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

  SUPREMACY’S OUTLAW

  ©2021 T. E. Bakutis

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  Contents

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  1. 01: Employment

  2. 02: Pollen

  3. 03: Rafe

  4. :04 Emiko

  5. 05: Kinsley

  6. 06: Truthers

  7. 07: Encore

  8. 08: Marquis

  9. 09: Underground

  10. 10: Holo

  11. 11: Diplomacy

  12. 12: Dead Weight

  13. 13: Laundering

  14. 14: Dirty Secrets

  15. 15: Buried

  16. 16: Scam

  17. 17: Pardon

  FROM THE PUBLISHER

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Praise for Supremacy’s Shadow

  “A refreshing break from all those moody, thinky, burdensome award-winners, this book shoots first and asks questions later.”

  —David Chang, editor at Space Squid

  “The snark of Deadpool and the sci-fi realism of The Expanse, left on your door step and set aflame.”

  —Alex Knight, author of the Nova Online series

  “...a bit of Die Hard (in the future) fun.”

  —Lilyn G., reviewer at Scifi and Scary

  “...reads like Harrison Ford’s voiceover for Blade Runner 2079 before the director’s cut.”

  —Tom Doyle, author of the American Craft series

  “If you liked that scene where Han Solo talks to the Imperial guy in the detention center, that’s basically this book.”

  —Mike Kern, author of Dark Winter

  “Poor choices, bad jokes, and mouthing off to the very worst people at the wrong time, this book has it all.”

  —Cameron Johnston, author of The Traitor God

  “A gritty, fast-paced thriller like James S.A. Corey’s The Expanse, except the bullets are smarter than the people.”

  —Rosemary Claire Smith, author of T-Rex Time Machine

  “Suspiciously reminiscent of Firefly, only with more dysfunctional characters.”

  —T. C. Weber, author of Sleep State Interrupt

  “It feels like a reboot of my favorite sci-fi movies, but it didn’t ruin my childhood once.”

  —David Vaughn, author of “The Captain in Yellow” in The Cackle of Cthulhu

  “A litany of thrilling failure and rotten luck ... or as Hayden Cross would call it, Tuesday.”

  —Sherri Cook Woosley, author of Walking Through Fire

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  SUPREMACY’S SHADOW

  SUPREMACY’S BOUNTY

  SUPREMACY’S OUTLAW

  01: Employment

  Upon waking to find himself naked, alone, and floating inside an airlock, even a man as handsome and talented as Jan Sabato might understandably become concerned. However, the screaming hangover from whatever the guards had dosed him with (after shooting him with stunners, of course) argued for oblivion. Given a dozen transport shuttles were exploding in his head, a quiet death in deep space would probably be a relief.

  A groggy and floating self-inspection revealed at least four new stunner burns on his dark brown skin, but no broken bones. A cursory hand-to-scalp check assured him he still possessed his springy coils of dark hair, which was another plus. His hair felt knotted and sweaty, but he’d just been stunned, drugged, and stuffed naked inside an airlock. One day with less than perfect hair was understandable.

  Still, the airlock wasn’t opening — yet — and no one was kicking him in the ribs or screaming about cutting his eyes out — yet — so Jan found the nearest yellow emergency grip and grabbed it, carefully spinning his body until his feet were facing “down.” He pushed his feet to the cold metal floor, glanced out the airlock door, and verified his first impression.

  Yes. There it was. Space.

  There sure was a whole lot of it out there.

  So why was he in here? And more importantly, how was he going to get out of here? There was a nine-digit keypad directly beside the closed inner door, but that was about as useful as a spare magazine for a gun he didn’t own.

  The airlock was small, about the size of a closet, formed of the vaguely brown plastic and metal that formed most plastic and metal spaceships. The floor was light gray, as shiny as if it had never been scuffed, and a green dot blinked encouragingly beside the door leading into space. Green was preferable to red, so he had that going for him.

  Jan supposed he could try shouting. When all else failed, that always caused ... something, to happen. He’d just opened his mouth when a grating buzz stabbed his medical hangover like a needle through his skull: an intercom system announcing itself.

  Jan swallowed his groan. It seemed whoever had locked him in here planned to threaten him now, and that was always extremely monotonous.

  “Jan Sabato.” A pitch-shifted voice, deep and robotic, echoed through the tiny airlock. “You’re awake.”

  Jan massaged one temple with his free hand, pain lancing through his head. “You are observant.” Whoever was outside was likely watching him through the one-way window in the inner door.

