“We have a laundry just up the hall,” Hanson said. “We can get you a uniform. I can, uh ... I’ll take you?”
Jan rewarded Hanson with a wide, warm smile. “I’d love that.” He touched the man’s shoulder. “Please. Lead on.”
Hanson strode off with a spring in his step. “This way!”
Jan jerked his head, once, to ensure Rafe kept up, then followed. Hanson led them past rooms filled with everything from sealed ration crates to unsealed munitions crates to racks of rifles. The sight of all that hardware further confirmed this was the Truthers’ home base. If Jan didn’t convince these people he was a Truther as well, he would be six kinds of dead.
“Hey, Jan,” Rafe whispered as they walked. “You really believe all that stuff you said?”
Jan beamed Rafe’s way, keeping up the act. “You don’t?”
“No, I do!” Rafe grinned. “I just didn’t think you did!”
It took all Jan’s years of lying to keep his jaw from dropping. Rafe believed in the Truther cause? Rafe was a Truther, and that made him more insane than normal.
Jan smiled and looked ahead. He’s not under duress. He’s working for them.
“I was as shocked as you after the armistice,” Rafe said as they walked, following Hanson. “When the government just said it was okay. I mean, how could it be okay? The Supremacy executed hundreds of innocent civilians during their occupation. They threw people into secret prisons and tortured them for years. That’s not right, and we’re just gonna let those vatborn dickheads get away with it?”
We’re letting them get away with it, Jan wanted to scream, because those “vatborn dickheads” have enough firepower to glass Duskdale with a single interplanetary slug. The Phorcys military could wipe our entire population off the map in a week. Also, murdering random Advanced civilians solves nothing.
The Truthers weren’t wrong that Ceto’s current government had, after the armistice, technically let the Supremacy get away with war crimes. They weren’t wrong about that one, singular thing. Yet the Truthers also refused to acknowledge that starting another war with the Supremacy was fucking suicide.
Ceto was not ready to face the might of Phorcys in a full-scale war and likely wouldn’t be ready for decades, if ever. Killing Advanced civilians or blowing up settlements on Phorcys wouldn’t make anything better for anyone. All more war would do was get a shitload of people killed.
Would reparations be nice? Would seeing corrupt Supremacy commanders in front of firing squads be nice? Sure. A blanket pardon and a sloppy blowjob from Ceto’s President Mendoza would also be nice, but Jan was realistic.
He’d been kicked around enough to know that whining about life not being fair would not stop it from murdering you. And he’d seen enough war zones during his time smuggling, before the armistice, to know anyone who wanted to bring those back either needed a kick to the balls or a bullet to the head.
Yet Rafe was all in with the Truthers. This was going to significantly complicate Jan’s escape. Also, Hanson had just led them into a laundry room, which required Jan’s full attention. He spotted the first surveillance camera five steps inside.
“We, uh, don’t have any actual uniforms that you can wear,” Hanson said, as if Jan would want one. “But I’m sure we can find you some maintenance coveralls.”
Hanson led Jan through a large room that smelled of bleach and oil. Industrial washing machines thrummed loudly against the wall, and a uniform track whirred as it transported laundered clothes. Jan found it alarming that the Truthers had built a laundry system this complicated. If they had room for this on their priority list, this base must be well established.
Jan catalogued the cover offered by each piece of machinery and the positions of every wall-mounted camera. Hanson didn’t look back. Still, caution was warranted when one was planning a daring escape from a highly fortified military base, run by a group of murderous zealots, with rooms full of high-powered guns.
Hanson stopped at a makeshift counter behind which a single person lounged. The muscular gray-haired woman with a thick hair bun didn’t look up from her tablet. Small bleeps and bloops occasionally erupted over the sound of the machines.
“Hey, Solorio,” Hanson said. “Need a couple of maintenance overalls for my friends here.”
Solorio did not look up. “Why?”
“They’re going to meet the Commander.”
The laundry matron set down her tablet and stared at Hanson. “And you’re dressing them in coveralls?”
