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

by T. E. Bakutis

  Jan kept his eyes on the dark sky outside the giant hole in the wall, but no more attackers arrived. Perhaps the crew inside, and the APC outside, had been all the Truthers posted here. Still, going back outside put them all at risk.

  “Found tunnel!” Pollen exclaimed, painting a spot on the bloodstained floor with the red targeting dot from her rifle. “Where’s the door?”

  “We’ll make one,” Jan said. “Blow it, Kinsley.”

  “You’d like me to blow open an underground tunnel?” Kinsley strolled forward and pulled a small wad of gray plastic from her pack. “Doesn’t that seem counterproductive, given the average structural integrity of underground tunnels?”

  “It’s our safest way out,” Jan said.

  “It’s possible you’re right.” Kinsley crouched and placed the explosive on the dot from Pollen’s rifle, then joined them in the hallway, with a wall between her and the impending explosion.

  Rafe would be so annoyed he’d missed a chance to blow something up. Speaking of, where was Rafe? “Rafe?” Jan asked. “Any more bad folks outside the warehouse?”

  No answer from Rafe. And on that note, why hadn’t Rafe warned them about the giant fucking APC rolling toward the warehouse? Who missed a giant fucking APC? “Rafe?”

  Nothing. What if the Truthers had captured Rafe when they arrived? If a group that savage had Rafe, he would tell them everything before they could finish their coffee. Rafael Garcia did not resist interrogation.

  “I don’t hear anything but wind outside,” Kinsley said, head cocked as if listening to something they couldn’t hear.

  “Snipers are quiet people.” Pollen gestured impatiently from behind Kinsley. “I am very quiet. Blow the bomb.”

  “Well, all right.” Kinsley shielded her eyes as her other hand raised a remote. “Here comes the boom.”

  After the crash of the Truther APC through the wall and the deafening bang of Pollen’s rifle, the thump of plastic explosive barely registered. Jan and Emiko rushed into the warehouse to find a Pollen-sized hole leading to darkness. No ladder.

  Emiko dropped a glow stick. The glowing cylinder landed on rubble two meters below, revealing three walls and a muddy dirt floor. Jan dropped into the tunnel before anyone else could. He’d dragged them into this dangerous situation, so he’d be the first to take any dangerous risks.

  He landed in a crouch on wet earth. He picked up the muddy glow stick and waved it around, revealing a reinforced tunnel leading straight ahead. The light from the stick shined at least to where the wall of the warehouse might be, yet no one down here shot him. He was alone.

  “Come on down,” he mouthed over comms, walking forward to give them room. “Rafe? You read us out there?”

  Rafe gave no response as muddy thumps sounded one after the other. Emiko. Kinsley. Pollen. Jan led them down the darkened tunnel. They’d likely make it out, now, even if Rafe had told the Truthers who they were, assuming Rafe wasn’t ...

  No. Jan refused to consider that. Rafe was not dead. He had not put Rafe in a situation where Truther assholes would make him dead. Jan reached a T and randomly went right. This entire blood and rain-soaked night made not a lick of sense.

  Why had they arrived at this warehouse to find already dead Truthers? Had someone else killed them? That made the Truthers Jan and the others had just killed a cleanup squad, but that also implied the first set of Truthers had been dead long enough for another Truther cell to come check on them. And worse, with those Truthers all dead, Jan had no one to interrogate.

  So had Bharat busted out before they arrived? Had Bharat singlehandedly killed the seven Truthers Jan saw dead on the floor back there? Given what Jan had seen of Bharat’s combat prowess, he wouldn’t put it past the man, but that still left Bharat wandering around Star’s Landing, alone. Not good.

  Still, there was a ladder ahead, and they’d walked far enough that Jan didn’t want to risk looking for another one. He dropped the glow stick to find the others piled up behind him, waiting for guidance. He had no answers. What he did have, now, was fifteen hours until torture nanos made his life hell.

  And what he did not have was Bharat.

  08: Marquis

  Though Jan wasn’t quite sure how they managed it, everyone made it back to the Hole, in Duskdale, before morning. Rafe had purchased them an empty building on the east side to use as a base (with Bharat’s money), but given Rafe was now missing and possibly interrogated, going to that building seemed a poor idea. Whoever had abducted Rafe might be waiting in ambush there.

