  The flickering images of the dead and dying bodies ended at last, the room darkening as the light from the screen faded.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Perhaps we should take a break,” said Angie 6, the Handler for the negotiation.

  “Yes,” Connor Rix replied, after a moment.

  They left the small room and walked into the Great Hall, footsteps echoing softly. Pale winter sunlight streamed in through the colossal windows. They did not speak as they walked the length of the Hall. Angie 6 led him to another room, this one with leather-covered seats, arranged stadium style, facing outward toward Open Sky launch site No. 3 in the distance. A viewing room.

  “Wait here,” she said, looking off in the distance, eyes hard, jaw set. “I’ll be back with you shortly.”

  “Right,” Rix said quietly.

  He sat in one of the seats, cool leather against the sweat of his shirt. Looking out, he could see the activity at the launch site, the structures and machines in constant motion as they prepared for the next flight.

  He leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath as he calmed himself, forced himself to set aside his initial reaction to the brutal images they had just viewed. It was all recorded on his optics, of course, and he would have to watch it again later. But a certain level of professional detachment was going to be required as quickly as possible.

  The pain was also starting, faint still, just a background irritation, but nonetheless the familiar pattern. He steadied his breathing, relaxed his muscles, slowed his heartbeat. No telling how long this meeting would last. The pain would have to wait.

  After a few minutes, he stood up and slowly made his way around the viewing room, inspecting the details of the architecture and furnishings. The structure was every bit as magnificent inside as out. The Great Hall was immense, a graceful mountain of stone and steel, glass and wood. Some were already calling it one of the wonders of the world, if such a title still had meaning. He had wanted to walk these halls, inspect these rooms, ever since he had seen the first images, released by the company after Open Sky’s triumphant landing on asteroid Cayton 28, when the flood of mining contracts came in from all over the world. Nobody had built such a structure in this part of the continent in decades, if ever. The beauty of the building lifted his spirits, at least as much as was possible, given his reason for being here.

  It was longer than he expected before Angie 6 returned, and he was surprised that she came into the room alone. She sat down, an open seat between them, and turned to face him.

  “As you can imagine, we are extremely motivated to find these killers,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “We lost not just colleagues, but friends. There are… other issues at stake here as well. So I’ll be blunt, Mr. Rix. We have our own team that will go after these people. I’ll be leading it. But your name — and background — are known to us. We want to retain your services as well.”

  “I see,” he said. As he had suspected when he first received the message from Open Sky, they had dug deep. “And what is it in my background that you believe will help you?”

  Rix saw that the slightest movement of her mouth, a smirk half-formed and quickly suppressed. “Have it your way, Mr. Rix. We know that you have particular experience in dealing with Modified Individuals. And clearly this assault team was loaded with MIs, as was obvious from the security video.” She hesitated for a second, then continued. “It’s not that we initiated any surveillance or targeted snooping regarding your background, Mr. Rix. It’s just that some government records aren’t as secure as they used to be before the Breakup. And in some of those records, your special duties in the Navy stood out. May I ask you about those duties?”

  “You may, although it seems you already know more about my official record than I do.”

  “We have written reports and records of service, but not a lot of specifics,” she said.

  “It’s nothing exotic. I was a Master at Arms. An MP, basically. Then the second-generation Brazilian steroids arrived, simultaneously with the blood boosts and Level One implants. With sailors and marines suddenly rigged up, policing the local bar took a lot more than just handcuffs and batons. I was part of the initial team assembled to respond to crimes committed by MIs in service.”

  As he spoke she broke eye contact briefly, looking him up and down, almost an involuntary glance. Rix had the impression she trying to read his abilities by sight and willpower alone. Good luck with that.

  “Is it fair to say that that isn’t the type of duty you get assigned unless you have Modifications of your own?”

  “It’s probably fair to say that.”

  “I know it is rude to ask, but may I enquire as to the particulars of your Modifications?”

  “Yes, it is rude to ask.”

  She looked away briefly, out the viewing windows as some motion at the launch site caught her attention. He got the impression that she had not actually expected him to reveal how he was rigged. But of course she would ask.

  “But you wouldn’t be at any handicap if you encountered these individuals face-to-face?” she asked.

  “No, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

  She was silent again, looking toward the launch site again, eyes not entirely focused. He took the opportunity to turn the conversation.

  “This level of brutality was… uncalled for… in what looks like a basic theft of industrial tech,” he said. “It would help me if I knew exactly what they were stealing.”

  She sighed, softly, almost unnoticed. Then her expression hardened again. “Please understand that what I’m about to reveal to you is proprietary technology. If you were to
talk about it… well. There would be repercussions.”

  “I understand. And yet it appears that someone knew enough to steal it.”

  “Yes. As you are aware, Mr. Rix, we have an increasing number of people in orbit, and beyond, for longer periods of time than ever. Radiation exposure is a constant concern. So we’ve developed a Modification that enhances human skin, the basal layer, making it more resistant to the hard radiation of space. I'm no researcher, so I can't explain all the details, but it involves increasing the keratin filament density, among other things. Our people will be able to stay out longer now, with few of the side effects people suffered in the past. It is the files on this treatment, along with physical samples, that were taken in the raid.”

  “That would seem a valuable commodity.”

  “But that’s just it, it really isn’t, not for anyone on earth. It might keep people from getting deep sunburns, but that’s hardly a Modification worth staging a raid and killing people for. This treatment was designed for deep space. It really has no particular enhancement powers, at least not as they are understood in the MI market. We have several other techniques that would seem more valuable.”

  “So then it has value to other space-faring nations? Such a treatment would give your people a substantial advantage, even moreso than they enjoy now.”

  “No government could possibly be stupid enough to stage this raid on us,” she said. “If we identified any such nation, we would immediately freeze them out of any contracts for the resources we're bringing back from the four asteroids. It would be economically catastrophic to be cut out of that loop. Plus, since we are the sole corporation actively clearing out Earth's accumulated orbital debris, there is enormous international pressure to leave us to our business. Not to mention we have effective control of low earth orbit, so any nation that committed violence against us could say goodbye to any com satellites they have flying around up there.”