Hanson blanched at the woman’s intense stare. “I, uh ... I figured we have some to spare?”
When Solorio’s gaze fixed on Jan, he instinctively stood up straight and raised his chin. This woman reminded him of Tiana, if Tiana were white and murderously insane. Jan supposed it took real gumption to handle the Truthers’ dirty laundry.
“Hmmph,” Solorio said. “Might have some flight suits that’ll fit them.”
“Oh!” Hanson said. “That’d be great!”
“I’ll handle it.” Solorio’s intimidating gaze returned to Hanson. “Don’t you have some place to be?”
“Sure,” Hanson said, with an apologetic look at Jan. “So, she’ll get you everything you need. I should, uh ... I have stuff to do. In the infirmary.”
Jan stepped forward and gripped Hanson’s arms. “Thank you.” Jan smiled warmly and was pleased to see the man blush bright red. “Be well.”
“You too!” Hanson said.
Jan released him and stepped back. Hanson beamed as he walked off, staring straight ahead. Jan turned back to Solorio to find her watching him with a disapproving frown.
He stepped forward. “Miss Solorio, I would just say—”
“Blow it out your ass, Sabato.” The matron snorted and shook her head. “Save some of that kiss ass for the Commander.”
Jan nodded and stepped back. He was certainly not going to charm this woman. Matron Solorio was no idiot.
“Stay here and don’t move,” Solorio said. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
“Don’t you need our sizes?” Rafe asked.
Solorio rolled her eyes and walked off.
So the Truther matron was getting him a flight suit. This could work even better than maintenance overalls. Assuming they let Jan keep it, it would make an excellent disguise when he made his escape. And assuming they didn’t — Jan now knew exactly how to sneak in and out of this laundry room without a single camera tracking his movements.
Solorio brought them a pair of dark gray flight suits and some fresh-smelling underclothes, then left them to get dressed in the middle of the laundry room. Jan shed his clothes and pulled on the flight suit without shame, in clear view of the cameras. Rafe looked around nervously as he did the same, but no one walked in on them while they were changing.
Jan picked up their soiled clothes and dumped them in the nearest hamper. It wasn’t like he’d be needing those any more. The moment he finished dressing, a male soldier in a gray uniform marched into the laundry room. The Truthers had been watching the whole time, on camera, because of course they had.
“This way,” the soldier said. He turned and walked off.
Jan motioned for Rafe to follow and followed. He was fortunate none of the Truthers had decided to blindfold him, though he supposed it didn’t matter what he saw so long as he stayed inside their base. That the Truthers trusted him this much suggested he could still convince them he was on their side.
The soldier led them through a few more hallways and up several flights of stairs, confirming that this portion of the base was buried belowground. Jan passed no windows, but there were ventilation ducts everywhere. For all Jan knew, this entire base might be underground, which might explain why the CSD hadn’t found it yet. They barely had enough planes and soldiers to keep bandits from robbing the maglev out of Cliffside.
The upper floors were more crowded, and most everyone Jan passed was dressed in the same gray uniforms as the soldier who led them on their way. T
hose who weren’t in uniform either wore pale coveralls, like Hanson’s, or orange coveralls Jan assumed marked them as maintenance staff. This base was being run like an active military installation, not some hideout in the wilderness. Just how many soldiers did this Commander have?
The crowd thinned out once they climbed another set of stairs, then vanished entirely as they entered what looked to be a much nicer portion of this underground base. Officers’ quarters? This part had faux wood floors, polished white walls, and ceiling lights that didn’t buzz like those downstairs.
The soldier stopped beside two wooden-looking double doors and faced them. “You’ll be dining with the Commander today.” He thumped on one doorframe with the back of his fist.
Rafe looked between them. “We, uh ... really?”
The double doors opened to reveal two soldiers inside, both armed. Jan strode inside and assumed Rafe would follow, then paused as one soldier stepped in his way. He obediently spread his arms and looked straight ahead as the soldier checked him for weapons very thoroughly. He avoided any wisecracks.
