Starship Insurgent (The Galactic Wars Book 6)

by Tripp Ellis

  Rocco hobbled to the restaurant. He exchanged words with the maître d' who ushered him to a table where Suspa was already seated. Two armed bodyguards hovered near his table. They were big thick guys whose necks disappeared into their shoulders. One was a taller brunette with curly hair and a little bit of a mullet. The other was blond with a crewcut. Between them, they were probably struggling to break 100 IQ points. But that didn't really matter. They were good at their job—keeping undesirables away from Suspa.

  The mullet held out his hand and stopped Rocco before he got close to the table. He patted him down, checking for weapons and listening devices.

  In the van, Emma watched, hoping the mullet-head wouldn’t discover the clear microphone under Rocco’s collar.

  The curly-haired brunette patted Roccos ankles, then gestured for him to move to Suspa’s table.

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief and adjusted Rocco’s microphone to filter out the background noise. The drones positioned themselves around the table. Emma watched as Rocco took a seat at Suspa’s table. But it didn't look like the photographs of Suspa at all. He was either using prosthetics, or had facial reconstructive surgery to alter his appearance. It was the reason the UIA hadn't been able to pick him up with facial recognition tracking.

  Suspa was already halfway through a steak. He barely acknowledged Rocco. The two didn't shake hands.

  "You're limping. What happened?"

  Emma looked at the waveform of Suspa’s voice on one of the monitors. The system checked it against the database—it came back as a reasonable match for Aknar Suspa.

  "Hoverboard accident. Traffic in this city sucks."

  "You should look into other means of transportation." There wasn't a hint of concern or sympathy in his voice.

  Emma could see that Rocco looked nervous. She hoped that Suspa wouldn't pick up on it.

  “I tried to get a hold of you yesterday. You didn't answer. Anything wrong?"

  "I, uh, did a little day drinking that led into some extended night drinking, which in turn led into more day drinking.”

  "It is your lack of discipline that jeopardizes our mission.”Suspa focused on his meal and hardly looked at Rocco.

  "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

  "I can always find others who are better suited for the job."

  "That won't be necessary."

  "Do you have good news for me?"

  "Yes. I have found a source that can supply what is needed."

  "And you have been discreet in your inquiries?”

  "Of course."

  "Our operation is under increased scrutiny as of late. And this will continue to intensify as operations ramp up.” Suspa paused. "Are you sure you weren't followed here?"

  "Positive."

  "I am taking a big risk meeting you in public like this."

  "I understand."

  “But this is a conversation best kept outside of network traffic. Even with encryption, I fear certain entities may be listening."

  "That is a wise assumption."

  "When can your connection deliver the material?”

  “When would you like me to set it up?"

  "Day after tomorrow. You say the shipment will be coming from Tor Epsilon. That should be enough time for your contact to arrive in Mosaav.”

  Rocco slipped a folded piece of paper across the table.

  Emma's heartbeat elevated. She tried to zoom in the opticals of one of the drones to see what was written on the paper. But none of the drones had a clear view.

  Emma clinched her jaw. "Son of a bitch. I think he’s tipping off Suspa.”

  35

  Ryan

  Ryan woke up around 2 o’clock the next afternoon. His legs felt like lead pipes, and he could barely bend his knees. He had never been so stiff in his entire life. He forced himself to get up and get out of bed. The bathroom was only a few steps away, but it might as well have been a mile. He hobbled across the room like an old man. His bladder felt like it was about to burst. He hadn’t so much as moved since he crawled into his rack.

  The end of Hell Week was a little foggy. He didn’t even remember how he got back to the barracks. He had a vague recollection of meeting Captain Walker, but most of yesterday was just a blur. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had finished Hell Week.

  “I say we head down to the strip tonight,” Gavin said, still lying in his rack.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “You survived a week of torture. Now you’re telling me you can’t survive one night of partying? After all, I think we deserve a little bit of fun.”

