Connor Rix Chronicles 1: Rules of Force Read Free Page B

unpacked, he uploaded the video from his optics to his largest screen. He
reviewed it carefully, zooming in and out, replaying certain sections,
optimizing the focus.
    The men were
covered in tight black clothing, tight enough to reveal obviously Modified
musculature. What skin was showing was tinted different colors, so that each
man was a unique shade. When he first viewed the video at Open Sky, the Handler
had speculated that this was a crude attempt to further obscure their
identities.
    He zoomed in on
one particular intruder, larger even than most of his comrades. The skin showing
at his wrists and even his eyes were a fairly bright red.
    A particular
red.
    Hold it.
    He examined
those sections of the video with renewed attention. There was only one source
for that shade on human skin. “Fightin’ Mad,” they’d called that color when the
side-effect had first manifested itself. Peruvian Steroid Numero Dos . A massive failure. After only a handful of
treatments the skin turned a bright, distinctive red, cartoonishly red even.
The blood vessels dilated so thoroughly that the result was an entirely new
classification of rosacea. There were other side-effects the steroid designers
had not anticipated. It was quietly put out of production, with only a very few
people ever using it. Rix had been there when the first couple sailors with the
condition were sent to lock-up. They had first gone to the infirmary, where
they were of course written up for ingesting unapproved substances. After
release they had made their way to a bar near the base, where they were
relentlessly teased by the locals.
    Rix still
remembered the transcript from the hearing. The final insult that had sent the
two newly-crimson sailors into a battle fury was when the older of the two had
been called “the original red-headed stepchild,” by a large drunk at the end of
the bar.   As it turned out, he
actually had a red-haired stepchild of
his own with numerous health problems. It was the wrong insult for that
particular day, and that particular person.
    In one of his
last assignments before the Breakup, Rix had hunted down the local supplier of Peruvian
Numero Dos and extracted some useful
background on the drug. It was his last official report. Very few higher-ups
would have taken the time to read it, what with the military being forced to
take sides as the United States began splitting into three nations and assorted
territories.
    So the green
man, the blue man, the yellow man, the coppery guy, they were all diversions.
The others had colored themselves just to keep the red man from standing out.
Interesting.
    Fortunately, Rix
knew where two of the thirty-four Fightin’ Mad red men on the planet happened
to be.
     
    ****
     
    Marie watched
him from their bed as he reviewed his video, forward and backward, zooming for
details. She wanted to get up, walk over to him and sit beside him, but her
legs still felt as if they could betray her at any moment, like some colt
taking its first steps.
    The episodes of
nausea were lessening, however. Funny that undergoing treatments to build
superhuman capabilities required so much down time being sick or in pain.
    The biofilm was
the worst so far. By comparison, the blood boost packs, after some initial
disorientation, had delivered a feeling of well-being and stamina almost
immediately. Her workouts shortly thereafter had delivered startling results,
with muscular definition she had never truly believed she could achieve.
    That had been an
immensely satisfying time, those early days with Connor and the first tentative
steps into the world of Modified physiology. Especially after the hardships and
terrors of The Breakup. Every day she got more powerful, every day she felt
less vulnerable. She thrived on a new, burning desire to get stronger, to learn
more fighting techniques. To never again be forced to sit helplessly while her
family was taken away. To not be ignored or dismissed.
    At some level,
though, she