Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3)

by T. E. Bakutis

  “You sent me to orbit,” Jan growled.

  “About that,” Fatima said. “I didn’t act-a--y.” Her perfect image flickered. “J-n?” Static split her face, then ripped through her chest and hips. “Wha- t-- -el-?”

  Fatima’s incredibly realistic hologram vanished.

  Jan stood poised, waiting, prepared. Fatima did not rematerialize. She did not shoot him from the shadows, or kick him from behind, or drop out of a goddamn helicopter. She was simply ... gone. That seemed an odd way to conclude what appeared to have been a rather complicated-to-arrange meeting.

  There was no projection equipment in the biocrete, so Jan searched the skies for a shimmer. Fatima must have projected her hologram from a cloaked drone. Yet none seemed evident, and he couldn’t hear any rotors humming over the gentle wind.

  A ghost. He’d just seen the modern-day equivalent of a ghost, and that was the reason he all but stuck his next knife in the man who tapped his shoulder from behind. He stopped just short of cold-blooded murder.

  “Ahhh!” Rafe shouted. “It’s me, mate! Ease off!”

  Jan pulled his knife back from Rafe’s throat and released a fistful of leather vest. “Unwise.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck me, mate, I thought you were expecting me.”

  “Hours ago,” Jan added. He glanced at the street while keeping his peripheral vision on Rafe. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “Fatima.”

  “No shit, she’s here?” Rafe pushed past him and stared into the street. “Where’d she go?”

  Jan grimaced at the street, at his knife glistening there, and then found something else missing. “Where’s Bharat?”

  Rafe looked around. “Thought he was with you.”

  “Does it look like he’s with me, Rafe?”

  “Well, I figured ... maybe you had him stashed nearby? Watching? Like, as backup.”

  Over the past five years, Jan had forgotten just how difficult it was to deal with a man who had been concussed so often it was practically a hobby. Jan found it helped to say his name repeatedly. “When did you last see him, Rafe?”

  “Oh, like ... three hours ago? We found a place, nice one too, total steal. I went to make an illicit offer, and Bharat left to meet you at the stripper mall.”

  And Bharat had never arrived. Bharat had taken a stroll through the Luxury District, as an Advanced alone on Ceto, and never arrived. Many bad things might have happened to Bharat, and without ground to which he was accustomed or the human resources he generally used, Jan was going to have a really hard time tracking Bharat down. In less than twenty-one hours, Senator Tarack’s torture nanos would burn him alive.

  Jan felt his heartbeat accelerate like a runaway maglev. He didn’t think he could survive the hell he’d experienced on Tarack’s vessel. Still ... one problem at a time.

  Jan took a breath to calm himself. His knife was sitting in the street still. He went into the street to retrieve his knife.

  “So you saw Fatima, mate?” Rafe asked. “How’d she look?”

  Jan tucked the knife into the brace hidden beneath the back of his shirt. “Holographic.”

  “Right.” Rafe shifted his weight, one boot tip sliding around like a compass needle. “But it’s good she knows we’re here, yeah? Think she’ll be up for this job?”

  “She will certainly be up for something.”

  Jan needed to find Bharat, and given his current timetable and circumstances, he knew of only one plausible way to do that. It was the last route he wanted to take, given how it would complicate his plans for Fatima, but he saw no other choice.

  “Come,” Jan said. “We’re going to the maglev terminal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going back to Duskdale.”

  “Right.” Rafe paused. “Why?”

  “I need support to find Bharat.”

  “Oh, fuck me with a hot poker.” Rafe apparently caught on faster than he used to. “Her?”

  Jan allowed himself a small smile. “Yes.”

  “We don’t need her, mate. I can find Bharat if you get me access to a secure terminal.”

  “I know you can,” Jan said, more to placate Rafe’s fragile ego than out of genuine confidence. “But it’s been five years. I’d like to know what she’s been up to.”

  “Well,” Rafe said, “probably nothing.”

  THE OLD, LONG-ABANDONED BUNKER in Duskdale’s abandoned old town didn’t have an official name, since signage was bad for secrecy. Those low-rent mercenaries who knew it existed called it “the Hole.” What had been one of the first storm bunkers on Ceto featured eight underground rooms that formed a ring, all with individual airlock seals.

