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.
Out of the corner of his eye Rix saw that Big Fella had acted simultaneously, pulling out the net gun from underneath his longcoat and firing at the second man, who had been fumbling under his coat for a weapon. The man cried out as the bands wrapped around his body, pinning his arms and legs together. He fell backward, his head making a thunking sound as he hit the ground. His stylish Panama hat rolled down the street.
Marie stepped out of the van, eyes wide, with one of the needle rings in hand. She hesitated, then walked over and, with shaking hands, pricked the second man, still squirming against his bonds, with the paralyzing drug.
A fresh bout of cursing broke out down the block.
"Sounds like KC has her man under control," Big Fella drawled.
They quickly dragged the two unconscious men to the back of the van and loaded them inside. They bound the first man's limbs with both plastic ties and chains, and duct-taped his mouth. Marie pulled the car keys from the man's pocket and strode over to the Audi.
She opened the trunk and, after a long moment, looked up at Rix and Big Fella. "Uh, yeah, like we thought, there's a lot of merchandise here. And even the gold, at least some of it." She started unloading the boxes from the trunk, carrying them over to the van. Then she returned to the Audi, dropped into the driver's seat, opened all the windows and left the key in the ignition as she slid out of the vehicle.
"Someone's gonna have fun cruising in a new car tonight," she said.
They piled back into the van and slowly drove down the block to where KC was waiting. She was half-sitting on the motorcycle in an alley a block from where the third man lay twitching. She had already removed the small arrow from the man's leg and was rolling up her stealth garb into a bundle. The butt of her compact crossbow protruded from the leather saddlebag.
She swung a leg over the bike and looked toward Rix and Big Fella in the front seat of the van. "You were right, Rixie. Dropped him like a bad date. That little ring dart worked just fine in place of my target points. Handy machine shop you've got in your garage. Oh, and check this nasty thing out." She pulled a long-nosed gun with a wide, slotted barrel half-way out of the saddlebag. "I think this is one of those flechette guns they used at Forward. More evidence, if we still need it."
She tossed her hair back and started to put her helmet on. She paused before sliding it on all the way, and nodded her head to the fallen man.
"What do we do with him?"
"Leave him," Rix said.
"See you at the holding cell." She started up the engine and pulled out on to the street. Rix put the van in gear and followed for a couple blocks, then turned onto a side street, taking a different route to their next rendezvous.
The whole encounter had taken less than four minutes.
15
They watched the man's eyelids flutter open. His eyes darted from side to side. He tried to sit up, and then flopped back against his restraints. The muscle of his neck bulged as he attempted to move his head to take in his surroundings.
Then he froze, and they saw his gaze lock onto Big Fella, who was standing behind Rix. He sucked in his breath. The man's eyes tracked up and down, his pupils dilating.
Big Fella was casually lifting the man's still-unconscious compatriot into the air with one arm, lowering him, lifting again, as if the man were a barbell and Big Fella Jackson was conducting his daily workout.
Big glanced down at the bound man on the floor, the man who had left such a trail of blood at Open Sky. "You know, Travis," he said, "If we could cram each end of an iron bar into these two, I'd have a proper weight balance and could get a decent workout," he said.
Rix had settled on his Travis Burnet identity, alias number four. It was a good one to expose to the world, one he had deliberately built to burn someday. He had planted enough tracks on the web and elsewhere to make it believable, but with no paths back to his real life. Plus, with his battered cowboy hat and the amped-up Texas accent he was using for this part of the operation, the name seemed to fit.
The man shivered for an instant, and then his eyes tracked back to Rix. His eyelids narrowed and his face started to flush red.
"Whooo-eeee! This man does not look happy," Rix said. "Let's see what he has to say." He ripped the duct tape off the man's mouth.
"You… You goddam redneck!" He yelled, spit flying from his lips. "Do you have any idea who I work for? Do you have any idea what he'll do to you?" Rix folded the tape back over the man's mouth.
"Why, I'm hoping he'll kiss my ass, is what he'll do to me. And anyway, if all his tough guys go down as easily as you, he won't have a choice."
The man thrashed against his bonds.