  After some cajoling, Kinsley had reluctantly agreed the safest place for everyone to hole up was her own hole in the Hole. Jan now had six hours before the torture nanos inside him forced him to eat his own gun. Worse yet, Emiko kept glancing at him like she knew something was wrong, even though Kinsley was the only one he’d actually told.

  He would have to inform the others about his affliction. He couldn’t have them freaking out when he finally stuck a pistol in his mouth. He wouldn’t want someone trying to stop him.

  Kinsley lounged in a battered beanbag chair in the corner of her single-room domicile, nursing a joint and high off her ass. Pollen sat on the floor in the corner, tank-killer balanced against her knees and pointed at the roof, while Emiko had temporarily departed to acquire the necessary resources everyone needed after a night like this one. Ice-cold beer.

  “So,” Kinsley said, ashing the joint she clutched languidly in one hand. “Shall you tell Pollen, or shall I?”

  “Tell me what?” Pollen asked, looking between them.

  Jan sighed heavily. “I have six hours before recently injected torture nanos turn my life into unending agony. If we don’t find Bharat before that, I will end my life, on my terms, to avoid that torturous execution.”

  “What?” Pollen shrieked. Her rifle tumbled to the ground as she stormed over and yanked Jan to his feet. “Why do you not tell me this? How do we fix it?” Her English always suffered when she was upset.

  “We find this Bharat character,” Kinsley said from her beanbag. “Chill out, Pollen. Jan’s just being dramatic. We’ve got far more than six hours.”

  “Um, no.” Jan stared at Kinsley and batted at Pollen’s arms until she set him down. “I have felt what those nanos will do to me.” Jan heard the half-hysterical edge in his voice, and he did not like it. “I cannot endure what they—”

  “You won’t have to endure anything,” Kinsley interrupted, “because we’ll put you in a coma.”

  Jan frowned. “What?”

  “Inducing comas is easy,” Kinsley said. “I’ve done it once already, just to see what it was like.”

  Jan stared at her. “You induced your own coma.”

  “I was bored.” Kinsley shrugged. “Anyway, if we don’t find Bharat before six hours are up, we’ll just put you in a coma, hook you to some fluids, and leave you there.”

  “Won’t those nanos kill him?” Pollen asked.

  “Torture nanos don’t actually damage your tissue,” Kinsley explained patiently, “and though they do stimulate your pain sensors, you can’t be stimulated if you’re completely knocked out. An induced coma gives us time to find this Bharat character and compel him to reset your torture nanos. Politely.”

  “When we find Bharat,” Pollen warned, eyes narrow and fists clenched, “we will see how polite we are.”

  “A coma,” Jan breathed. All of a sudden, he felt a lot better about not dying. “You, Kinsley, are a genius.”

  “I know.” She took a long drag from her glowing joint, then blew a trail of smoke as long as Pollen’s rifle. “Now, as to the matter of actually finding Bharat—”

  “We will need a bounty hunter,” Jan interrupted, mind spinning up once more. “And since we now have Emiko’s numerous bank accounts to draw upon, we should hire the best.” He glanced at Kinsley. “Get on the Network and get me Kaliden Toth.”

  Kinsley breathed out a trail of colorful smoke. “Toth’s dead.”

  Jan took a m
oment to process. “What?”

  “He died on some Supremacy black op three years ago, right before the armistice,” Kinsley said. “Took off with Shiva, Big Phil, and the Kid. All four of them were KIA.”

  “Damn,” Jan whispered. Kaliden Toth had been a stone-cold badass, so whoever managed to kill him and three of his best bounty hunters must have been five kinds of brutal. “No one knows who took them down?”

  “Nope,” Kinsley said. “The Supremacy did send the bodies back, though, which was thoughtful of them.”

  Jan tapped his chin. “If we can’t have subtle, we can still get the best.” Assuming the best didn’t blow anything up immediately. “Contact Freyja.”

  “On vacation,” Kinsley said.

  Jan processed once more. “What?”

  “Did I stutter?” Kinsley sounded like she was genuinely asking.

  “But ... vacation?” Jan shook his head and glanced at Pollen for help. “Freyja doesn’t take vacations.”

  “Well, she did,” Kinsley said. “Been off the Network at least two weeks.”