  Yet most rooms held only tattered chairs, battered tables, and old-fashioned flat monitors. Those monitors displayed everything from illicitly obtained entertainment channels to live feeds from people’s apartments. The Hole wasn’t a place where anyone lingered — except for one. Kinsley Baker. Kinsley could find anyone on Ceto with less effort than it took to yawn.

  Assuming she wasn’t as high as the drones she hacked.

  “How do you know Kinsley’s even down there?” Rafe sounded unusually nervous, even by Rafe standards. “You’ve been in orbit for five years, yeah?”

  “Kinsley is in the Hole,” Jan said as they approached. “She is comfortable nowhere else, and given how Ceto has deteriorated in the years I was away, she must be swimming in odd jobs.” Those were Kinsley’s favorite kind.

  “Right,” Rafe said. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, mate, I’ll just wait outside. I don’t like being underground, or trapped in close quarters in the dark, or, you know, surrounded by jacked-up bros with guns.”

  “Let us not stereotype.” Jan casually increased his pace toward the armored woman standing by the door of the Hole, a woman who was now very obviously watching him. “The Hole also contains plenty of jacked-up ladies with guns.”

  Jan sensed rather than saw Rafe scurrying into an alley. He wasn’t worried about Rafe getting hurt or lost in old town. Rafe probably knew every bolt-hole down here.

  The amiable and entirely celibate Kinsley Baker — the woman Jan hoped was waiting at the Hole, guarded by a bunch of jacked-up dudes and ladies with guns — was the best mechanic Jan had ever known. She could work miracles with guns, vehicles, and powered armor. She also knew the guts of every drone model ever produced, which had, on a dare, allowed her to make the CSD’s entire surveillance fleet play “Flight of the Bumblebee.”

  As Jan closed with the short-haired brunette guarding the door, he noticed her pockmarked armor looked well used and cared for. A professional, then. She stood in front of a person-sized crack in a very big wall, with one hand on her holstered gun, watching Jan and saying nothing at all.

  The Hole was where people came when they wanted to hire a professional killer or kill professionally, for money. Today’s door guard was waiting to see which Jan was. She had no reason to threaten him or chase him away ... yet.

  “Greetings, traveler,” Jan said, as was the custom when visiting the Hole. “I’ve been walking too long in the sun. May I share your water?”

  “No,” the woman said. Her nose had obviously been broken more than once, but that somehow made her more attractive.

  Someone other than Kinsley must have changed the protocol. Jan tried again. “Ah, my mistake. May I ask your name?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Well, No,” Jan continued, “I am Don Quixote, and I’m here to discuss employment.” Don Quixote was the alias he used at the Hole, a reference to an old Earth tale Fatima had come across years before he went to orbit. Everyone here used aliases.

  No’s eyes narrowed. “Try again.”

  “No, it’s me, as you can plainly see.”

  “Quixote’s in orbit.” The armored woman scanned the street instead of watching him, perhaps under the assumption he was some incredibly handsome distraction. “You ain’t him. So either you tell me who y
ou really are, or you get lost.”

  “Ah,” Jan said, as it all clicked. “I forgot they do not upload pictures for the door staff. You are new, yes? How new?”

  No yanked out her pistol and pointed it between his eyes. “You got a hearing problem?” This was old town, where no one would care if some idiot got himself shot. “Get out of here!”

  No’s lack of identifying pictures made sense. She certainly had a PBA installed, meaning she could effortlessly access data and, likely, whatever list of fake names Kinsley had provided as approved for entry. Don Quixote was on that list, but likely still labeled “Imprisoned on Tantalus.”

  Jan raised his hands and shrugged a casual shrug. “The Sapient Pupil would be very upset if you shot me.”

  No perked an eyebrow at him. “That so?” She didn’t lower her pistol, but she visibly relaxed. “And would you like to explain how a cute piece of ass like you walked down from orbit?”

  Few who hadn’t actually been in the Hole knew the alias Kinsley used. Jan’s knowledge of the Sapient Pupil revealed that he had, at least, visited the Hole before today. Now, the question was if he could convince No to let him visit it again.