  Ryan didn’t want to think about anything other than eating and getting back in bed.

  “Come on. We’ll just go out for an hour. One beer.”

  Ryan crawled back into his rack. “I’m never leaving this bed again.”

  “Do you want to lie around here all weekend when we can have some hotties nursing us back to health?”

  The idea sounded enticing. “Okay. One hour.”

  Ryan fell back asleep and didn’t wakeup until Sunday. He peeled his eyes open thinking it was still Saturday for a moment. Gavin didn’t look like he had moved from his rack either. It was probably for the best because first thing Monday morning they were back at it again with PT, timed runs, and boat drills. Norfolk went a little easier on them, knowing they needed time to recover. They were still at risk of getting performance dropped if they didn’t pass their graded evolutions.

  At the end of the week, they would finally get a chance to blow off some steam. The instructors threw them another party on the Pulverizer.

  “Congratulations,” Norfolk said. “You’ve all made it through First Phase. You’ll be moving on to LWD, Land Warfare & Demolitions, with Instructor Remington. If you thought I was a mean son-of-a-bitch, you better brace yourself. Remy is no-nonsense.”

  The recruits exchanged wary glances. An instructor tougher than Norfolk? It didn’t seem possible.

  “Go out. Have some fun. You’ve earned it. But stay out of trouble.”

  Live music filled the air. Hammerhead was a popular bar on Ocean Avenue. 3D projections of sharks floated around the bar. The back deck had a pier that went all the way to the surf. Ryan and his crew had paddled past it during Hell Week. The band was playing classic rock. Stuff from the early 2370s like Star Child, Jupiter’s Creation, The Rolling Asteroids, and more. It was mostly tourists, with a few locals and BSCT recruits. The Team guys hit bars like NCR’s, Dirty’s, and the Rusty Anchor. But the recruits had been instructed early during First Phase to stay away from Team bars. It was only asking for trouble. Invariably, some recruit would try to pass himself off as a Reaper to pick up chicks. That didn’t sit well with the Team guys.

  Ryan and Gavin hit the bar and ordered. A moment later, the bartender slid over two golden shots rimmed with salt. They clinked glasses.

  “To First Phase,” Ryan said.

  “Fuck First Phase.”

  They tossed the first one back. The tequila burned on the way down. Ryan grimaced for a moment, followed by a smile and a “Hooyah!”

  They leaned back with elbows against the bar and took in the scenery. There were a plethora of pretty girls in painted-on dresses. Plunging necklines, short skirts, toned thighs, and stiletto heels. After the grueling torture of First Phase, it seemed like a hallucination.

  “Target acquired,” Gavin said, spotting a gorgeous brunette. She was with an equally stunning red head. Gavin made a beeline for the ladies. “Watch and learn,” he said with a confident grin.

  Ryan followed.

  Gavin strolled right past them, then at the last minute turned back to ask a question “Hey, do you know where Fitzpatrick’s is?” It was total bullshit. He knew where Fitzpatrick’s was.

  “Yeah, it’s about a mile down the Strip,” The brunette said.

  “Is it any good?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes. It usually doesn’t get happening until late.”

  “My
name’s Gavin. This is Ryan.”

  “I’m Hannah. This is Sophia.”

  Sophia had emerald eyes and creamy skin. She looked like the girl next door, but there was a naughty glint in her eyes that let you know that she wasn’t all that innocent.

  “Are you two recruits?” Hannah asked.

  “Is it that obvious?” Gavin said.

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed at him as she sized him up. “Let me guess. You just finished First Phase?”

  Gavin looked perplexed. “How did you know?”

  “When you’ve lived in South Coravado long enough, you learn to spot the weary. Besides, you still have sand behind your ears.”

  Gavin self-consciously rubbed his finger behind his ear—there was no sand there.

  Hannah and Sophia chuckled as they strolled away. “Come see me if you actually become a Reaper.”