  “When’s she getting back?”

  Kinsley took another long drag of her glowing joint. She didn’t answer. So who did that leave?

  “Jimmy Flaregun?” Jan asked.

  “Commercial shuttle crash, one year ago,” Pollen chimed in. “Sixty-four casualties, including Jimmy.”

  Kinsley waved her free hand in the air, drawing lazy circles. “That’s why I never fly commercial.”

  “What about Klamenski?” Jan asked.

  “Choked on a steak bone,” Kinsley said.

  “The Crimson Falcon?”

  “Out of the game,” Pollen said. “She races hoverbikes now. Married Randy Mercury, champion of the Star’s Landing Circuit. They have two adorable little kids.”

  Jan looked between Pollen and Kinsley. “El Lobo?”

  “Retired to start a peanut farm,” Kinsley said.

  Jan scowled at her. “Peanuts don’t grow on Ceto.”

  Kinsley blew out another stream of colorful smoke. “I didn’t say it was a successful peanut farm.”

  “So who’s left?” Jan resisted the urge to stomp his foot. “Literally every bounty hunter we’ve ever worked with is dead, retired, or—” he worked his jaw “—breeding peanuts.”

  “There’s always Marq—” Pollen started.

  Jan’s death glare shut her up. “No.”

  “He’s available,” Kinsley added. “Came to see me the day before you did. He’s in Duskdale for another week.”

  “Absolutely not,” Jan said.

  Kinsley crossed her arms. “You’re letting your personal prejudice against a possible ally complicate a difficult task.”

  “Prejudice is a strong word,” Jan said. “We all know that hiring Marquis will make this job more difficult, not less.”

  Pollen smirked his way. “You guys do it?”

  “Marquis is not an option,” Jan said firmly. “Anyone else will offer us a better chance to find Bharat in time.”

  “There’s only one other bounty hunter available in Duskdale right now.” Kinsley stared into space, browsing AR screens. “He’s completed three jobs, failed four, and apparently calls himself the Swamp Knife.” Kinsley swiped her AR screens away. “What do you suppose makes a knife swamp-specific?”

  Pollen thumped her fist into her palm. “We should hire Marquis. If anyone can track down Bharat for you, he can.”

  Jan scowled at her.

  “Once you’re in a coma,” Kinsley said, “we’ll just hire Marquis anyway. What’s six wasted hours going to change?”

  Jan shook his head, compelled by the pressure mounting from their stares. “We’ll find someone else.”

  “Show of hands!” Kinsley raised her free hand. “Who votes we hire Marquis right now?”

  Pollen fixed Jan with an apologetic frown, then raised her hand. The door hissed open, and Emiko chose that moment to wander in, balancing four beers in two hands. Her gaze swept the room.

  “What are we voting on?” she asked brightly.

  Jan huffed.

  Emiko’s beers shot up. “I vote yes too!”

  “Three to one,” Kinsley said. “Majority rules.”

  “We are going to regret this,” Jan informed everyone. “Very, very much.”

  “Ah, Marquis isn’t so bad,” Pollen said. “I like his little vocalistic flourishes. It’s like poetry, yes?”

  Emiko set down their beers. “It really isn’t.”

  Kinsley glanced hopefully at Emiko. “You really don’t mind paying for a bounty hunter?”

  “No, it’s fine.” Emiko shrugged. “I always end up paying for everything anyway.”

  Marquis accepted emiko’s contract to find bharat one hour later, which was long enough to let Jan hope he wouldn’t take it, but still quick enough to annoy Jan when Marquis did. Marquis did, of course, request an in-person meet to finalize the details, because he was an insufferable ass who insisted on doing everything the most complicated way possible. At least Emiko respected Jan’s wish to leave his name out of it.

  The sun had just grazed the horizon when they emerged from the Hole. Kinsley didn’t allow people to finalize bounty contracts in her home, so Emiko and Marquis had settled on a somewhat neutral location: the Greasy Bowsprit, in the Sledge. Pollen, naturally, was absolutely thrilled.

  “Tiana is going to be so happy to see you,” Pollen gushed, once the four of them were piled in an autotaxi and cruising one of Duskdale’s bumpy roads. “She will make pancakes. You come home from orbital prison, Tiana Johnson makes pancakes. Those are the rules.”

