"Yes Mr. Rohm, I can come for a meeting. But I'm not sure I can get a ticket and a seat that quickly…"
"What? No. I'll have a jet waiting for you. Go to the general aviation terminal. Look for the plane painted with our logo." Rohm paused a moment before finishing. "And Mr. Rix? Please cancel whatever other appointments you have for the next several weeks."
8
Rix had that feeling of being a bit off his game as he walked down the length of the Great Hall again, so soon after the last time. The Great Hall was as magnificent as ever, of course, and he felt the same anticipation he had felt the first time.
But everything about this trip felt different. The flight from New San Antonio to Las Cruces — in a kind of jet Rix had never seen before — had been quiet, subdued by a tense atmosphere. Nobody made any effort to engage Rix in conversation, which had been fine by him, as the pain radiating from his bones was flaring up and then fading intermittently, putting him in a surly mood. But he noticed there appeared to be more people than necessary on board, which told Rix that the extras were probably security personnel.
Before boarding the plane in San Antonio Rix had done a search on his E-Thing for any breaking news about Open Sky, but had found nothing but the usual press releases and production reports from the asteroid mining operations. Even the secure Open Sky internal net — the part he had access to, anyway — revealed no indication that anything was out of the ordinary.
The plane had landed at a runway on the Open Sky spaceport facility, and Rix was whisked to a different wing of the Great Hall from when he had been there the first time. As for Angie 6, his original Handler, she was nowhere to be seen. That was unusual, in that most corporations, when bringing in outside people for security assistance, preferred that the outsiders only deal with one person. No reason for outsiders to know everyone on the security side of the operations, or so the thinking went.
Adding it up, he knew that something had changed, and probably not for the better.
Rix was escorted through Open Sky's majestic headquarters by a man who had not bothered to give his name. The man led Rix to a large, richly furnished office, and said simply, "Wait here," before turning around to leave.
Like so many of the offices in the Great Hall, there was a panoramic view of the launch facilities, spread out for miles in every direction. As ever, the grounds were alive with constant activity. It was obvious that an absolute flood of money was pouring into this spot from all over the world.
An astonishing array of new hardware spilled from the spacecraft maintenance and assembly buildings — enormous crawler transporters, muscular tow vehicles, trucks of all sorts. A surprising number of motorcycles darted between the widely-spaced buildings. Examples of a new generation of aircraft, like the jet Rix had flown in from New San Antonio, were scattered across the tarmac. In the distance he could make out an enormous airship languorously rising toward the clouds like some atmospheric manta ray.
Open Sky relied on both traditional rockets and high-altitude platforms to launch its spacecraft, and virtually all of the individual launch sites appeared customized for particular types of craft.
Rix had no idea how much money was invested in Open Sky's headquarters, but he knew the amount must be staggering, probably equaling the economic output of a small nation. The raw materials from the asteroids — metals like nickel and platinum, Rix knew, but also a whole lot more — were brought down to Earth in a steady stream.
Open Sky had another massive source of income as well. The governments still capable of doing so had finally agreed to contribute to a fund dedicated to the clean-up of the orbital debris that had accumulated in Low Earth Orbit. Decades of rocket launches had left a cloud of metal shavings, stray parts, paint chips, and dead satellites circling the globe. Open Sky, being the only company capable of actively knocking this trash out of orbit and into the atmosphere through their fleet of laser platforms and solar sails, tapped into this fund almost exclusively.
The company had a political advantage in this endeavor; most nations did not trust each other to place laser platforms into orbit for the purpose of eliminating debris. A laser platform operated by any one nation would always be viewed as a potential weapon. For a private company, however, to use a space-based laser as anything other than an industrial tool would be to risk its own sources of profit. Open Sky had perfectly positioned itself to be the compromise solution to a global problem.
Through this massive infusion of wealth, Open Sky alone had practically established the legitimacy of New Mexico Territory. And if the rumored merger with the Texas Republic ever came to fruition, New Mexico would have an extraordinarily strong bargaining position.
Rix hoped the merger would come to pass. He was thinking about what a natural alliance it would be when the man responsible for Open Sky, the Great Hall, and the development of trillions of dollars of space resources walked through the door.
Alexander Rohm.
Rix had seen pictures of the man, of course, and recognized him instantly. Although Rohm was no media hog, his position guaranteed regular exposure and prominent news coverage.
Rix took in at a glance the little differences that didn't show on news vids. Rohm was tall, taller than Rix had expected, and thin to the point of being gaunt. He wore professional clothing, obviously high quality, but nothing terribly memorable. His hair was closely cropped, and when Rohm turned to close the door Rix noticed a very faint web pattern at the base of the man's skull, just barely visible above his collar.
Rohm turned to face Rix. He made no move to shake hands.
"Mr. Rix. I need your help."
Rix was startled at the forthright bluntness of the request, but gave no outward sign.
"What can I help you with?"
Rohm motioned to the conference table, and the two of them walked over and sat down. Rohm looked Rix directly in the eyes, and hesitated not a moment.