"Look, son, I don't give a shit if your boss is the Pope of all South America. And you know, it sounds like that's just who he thinks he is. I've been in the Mod trade for a while, and I know who the players are. I know a little bit about your pussy of a boss. But he's not boss around here anymore. I am. Nobody deals in Mods in the Texas Republic without my say-so. Y'all are going away, and you're not coming back. And that's just the way it is."
The man lay still, but Rix could see a wide grin slowly breaking out underneath the duct tape.
"Oh now lookee here. I think the man must've thought up something clever to say."
Rix pulled the tape off the man's mouth. He coughed, and then looked from Rix to Big Fella. "He's watching you, you know."
"Know it, hell, I'm countin' on it son. I know you're wearing some nice optics, although not as nice as the ones I sell. I guess you just don't rate first-class equipment. I was kind of afraid we might have snatched somebody too far down the totem pole to matter, so the boss wouldn't even notice. But I guess we caught at least the bottom rung."
The man's leg lashed out in an attempt to kick Rix, but the chains held him secure.
Rix had known within a few minutes of arriving at this location that the man had optical implants with transmission capabilities. KC had examined him while he was under, and had taken an inventory of the obvious Modifications.
Rix turned to Big Fella. "Why don't you wake up that other sack of shit so we can finish up this little meeting." Big Fella nodded and propped the man up against the wall. He grabbed a plastic water bottle and dumped it over the man's head. His head slumped forward and then jerked up with a start, slapping against the wall. His eyes opened and he looked around wildly.
The holding cell they had secured for the two was in one of the sections of the city that had taken serious shelling during the war. Much of the city was still being rebuilt from the ground up — thus the New San Antonio name —but there remained areas where ruined properties had been abandoned, the owners having disappeared or given up. As many a property owner learned to his sorrow, insurance claims are hard to untangle when a nation breaks into civil war. The building they were in had been a muffler and tire shop, from what they could tell by what little was left inside.
Rix leaned over the chained man, looked directly into his eyes and grabbed him underneath the jaw. Using his own optics, he zoomed in on the man's right eye. He could see faint l
ight dancing across the lens, evidence of the displays the man was no doubt calling up.
"You transmitting?"
The man smiled again, and nodded slightly.
"Hey boss man, wherever you are — you getting this?" Rix spat out the words in an exaggerated Texas accent. "My name is Travis Burnet," he hissed into the man's face. "I'm keeping a couple of your boys here. I think this one must be an illeeegal alien. I expect I'll turn him over to the proper authorities directly."
Rix pulled back from the man's face, and then stood up. He walked over to the other side of the room and dragged a faded and bent plastic chair back to his prisoner's side. He sat down, sighed, and resumed eye contact. "I can't really stay face-to-face with your man. On account o' the stench." He shook his head. "Is this the kind of candy-ass cologne all you South Americans wear? 'Cause it smells worse than the devil's own ass-crack."
Rix leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The bound man on the floor was staring directly at him, unblinking. "Look, this is simple enough. I'm running the Modifications trade in this country. And I don't want any Brazilian trash peddling a bunch of half-assed junk in my territory. I'm only gonna tell you one time. Get the hell out of Texas, and don't come back. I'm not shittin' with you, man. If I have to come all the way down to Brazil and deal with you in person, it's going to really piss me off. Because once I kill you, I'll have to deal with all the rest of your shit, like your bawlin' widow, which is a real pain in the ass. Although I might be tempted to take a poke at her, if the line isn't too long."
Rix looked up and nodded almost imperceptibly to KC. She reached into a canvas bag at her feet.
He looked back down to the man, and was silent for a moment. Rix was content to play this Travis Burnet role to bait his opponent — and was enjoying it quite a bit, he admitted to himself — because he was pretty sure it would work. But when he looked into the man's face he couldn't help but see the murderous yellow savage who had rampaged through the security videos, killing the researchers at Open Sky, and savaging the security team at Forward Aeronautics. Rix was playing his role with what theatricality he could muster, but he had to force the casual manner. Everything was going to be deadly serious from here on out.
Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Page 12