“Whoa, really, mate?” Rafe asked, as the other soldier firmly patted down his crotch. “I mean, okay, sure!”
Both soldiers stepped back. The dining room into which they’d just been ushered was rectangular, had faux wood panels on its walls, and had an actual wooden dining table with eight wooden chairs. Two more double doors at its far end popped open.
A tall gray-haired man strode inside, overhead lights glinting off his narrow wire-rimmed glasses. A well-kept moustache shadowed his scarred lips. His gray uniform looked clean, starched, and well fitted. He stopped and pulled out a chair at the head of the table, then looked expectantly at Jan.
The Commander. The old man certainly fit the part. Jan pulled out a chair and sat. When he noticed Rafe standing and staring, he motioned for Rafe to sit on the other side of the table. That left a chair between them and the Commander, and the chair at the other end of the table empty. Table manners.
The Commander sat last. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at Jan. “Hello. I’m Commander Graham Esparza.”
All four doors closed at once.
14: Dirty Secrets
The Commander eased back in his chair and crossed his fingers over one another, resting both hands on the wooden table. “Now,” he said, in a calm, rumbly voice that demanded immediate respect. “What would you like to eat?”
Jan knew better than to look at Rafe for help. “Whatever you’re having, sir. I don’t want to put you out.”
“That’s kind of you,” Esparza said, “but your choices are salted beef, some medium-rare steak, or fresh kav stalks.”
Rafe eagerly raised one hand. “Kav stalks, please!” So he was still a vegetarian, even after five years.
“A steak would be just lovely,” Jan said. He resisted the urge to verify the room was entirely empty. No guards. “Though I will admit, I’m overwhelmed by your hospitality. First you save me from the CSD, and now, a steak?”
The doors opened as people in light-blue overalls entered, carrying trays. Esparza had his own dining staff and plenty of listening devices. Jan had no doubt one word from Esparza would have them filled with bullets.
“It’s a long-belated thank you,” Esparza said. “I figured the least I could do, upon meeting the famous Jan Sabato, was offer to feed the man who saved my life.”
Jan beamed at Esparza and sat back, keeping one eye on the young woman delivering his steak. What the hell was Esparza talking about?
“Jan saved your life?” Rafe asked, wide-eyed.
“After Mercy Plaza,” the Commander agreed. “I was wounded, grievously, in battle with the Supremacy, not three days after you sold us the shipment of regeneration drugs you and your crew stole. Those drugs, Mr. Sabato, saved my life.”
“I’m glad,” Jan said, even though the whole world would likely be better off if this murderous wanker had died five years ago. “It was a good score, but I cannot take sole credit. I had a truly talented crew working with me.”
The server who’d delivered his steak set down a fork and a knife. This person probably didn’t know just how dangerous it was to give Jan Sabato a knife. Still, if Jan put a steak knife through Esparza’s eyeball, he wasn’t getting out of here alive, and Jan did not die for any cause.
“I’m sure your people are highly competent,” Esparza said, “as are mine. Yet leaders give the orders and, in failure, bear the blame. The Supremacy never captured your crew, did they?”
“No.”
“But they captured you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
So this was yet another interrogation by a very dangerous criminal. An interrogation with fresh steak. That was better, Jan supposed, than being tied to a chair and kicked in the balls.
“I was betrayed,” Jan said, “by someone I trusted.”
“Who?”
“You might know her as the Golden Widow.”
Jan was a very good liar. He also had no idea what Esparza already knew. Even the smallest lie or omission could give Esparza a reason to make him dead, and Jan wasn’t ready to be dead. Not yet. Not after escaping those torture nanos.
Esparza adjusted his glasses and picked up his knife and fork. “I know the Widow both by name and reputation. So she sold you to the Supremacy?” Esparza sawed away at his steak.
“She did,” Jan said. “And I’m ashamed to say I never saw it coming.”
“Yet here you are,” Esparza said.