"My security team, the one you worked with, has been wiped out. Most of them just murdered. There is no other term for it." He paused before continuing. "There were other people I am aligned with that were killed as well." For the first time, Rix caught a hint of emotion on the man's face. "Friends, even."
Rix tried to suppress the hollow feeling in his stomach.
"Angie 6….?"
"She will survive. But her recovery will be slow. Her life will not be as she has known it."
Rix found himself relieved, but also sickened at this news. He had known Angie 6 for only a brief time, but she was a comrade in arms. One of the good guys. He made a mental note to find out a way to visit her while she recovered.
Rohm continued, speaking in an unwavering voice, filling in Rix on the basic outlines of the ambush at Forward Aeronautics.
"And so I am in a position where I have no security team for, let us say, special circumstances. I have the usual sorts of guards one would find at any large enterprise, of course. But no real talent capable of projecting power. And I am increasingly discovering that genuine security requires a more proactive approach."
Rix could practically feel the intensity of Alexander Rohm's gaze. But the man must have caught some of the sadness Rix felt evident on his face, and shifted to a softer tone.
"They were talented people, Mr. Rix. The shortcomings were mine. I can only call what has happened a failure of imagination on my part. I did not anticipate the sudden emergence of such heavily Modified people, and how they might be recruited by aggressive criminal organizations." He shook his head. "Me of all people," he said softly.
"And so I have invited you here. I need singular individuals who can fight these people on their own terms. And especially, I want justice in this matter."
Rix nodded.
"I'm given to understand you have your own associates who could perhaps be retained for special circumstances?"
"I know some people. The extraordinary kind, as you might put it."
"Please try to recruit them. Compensation will be… ample."
Rohm seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then blinked slowly. "If you check your E-Thing, I have already sent you some payment proposals."
Rix pulled out his E-Thing and opened a new message from Rohm. It was all he could do to avoid whistling, like some gobsmacked everyman in an old movie peering into a money bag embossed with a large dollar sign.
"I feel confident I can convince some people to join us."
"Excellent." He leaned in closer. "Just so I am clear, I want the leaders of the organization captured and turned in to me. Not the regular law enforcement channels. Are you comfortable with this directive, and its implications?"
Rix raised an eyebrow.
Alexander Rohm leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together.
"We live in extraordinary times, Mr. Rix. Nation-states are weak. The United States has dissolved, the Chinese haven't recovered from the Epidemic of Sorrows, the Middle East is silent after the 36-Hour war. Established powers have fallen; new powers are rising.
"Yet human enterprise continues. And human enterprise cannot thrive without justice. But so very many of the older structures of justice have crumbled, or are no longer effective. I can assure you, in New Mexico territory, such matters are often handled in this manner. I know that in the Texas Republic things are not so very different."
Rix met Rohm's gaze. He responded in a level voice. "You realize, Mr. Rohm, that in an earlier life, I enforced the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I'm not some one-man posse trying to make money by dragging men to a hangin' tree."
Rohm stared back, and then slowly broke into a smile for the first time since their meeting began. "That is unexpected talk from a Texican," he said. But the smile vanished almost immediately. He leaned forward.
"We are all for law and order, Mr. Rix. I couldn't run my various enterprises without it. But sometimes when the spirit of the law becomes slave to the letter of the law, when the process tramples the clear objectives of natural law, free men need to take the initiative and act. After all, did not the very foundations of the United States crumble under the mountain of laws, rules and regulations built up over the centuries? Were all those laws truly necessary to keep the peace and secure justice? The central conflict of The Breakup was over whether the literally uncountable regulations subverted the plain law of the constitution."
Rix said nothing.
"If we wanted to be purists, Mr. Rix," Rohm continued, "I could ask if all your Modifications are completely in alignment with current law. Or I could ask to inspect the stack of approval licenses for this security operation you run. No doubt they are all in order," he said, with an expression that looked to Rix as if he were barely suppressing a smirk. "But I won't. You saw a problem with the potential for Modified people, superhumans really, to commit unprecedented crimes, and took the necessary actions to counter these people. You did not go begging for permission from the nearest government official. And I will not go begging local authorities for permission to see that these men receive the proper justice."
It was Rix's turn to lean back in his chair. "You're a smart guy, Mr. Rohm. You've been called a genius as far back as I can remember. What you've created speaks for itself. But the holes in your argument are obvious. You could almost drive an asteroid through them."
Rix could see that he was getting under Rohm's skin. There was a slight flush to his face, although it faded quickly. Rix guessed that he was employing some well-tested stress management techniques.
"So you will not help me?" he said tightly.
Rix took his time answering, slowing turning his head to look out the wall-length window. "I'll side with you on this, Mr. Rohm," he said at last. "Because you were right about one thing — in our new nations the legal structures may not yet even be in place to handle such wide-ranging crimes that cut across borders. And imperfect justice is better than no justice.
"But more important than that, if these people are not stopped, many more innocents will die. They clearly have no compunction about eliminating anyone who opposes them. If stopping these people means turning them over to you, so be it."