  “My ass is amazing, thank you,” Jan said, turning sideways and glancing down, “and I escaped.” He looked up.

  No’s pistol lowered a tad. “Lizard shit.”

  “No excrement was involved.”

  “No one escapes from Tantalus prison.”

  “Then let me ask you this,” Jan said. “If I do know the Sapient Pupil, and if you do turn me away or shoot me in the street ... do you think you’ll get a custom AP round ever again?”

  No holstered her pistol. “You’re a smooth talker.”

  Jan smiled.

  “Don’t much like smooth talkers.”

  Jan lowered his hands. “I’m also quite good in bed.”

  That elicited an eyebrow raise. “I’m taken, slick.”

  “I understand completely. Yet should your partner also wish to enjoy my many skills ...”

  “Amble on inside, Quixote.” No brushed her blunt nose with her thumb and stepped away from the crack splitting the wall. “I offer no guarantee someone won’t shoot your candy ass.”

  “Much obliged,” Jan said. He ambled on inside.

  The person-sized hole in the wall stayed barely person-sized for at least five meters, biocrete and glinting metal bits that threatened to catch his clothes. Jan tried never to think about the dozens of sweaty and unwashed people who scraped their way through here on a regular basis, or what traces of themselves they might deposit on the walls. He moved carefully, efficiently, and cleared the entry to find a hole in the biocrete and the tip of a ladder, leading down.

  There were no more guards inside, just cameras leading to monitors. All five of those cameras were likely focused on him now, along with the hidden automated guns. When none of those guns shot him, Jan knew he was clear to descend.

  He climbed down slowly and loudly, mainly to avoid surprising anyone who might shoot him if surprised. He stepped off the ladder into one of the Hole’s eight rounded bunker rooms. It was stained by trickled-down rainwater, full of tracked mud, and completely and blessedly empty.

  Five years ago, Kinsley had kept her bunk in the third room around the ring from the ladder, close enough to the entry to be convenient, but far enough away that there were plenty of blind corners for her protectors to use as cover. Jan saw no reason she would change her habits. Kinsley didn’t change her habits.

  Jan strolled through the first room, populated by a half-naked man sleeping in a pile of soiled clothes, and then the next room, populated by two white men who were absolutely not naked. These would be the lucky pair guarding Kinsley’s door today. Guarding the Sapient Pupil’s bunk was a lucrative honor among those who frequented the Hole, and no one wanted to screw it up.

  “Stop,” the first man said, shorter and bulkier than the second. “The Pupil’s having a nap.” He had a real shiner of a black eye, as well as a recently split lip.

  Jan squinted past him at the sealed door leading into the third room. “No, she’d be reading now.”

  “How the fuck does he know that?” the other man demanded. He was tall, skinny, and wore three colors of body armor.

  The shorter man thumped the skinny man. “Shut up, dumbass!”

  Skinny shoved Short back. “You shut up, nutsack.”

  Jan slipped forward and gripped their shoulders before they could raise their rifles. “Stop.” His calm voice and impressive speed elicited shocked stares.

  “Do not bicker where the Pupil might overhear,” Jan warned them, voice low. “Do you really want to disappoint her on your first day as her bunk guards?”

  Short and Skinny both flinched. “It’s my second day,” Skinny said.

  “Most impressive!” Jan stepped back and smiled his most placating smile. “Not everyone gets a second day.”

  “Hey,” Skinny said, smiling back. “I’m doing my best.”

  Kinsley was willing to give anyone at least one chance, even complete morons. Sometimes, that made her life complicated. In this case, it was going to make Jan’s life a whole lot easier.

  “The Pupil told you not to admit anyone while she was reading?” Jan asked.

  Short glanced at Skinny, then shrugged. “Yeah, so how’d you know that?”

  “The Sapient Pupil always reads at this time of day, but tells her bunk guards to inform visitors she’s napping. She doesn’t like to be interrupted while reading. She doesn’t like to be interrupted at all.”

  “Right,” Short said, not quite bringing his rifle up. “So you see how that means you can’t see her, right?”

  “You need not worry about angering her,” Jan assured them. “I am Pristine.”