  “In a moment, I will present you with an offer,” the threatening, unnecessarily robotic voice continued. “If you accept this offer, you will be released, dressed, and fed. If you refuse, you will be jettisoned into space.”

  “Ah.” Jan squinted at the opaque window. “Then offer is the wrong word in this context, yes? Might the word ‘ultimatum’ serve better?”

  “Whichever you prefer.”

  “I’d prefer not to be jettisoned into space.”

  “Then here is my offer. My employer requires your services, free of charge. Should you agree to work for my employer, free of charge, the freedom my employer has recently purchased on your behalf will become yours. If you do not—”

  “I will proceed out the airlock.” Jan nodded to the very opaque window in the very closed interior door. “This is most clear. Thank you for explaining it.”

  “Which would you prefe
r, Mr. Sabato?”

  Jan rolled his head around on his shoulders, took a breath that stabbed the inside of his ribs, and swallowed the cotton in his throat. “You have my services, free of charge.”

  “Good.”

  “You are getting a spectacular deal.”

  There was a moment of silence from the intercom. “My sources told me you were arrogant. I see now what they meant.”

  Jan allowed himself a wide and quite genuine smile. “I am simply aware of my value.” He glanced down at himself, then up. “And also, as you can see, blessed in many ways.”

  No response from the intercom. No movement from the door. As the silence stretched out before him, Jan began to fear he might actually be going out the airlock. Given his head had stopped feeling like exploding shuttles and now felt mildly volcanic, it wouldn’t be his first choice.

  A small panel in the wall beside the inner airlock door slid open. A syringe the size of a pencil was clipped inside, filled with viscous purple fluid. Jan regarded it with the trepidation one would expect when presented with an unexpected syringe.

  “I trust you’re capable of injecting yourself?” the robotic voice asked.

  Jan was, unfortunately. “Is this a condition of my employment?”

  “I’m almost certain you can figure that out.”

  Jan sighed, popped the syringe from its clip, and pumped his fist until he could pick out the barely visible line of a dark vein beneath dark skin. He slipped in the needle precisely, with the skill one developed from decades of wielding very sharp objects. He depressed the plunger.

  Cold rushed through his arm, then his chest. He withdrew the needle, snapped it back into place, and watched the panel close. Better than having a used needle bouncing around the ship’s interior, he supposed.

  “Stand away from the door,” the robotic voice said.

  Jan pressed his back against the cold metal of the outer airlock door. The inner door hissed open to reveal his captor, a dark-eyed, short-haired man with a magnificent beard that easily reached his chest. He stood, not floating, which suggested magnetic boots. His skintight blue flight suit and the muscular form beneath suggested poise and combat training, but that wasn’t unusual in Jan’s line of work. What was unusual was his captor’s face.

  The man’s tawny brown skin and perfectly sculpted features suggested he was Advanced — one of the genetically modified humans who inhabited Phorcys, the watery sister planet to Jan’s own Ceto — and Jan had only met a few Advanced in his time running guns, drugs, and medicine for the Patriots of Ceto or their eternal enemies: the Supremacy. While Advanced were innately stronger and faster than natural-born humans, with enhanced reflexes and agility, they tended to remain on Phorcys. They also, in Jan’s experience, tended to be mildly sociopathic.

  Jan spread his hands. “I realize the view is intoxicating, but shouldn’t we get on with your employer’s business?”

  The man snorted and shook his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sabato. You’re not remotely my type.” His accent was absolutely Advanced: stiff, well spoken, and exactly as stuck up as you’d expect someone who occupied other planets to be.

  Jan kept smiling. “Then why do you continue to stare?”

  The man chucked a satchel his way. “Get dressed.” The door hissed closed. Jan caught the satchel in transit, opened it, and found comfortable underclothes and a blue flight suit like that worn by his Advanced captor. He dressed slower than necessary, feigning inexperience in zero gravity, as he evaluated just how fucked he was right now.

  It was a good bet he was on a private spaceship. The Advanced military — or as they called themselves, the Supremacy — were awfully proud of their shiny black space uniforms, which they eagerly festooned with all sorts of rank badges and insignia. By comparison, his latest captor’s unadorned flight suit practically screamed private security.

  Given that Advanced generally employed only other Advanced, that suggested whoever had freed him from Tantalus prison was a wealthy Advanced citizen with no military oversight. Worse, despite the so-called armistice, the Advanced military on Phorcys — the Supremacy — could still reconquer Ceto at the slightest provocation. Jan doubted Ceto’s government would launch a serious investigation if some natural-born prison escapee got himself spaced in neutral territory, so perhaps he should be less annoying today.