Rohm closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Thank you," he said. When he opened his eyes again, he looked tired. "There is more that I did not tell you earlier. My friend that was killed, Allen Venway, was a man of some significance."
Rix started at the mention of Venway's name. How has the news of that not gotten out?
"And by significance," Rohm said, "I do not mean that he was merely wealthy, or famous. His work was leading to an extraordinary future for mankind. Extraordinary…." Rohm's voice trailed off.
"They were all valuable, Mr. Rohm," Rix said softly.
"Yes. I am glad you are helping me avenge their loss." Rohm straightened up in his chair, as if getting ready to leave. "Get ready to study a trove of useful information. Angie 6 managed to extract some significant data and transmit it to me before she was incapacitated."
He stood up. "You may contact me directly as necessary. My link has been sent to your E-Thing. You may also visit our security armory. I think we have some unique items that will help you in the coming conflict."
Rohm reached out and shook Rix's hand. "Thank you," he said. "I look forward to the day when you turn these people over to me, that we may drink a toast to our fallen friends."
Rix nodded, and followed Rohm out the door. I hope he has a well-stocked liquor cabinet, Rix grimly mused. That drink may be a while in coming.
9
"So you're in then?"
"Of course I'm in, Rixie. I told you I was up for the job."
The "Rixie" tease was the first playful response from KC since the start of their conversation. Her manner had been strictly-business while he had described the nature of the crimes, the job and why they were being hired. The deaths were appalling enough, and then there was the fact the client was one of the most powerful corporations in the world. It was sobering, but Rix knew KC had limited capacity for sustained sobriety.
"Thanks, KC. I'm sending over on a secure network everything I've compiled. Wade through it. We have some good leads, thanks to what Angie 6's team uncovered at the end. The main thing I'd like you to work on is narrowing down the list of probables. Rohm passed me some decent leads he uncovered on his own, but he doesn't really know the lay of the land over here in our Modified neighborhood. Plus. I think he's still too shook up about it all to really think clearly, although it's hard to tell with that guy."
"You know me, Rixie. Up all night." She paused before continuing. "So. Any other members on this super team you're putting together?"
"Yes, I'm going to see him right now. I'll tell Big Fella you said hi. Unless you want me to deliver a more explicit message?"
She gave a playful snort. "I'll deliver those sorts of messages in person."
"Good, because I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea."
They laughed and said their goodbyes, and Rix thumbed his E-Thing into sleep mode. Rix had stopped to make his call to KC at one of the picnic areas that randomly populated the state highway network. It was a small facility, but set back from the highway so the noise of the passing cars was minimal. There were tall sycamore and pecan trees shading the concrete tables, but best of all, nobody else was there. He wanted to sit and think a bit before making that final turn onto the farm-to-market road that led to Big Fella Jackson's place.
Rix had projected a confident, "Oh yeah, no problem" tone when he had been filling in KC on what he was proposing. But he knew it was no sure thing getting Big Fella to sign on with this deal. The two were not as tight as they had once been. Rix and Big Fella had had many a beery late night debate over the pros and cons of Modification. Rix had always argued on the "pro" side, an enthusiastic believer in the truly awesome potential to vanquish humanity's ancient weaknesses, to uplift humanity for the better. More than once, usually after four of five pints, he would really let his imagination run free and construct a detailed new world where all this human potential was harnessed.
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Big Fella, on the other hand, would have none of it.
"You dumbass, you have no idea of the long-term damage you could be doing to not just your body, but the next several generations, assuming there are any," he had told Rix at their last meeting.
Big Fella opposed the rapid spread of human bio-engineering on a personal level, but had also framed his arguments from a wider perspective.
"Hell, you start passing out superhuman powers and it will take all of five minutes before somebody starts using them to rob a bank, or worse," he had said. "Christ, Rix, you've seen most of this world. You've been to plenty of the backward tribal shitholes. You've seen how a handful of thugs can rule over an entire nation of poor people. Are those the kind of people you want to turn into 8-foot-tall superhumans? 'Cause that kind of power won't stay confined to the civilized corners of the world."
The last time they'd had this discussion, Rix had given his usual counter argument. "What, we're supposed to wait for every lost corner of the world to catch up before we can advance? I'm glad you weren't there to whisper in the Wright brothers' ears. 'Bad people might get airplanes, so we ought to just junk this whole flying business…'" And so it went.
The whole issue was complicated by the fact that Rix's Modifications were voluntary, while Big Fella's enhancements had been a matter of necessity. And that Big Fella himself was a dealer of Modifications, of a sort. Not that he would admit to the standard categorizations. "I'm not Modified. I prefer Custom," he had said to Rix once.
Rix sat for another fifteen minutes on the picnic table, reviewing the approach he would take with Big Fella. He finally stood up, shaking his head. I don't need a strategy. He's my friend, for godsake.
He got back into his truck and pulled out onto the two-lane highway that led to Big Fella's place. It was a short drive from where he had stopped. The road followed the contours of the hill country, dipping and arcing through the tall brown grass and bare trees, bordered on either side by unending barbwire fencing.
Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Page 7