  “Nice work, slick,” Ryan teased. “Is that how it’s done?”

  Gavin glared at him. “I’m just warming up.”

  Ryan caught sight of Ensign Parkes across the bar. She was with a girlfriend. Ryan hit Gavin on the shoulder and pointed her out.

  “Oh no. Leave it alone. That’s nothing but trouble.”

  “We’re just going to go talk to them. Law of scarcity, my friend.”

  “What?”

  “Social proof. It will be easier for us to score women if we’re already with women.”

  It seemed like a reasonable concept to Gavin. He followed Ryan over to their table.

  “Mind if we join you?” Ryan asked.

  “You spent the last five weeks with me, don’t you want to spend your time with somebody new?” Piper said coyly.

  Ryan looked to Gavin. “I guess that means we’re not welcome.”

  Ryan started to walk away, but Piper interrupted. “I didn’t say that.”

  Ryan tried to hide a smirk. “I guess we can sit with you for one beer.” Ryan pulled up a bar stool and sat at the tall cocktail table with the two ladies.

  “This is my friend, Katie,” Piper said. “She lives in San Angeles. She came down to visit for the weekend.” Introductions were made and handshakes were exchanged.

  “What are you drinking?” Ryan asked.

  “A round of shots,” Gavin suggested.

  “Oh no,” Piper said. “I’ll stick with beer.”

  “I’ll take a shot,” Katie said, her eyes glimmering at Gavin.

  He was quick to pick up on her enthusiasm. He flagged a waitress down and ordered a round of tequila for them, and beer for Ryan and Piper.

  The drinks were flowing, and Gavin and Katie seem to be hitting it off. Everyone was having a good time. Even the typically stone-faced Ensign Parkes seemed to be having a good time. Her wall came down just a little. For an instant, BSCT didn’t exist. It was like an average weekend back home.

  It wasn’t long before Gavin and Katie were out on the dance floor. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. He made fun of himself, exaggerating his lame dance skills. It made Katie laugh, and that scored him more points than any smooth talking could have done.

  Ryan and Piper watched with amusement.

  “So, why the Reapers? Why are you doing this?” Ryan asked.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I asked you first.”

  Piper pondered the question for a moment. “I wanted to serve the Federation. I wanted a challenge. Isn’t that why we all signed up for this?”

  Ryan nodded. “Okay, serious question.”

  Piper arched an eyebrow at him, not sure what was coming next.

  “If you could live to be 300 years old, would you rather keep your mind, or keep your body?”

  “That’s a tough one. I want both.”

  “For the sake of argument, you have to pick one.”

  Piper sighed.

  “Think about it. I’m going to go make a head call.” Ryan pushed away from the table and weaved through the crowd toward the restroom.

  A guy wasn’t looking where he was going and slammed into Ryan.

  “I’m sorry. Was I in your way?” Ryan said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  The man stared at him for a moment and kept walking into the club. He had wide, crazy eyes. His skin was coated in a thin mist of sweat, even though it was cold out. He was wearing a long coat.

  Ryan blew it off and headed to the restroom. He didn’t think much about it, other than the guy was an asshole. There was a sizable line in the restroom. An automated attendant dispensed hand towels and cologne.

  Ryan was midstream when he heard the muffled gunshots filter in from the bar.

  36

  Emma

  Suspa surveyed the note.

  "That's the account number where you can transfer the funds," Rocco said.

  “You can tell your contact once the material is in my possession, funds will be transferred. "Suspa swallowed the last bite of a steak and motioned for the waiter to bring the check. Suspa took a sip of water and wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, then set it on the table. “I believe that concludes our business here today. For your sake, I hope your contact delivers as promised."

  "He will," Rocco stammered.

  Suspa pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. His bodyguards ushered him through the restaurant into the lobby.