Jan sliced into his steak and launched into the story he’d already told what felt like a dozen times, about Senator Tarack and Bharat, about Elena Ryke, and about torture nanos. Jan left out the part about him killing a bunch of Truthers in an old warehouse. He also skimmed over Emiko and Kinsley’s involvement, though leaving them unmentioned was out of the question. Rafe had likely told Esparza everything he knew already.
Esparza nodded approvingly when Jan finished, then popped a bite of steak into his mouth. Jan took the opportunity to slice another piece as well. It was very good steak. He hadn’t enjoyed a juicy steak in five years, and if this was to be his last meal, he’d made the right choice.
“What you’ve just shared sheds light on a number of matters that troubled me,” Esparza said. “I appreciate that.”
Jan swallowed and smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You see,” Esparza said, “I, too, have encountered the Golden Widow. She and the Advanced commando who purchased you from Tantalus killed seven of my best soldiers.”
Jan made himself look appropriately shocked. “I’m sorry to hear that. When did this happen?” So that was what those Truthers had been doing at the warehouse where they lost Rafe. Cleanup duty, after Fatima and Bharat slaughtered the place.
Yet why would Fatima help Bharat, a man who’d been sent there specifically to hunt her down? Did Fatima have Bharat prisoner? More unanswered questions to not give a fuck about until Jan escaped Esparza’s crazy castle.
“The incident occurred two nights ago,” Esparza said, “in Star’s Landing. That’s where we were reunited with Rafe. Afterward, once the CSD put their bounty on you, I tasked Rafe to bring you here. Couldn’t have you being recaptured.”
Jan smiled and glanced in Rafe’s direction. Had Rafe told them about Jan’s plan to rescue Bharat? Was Esparza just toying with him before he ordered his men to come in and shoot Jan dead? It was almost impossible to believe that Rafe had kept his mouth shut about that whole thing, but if he had—
“It was through Rafe we learned the Advanced had brought you back,” Esparza said, “though I did not know their reasons until now. It may not surprise you to know that I, too, would be interested in the data disc Senator Tarack asked you to retrieve. It could make a real difference here.”
“Oh?” Jan asked. “Do you know what’s on it?” Jan certainly did not.
“It contains incriminating information on many sitting Ceto senators,” Esparza said. “That information could b
e quite useful to us as we guide them toward a course where we don’t roll over, play dead, and let the Supremacy fuck us to death.”
Rafe coughed as he choked on a bit of kav stalk. Jan set down his latest bite and frowned Esparza’s way. “You think the Advanced are planning something new?”
“Those vatborn monstrosities are always planning something,” Esparza said. “I plan to stop them. If you manage to retrieve the disc, will you be able to deliver it to me?”
Jan made himself visibly think about that. “I have already promised that disc to Senator Tarack. And, later, to Elena Ryke.”
“You did,” Esparza agreed.
“Fuck them both. So long as you can keep me safe from Ryke’s aggression, it’s yours. I’d prefer to put my skills to use for our people, not theirs.”
Esparza smiled. “Let’s hope you get the chance. Thank you for answering my questions, and for helping me clarify matters that caused me some concern. I’ll leave you to your dinner.”
“Sir,” Jan said, standing at the same time Esparza did, “I want to help. I despise the way our government rolled over. I fought the Supremacy and went to prison for it, and for what?”
What Jan wanted was to get out of here as fast as possible, but if Esparza really was planning to do something violent and suicidal, it’d be nice to know where not to be when that violent action exploded violently. It also wouldn’t hurt to remind Esparza that Jan was just as much a blind zealot as Rafe.
“Oh, you will help,” Esparza said, “when I need you. For now, trust that I have matters well in hand.” Esparza leaned forward, resting both flat hands on the table. “What I need is for you to remain here, safe from the CSD, until I’m ready for our next move. I need you to get me that disc.”
Pushing further would only raise suspicion. Jan nodded and sat back down. “Then I’ll let you get back to it, sir. Thank you for the dinner and for safe haven.”
“Don’t get too comfortable.” Esparza chuckled as the doors behind him opened. “You’ll be out in the thick of it soon enough.” He marched out as the doors closed.
Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) Page 20