  Skinny blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Most seriously.” Pristine clients were never denied service, but that list was probably ten names, tops, and some of them were dead. “Search for Don Quixote.”

  Short’s eyes went distant as he scanned a screen Jan couldn’t see. “Don’t see it.”

  “The last name begins with a Q.”

  “Oh,” Short said. “Uh ... it says you’re still in orbit.”

  “I know,” Jan said, with a heavy sigh. “That’s really starting to piss me off.”

  Short glanced at Skinny, who glanced at Short. Jan could imagine the gears turning. If they let him interrupt Kinsley’s reading, and he wasn’t Pristine, they’d be on the outs with Kinsley for weeks. If he was Pristine, however, and they stopped a Pristine client from seeing the Sapient Pupil ...

  “How’s this,” Jan said. “What if I overpower you?”

  Short blinked. “What?”

  “I’ll overpower you,” Jan said, “and make my way inside. That way, even if I have deceived you, you will have the perfect excuse for allowing me to interrupt the Pupil’s reading.”

  “Because you overpowered us,” Skinny said, as if considering it. “Uh ... would it hurt?”

  “Yes,” Jan said.

  “Oh, fuck that.” Short stepped aside. “I just got my ass handed to me by Marquis yesterday. Don’t care for a repeat.”

  That moniker caught Jan’s attention, and it also explained Short’s black eye and split lip. “Marquis was here?” Marquis was a moderately dangerous and extremely annoying bounty hunter, and Jan wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

  Short spit a loogie at his own feet. “Yeah.”

  This was worse news than Jan expected. “Did he come to the Hole?” If Marquis came to know Jan was back in town ...

  “How you think I got these?” Short demanded, pointing at his battered face.

  Jan considered. “You said the S word, didn’t you.”

  Short huffed and hunched his shoulders. “Yeah.”

  Along with a million other incredibly annoying attributes, Marquis had a very particular way of speaking. Those who had actually read a book often made the mistake of asking Marquis if he was quoting Shakespeare. Sh
ort was lucky to be alive after his transgression, but at least Marquis wasn’t here.

  Jan glanced at Skinny. “May I pass?” Marquis was a problem for later or, hopefully, never.

  Skinny watched him for another moment, then stepped aside. “Sure, okay. You seem like an honest dude.”

  Jan beamed. “Not at all.”

  Skinny stared blinkingly.

  Jan clapped Short on the shoulder as he passed, which made the man jump. “Do me a favor, would you?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “If you see Marquis again, don’t tell him you saw me.”

  “Right,” Short muttered from behind Jan, as Jan walked up to the armored door sealing off Kinsley’s room. “Like he’d know who Donkey fucking Hotey was.”

  Jan stopped at the door and punched a short combination into the door’s keypad. Kinsley didn’t change codes either, though she would swap out a whole lock. With an agonized, grinding moan, the door to Kinsley’s bunker rumbled open.

  The door took time to rise. It took long enough that Jan wasn’t surprised to see the top of Kinsley’s pale, freckled face peeping over an overturned table. He was also unsurprised by the two ceiling-mounted guns pointing at his chest. This was the third time he’d had guns pointed at him since arriving at the Hole, which was ... better than average.

  “Jan?” Kinsley rose to her full, skinny height. “No, you shouldn’t be here yet.” Her short red hair bobbed gently beneath the flow of her unit’s single air-conditioner.

  Jan thought about the way Kinsley thought, which was different from most people. He supposed he had arrived thirty-five years earlier than Kinsley expected.

  “Hush,” Jan said, stepping inside. “Don’t say anything you shouldn’t. You are not dreaming or hallucinating.”

  “I’m aware.” Kinsley was dressed in her favorite (and likely only) pair of yellow pajamas, feet bare with unpainted toenails. “What I don’t understand is why you’re here.”

  “Close the door,” Jan said, “and I will explain what’s changed. I will provide you with updated facts, and then this world will make sense once more.”

  “Well,” Kinsley said. “All right.”

  The big door rumbled shut without any visible movement from Kinsley. She had triggered it with her PBA. Kinsley’s brain-mounted computer was one of the most advanced on the planet and almost entirely her creation, save for the wetware guts. It could do things most people didn’t understand.