  Once Jan had dressed, the airlock door opened again, but no one waited outside. Two boots waited instead, unoccupied and maglocked firmly to the floor. How generous of them.

  Jan pushed off the wall and floated into a hexagonally-shaped hallway just wide enough that he could stretch out both arms and not touch the walls. He felt simply hungover now.

  He got the boots on with a minimum of fuss, crunched up his toes to activate them, and locked his feet on the deck. Yes. Walking. He’d done jobs in zero gravity before, but he’d never liked the feeling that one false push would leave him flailing like a toddler on a freshly waxed floor. Not that that had ever happened to him on a job. More than once.

  Jan walked at a jauntier than necessary pace down the empty hallway, around the only corner it presented, and stopped as he found the same bearded Advanced from the airlock waiting by a sealed door. His captor wore a gun belt now, with what looked to be a needle pistol ready to draw. That seemed smart, given the spaceship. Bullets tended to punch holes.

  “When my employer arrives,” the man said, “you will wait for her to speak, answer her questions only when she asks them, and try not to be an absolutely insufferable ass.”

  Jan inclined his head. “I am quite charming.” He searched the man’s suit for a name tag. “What shall I call you?”

  The man watched him for a moment, then probably decided refusing wasn’t worth the annoyance. “Bharat.”

  Jan smiled. “A grand name. Were your parents proud of their old Earth heritage?”

  Bharat cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve studied Hindi?”

  “I’ve studied many things.” Jan evaluated the hallway behind this man and the most likely path to the bridge, and judged the whole ship couldn’t be more than a half-block long. “The ancient languages of old Earth are a particular favorite. It’s fascinating to think there were once so many people that they spoke over two thousand different languages, isn’t it?”

  “It’s fascinating you wasted your time learning what they did on a random planet a thousand years ago.” Bharat looked tense, as if he expected Jan to jump him at any moment. “I suppose there’s not much to do in prison.”

  “Oh, my passion for languages came before prison. In prison, I merely pursued my doctorate.”

  Bharat’s brow furrowed. “In what, exactly?”

  “Pharmacology.”

  “And just how did you plan to use a doctorate in pharmacology in an orbital prison, Sabato?”

  “Ah,” Jan said, “you must understand, when many are stuck in a repetitive environment for an extended period, those who can safely mix available compounds into substances that relax the mind can do well for themselves.”

  Bharat rolled his eyes. “You studied pharmacology so you could become a better drug dealer.”

  “I prefer the term ‘pharmaceutical enthusiast.’”

  Bharat’s head tilted as if he’d gotten a call. “I’ll give you this, Sabato. For a somewhat infamous smuggler who went to prison on two dozen charges between the Supremacy, Ceto’s laughable new government, and eight municipal precincts across two planets, you’re a depressingly ordinary man.”

  “I’m also extremely talented in bed.”

  Bharat scowled as the sealed door to their right opened itself. “In a moment you’ll meet Senator Tarack, a woman who could buy and sell you, your house, and the town where you grew up with the interest in her bank account. Please, don’t hit on her.” Bharat motioned with a tilt of his head. “Inside.”

  So his new employer was a sitting Supremacy senator. Tarack wasn’t a name Jan found himself familiar with, but he hadn’t bothered himself with the
names of the two hundred governing Advanced before he went to prison for five of what was to be forty very long years. Jan marched himself inside.

  The roughly circular room beyond the door had no windows, more brownish plastic walls, and a round white table flanked by comfortably upholstered high-back chairs. Jan strapped himself into the chair facing the hall. Once he’d done so, Bharat drifted inside and took up position beside the door.

  Senator Tarack — Bharat’s employer, and likely the owner of this very expensive spaceship — arrived wearing a flight suit similar to Bharat’s, over which she’d donned light blue senatorial robes. Robes seemed impractical in a zero-gravity environment, but this woman was a senator, so telling her not to do stupid things was probably ineffective.

  Jan evaluated his prospective employer and/or murderer in silence. Like all Advanced, Tarack’s skin was a genetically fixed shade of tawny brown, and she wore her impressively blond hair in a bound topknot. She was full-figured, muscular, and attractive, but all Advanced were ridiculously attractive — it was built into their custom-designed DNA.

  Her blond hair was something, though. Blonds always reminded him of Fatima, which reminded him of why he was in prison, but he wouldn’t hold this woman’s hair color against her. Unlike Fatima, this woman hadn’t actually betrayed him.