  “I could go for some pancakes,” Emiko agreed.

  “Not from Tiana,” Jan warned. “I don’t trust any food that woman cooks herself.”

  Pollen poked his gut. “That’s because you are picky eater. Bowsprit food is good for the constitution. Builds resistance!”

  Kinsley’s brow quirked. “To what?”

  “Everything!” Pollen and Jan declared together.

  Jan couldn’t help but chuckle at their old, shared joke. He had missed his family while he was away. He had missed everyone, including Tiana. If only stupid Marquis wasn’t waiting for him, he might actually risk some artery-hardening pancakes.

  The four of them passed the thirty-minute drive to the Sledge in companionable silence, trusting the autotaxi’s networked AI to get them there by a route that efficiently avoided traffic. Jan half expected the autotaxi to balk when it hit the Sledge’s perimeter, where it had to snake around not one, not two, but three derelict vehicles. It kept going. This automated taxi was braver than most.

  Jan half expected Marquis and his stupid body armor to be standing stupidly on the curb outside the Bowsprit, but the only folks in the street were two big men wearing bright gang colors. They whistled leeringly the moment Emiko, now wearing sensible slacks and a black tank top, stepped out of the autotaxi.

  They stopped whistling when Pollen emerged from the taxi, wearing her thick and expensive body armor. One glance from her sent them scurrying down the street.

  “Old friends?” Kinsley asked, as she hopped out and surveyed the devastation. She was now dressed in street clothes, a dark blouse, slacks, and boots, and carried only her backpack, but that innocuous bag held her best drone jammers.

  Pollen quirked her lip as one of the fleeing figures tripped over a trash can a block down the street, then scrambled up. “No.” The man limped mightily as he fled.

  Jan emerged as well, then slapped the autotaxi’s roof. Having already processed Emiko’s payment, the vehicle smoothly closed its doors and took off faster than taxis normally did. Jan wished it luck on a successful escape.

  Kinsley stared at the mess of rocks and rebar across the street from the Bowsprit, a pile fronting a big biocrete building that wasn’t open anymore. “I haven’t been down here in years. When did the entry to the maglev terminal collapse?”

  “Controlled demolition,” Pollen said. “The rest of the city
did not want the riffraff freely spreading to other parts.” She shrugged. “Tiana’s expecting us. We still have thirty minutes until Marquis—”

  “JAN SABATO!” an eager, magnified voice shouted from up the street. “OUR FATED MEETING IS FINALLY AT HAND!”

  “Oh, fuck all,” Jan cursed.

  Striding toward them from the end of the street — in the center of the street, because of course he would walk straight down the center of the street — was a tall, helmeted figure in green and yellow body armor. His green cloak billowed dramatically in the wind as he strode toward them, fabric flapping against the butt of a long sniper rifle strapped behind his shoulder. Two glistening pistols rode his hips, tucked into big black holsters, with a gleaming silver wolf’s head on the belt buckle. An angular combat helmet hit his features, and its glowing yellow X-slit glistened in the midday light.

  “Holy shirtballs,” Kinsley said, staring at the ostentatious display of body armor striding toward them. “That’s Marquis? Can he ... can he even see in that helmet?”

  “Behold,” Jan said. “The most annoying man in the world.”

  Pollen cupped both hands at her mouth. “Hey!” she bellowed. “Turn off your voice mag!”

  “WHY?”

  Pollen pointed at the Bowsprit. “People are sleeping in there!” It was, after all, just past the crack of dawn.

  “OH!” Marquis said, which was followed up by a slightly quieter, “Sorry.” His long legs had devoured the block or so between them in the time his exchange with Pollen took, which happened before Jan could decide to duck inside the Bowsprit.

  “You’re early,” Emiko declared.

  “A man of impending action is neither early nor late!” Marquis popped hands on hips and took what he likely believed was a heroic stance. “He arrives precisely when he intends!”

  “Stop paraphrasing,” Kinsley said. “It’s tacky.”

  Marquis tilted his helmeted head. “You’ve read that book?”

  Jan did his level best not to leap forward and sock Marquis in the middle of his stupid helmet. “Okay, everyone, inside, now. This is not a conversation for the middle of the street.”