  "He's Oscar Mike," Emma said, watching the monitor. It was a military term that meant on the move. “And they didn’t shake hands.” She frantically tried to readjust the drones to track Suspa, but they wouldn’t target him. Emma had an epiphany. “His glasses… They must be emitting some type of ultra frequency deflection beam. That’s why we’ve never been able to pick him up on facial recognition. Pull the van around. We’re going to have to tail him.”

  Anderson threw the van in gear and stomped the accelerator. Horns honked as the vehicle lurched into traffic. Anderson rounded the corner, approaching the Plaza. Suspa was on the sidewalk, stepping into a black luxury SUV. His blond bodyguard held the door for him, then closed it behind him. Then the meathead ran to the front passenger seat and hopped in. The SUV zipped away from the curb and weaved through traffic. Anderson struggled to keep them insight as the SUV raced away.

  “Don’t lose them,” Emma said

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “But don’t get too close. We don’t want them to make us.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” Anderson said.

  Emma could tell he was getting a little frustrated with her constant instruction. “It sucks that we don’t have air support.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re running illegal ops in foreign jurisdictions.”

  The SUV drove even faster.

  Anderson hammered the accelerator, trying to keep up. He zigged and zagged across multiple lanes of traffic. Cars and buildings blurred by. Anderson angled the controls and moved vertically up to the top tier of traffic. The SUV stayed on the ground level.

  Anderson had a good view from above, and was beginning to gain ground on the SUV. It suddenly streaked across four lanes of traffic to make a quick left on 52nd Street. With the high-speed traffic, Anderson couldn’t get over in time and missed the turn.

  Emma was furious. Her eyes bulged, and the veins in her forehead started to protrude. “What part of don’t lose them did you not understand?”

  Anderson didn’t respond. He caught the next left, then turned left again, then right on 52nd Street.

  The van was nowhere to be seen

  "Do you think they spotted us?" Anderson asked.

  "It's possible."

  Anderson grimaced. He swung the wheel hard and took the next left. Emma slammed against the side of the van from the inertia. Anderson took another left, then another, putting them back on Hawthorne Avenue.

  "What are you doing?" Emma asked.

  "I think they spotted us and went full circle." Anderson accelerated through the swarm of hover-cars. Several larger trucks ahead of him obscured his view.
He climbed up two levels to get a better vantage point. He caught sight of the SUV five blocks ahead.

  The synthetic rumble of the engine could barely hide the whine of the thrusters as Anderson pushed the engine hard. He dropped back down to level one, weaving in and out—it looked like he was practicing his slalom technique.

  Anderson brought the van within three car lengths of the SUV. All pretense was shrugged aside—this was a chase, and everyone knew it.

  “I think it's safe to say that you’ve successfully blown our cover."

  "Well, we move to plan B."

  "What's plan B?"

  "We capture Suspa and lean on him until he tells us where Ragza is."

  "That’s just brilliant," Emma said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because Ragza’s not going to get suspicious when his number one man goes missing."

  Anderson didn't say anything. He focused on the roadway and the SUV. His driving grew even more frenetic.

  "He's going to change his whole method of operation.” Emma was steaming. “Probably move locations. It's going to compromise every bit of intel we have."

  "When did you become so optimistic?"

  Emma scowled at him.

  The windshield webbed with cracks as several bullets impacted the ballistic glass. One of the bodyguards had rolled down the back window of the SUV and was firing a fully automatic machine gun.

  Brilliant muzzle flash flickered. A flurry of copper rounds turned the windshield into a frosted disaster area. Visibility dropped to almost zero. Anderson had to duck his head and find a clear section of glass in order to see the roadway.

  “We’ve successfully trashed another vehicle,” Anderson said.

  Emma climbed from the back of the van to the passenger seat.

  "At least Pinford can't bitch. The UIA owns this one.”

  Emma didn't seem particularly amused. She rolled down her window and hung her pistol outside. She fired back at the SUV but it was haphazard at best. Her bullets pinged off the metal body work, leaving indentions, but they didn't penetrate the metal.