Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) Page 14

  Kinsley’s head bobbed as she moved off, the rest of her body obscured by the maglev platform. “Which is giant, by standards from old Earth. What about this is hard?”

  “Because I don’t like human-sized lizards!”

  Jan paused at the edge of the platform and ran his flashlight’s beam quickly across the single large track used by maglev trains back when the station was open. “We need to go.”

  “And what do they eat, anyway? Giant bugs?” Emiko sounded more panicked than Jan liked, but she always had been a herpetophobe. “Are there giant bugs down here?”

  “No!” Kinsley shouted, already at the end of the platform. She passed her flashlight beam over the rounded entry to the tunnel. “Now come! We’ve got an appointment Jan can’t miss!”

  Jan dropped down onto the track before he could talk himself out of it. He looked up at Emiko standing above him on the maglev platform. “Em,” he said quietly, “please.”

  She grimaced, huffed, and hopped down beside him. “You aren’t going to kill yourself.”

  Jan shined his flashlight beam down the tracks. “Right.”

  “I’m serious. You can handle an hour of torture.”

  Jan couldn’t, actually, but he knew arguing that point with Emiko was pointless. “Let’s just hurry.”

  “Giant effing lizards,” Emiko muttered, still following way too close. “And me without my needle pistol.”

  Jan took off at a decent jog, Emiko falling into pace right beside him. The packed track and the metal rail running down its center remained in excellent shape, and Jan had no problem keeping his balance on the largely flat mixture of biocrete and rock. He was moving. It felt good to move.

  Maybe if they jogged the whole way, they’d make it back to the Hole, and Kinsley’s coma equipment, in less than three hours. Maybe Kinsley had estimated a walk. Kinsley sometimes did things like that, giving the information she thought was pertinent instead of the information Jan thought was pertinent, though he doubted that was the case this time.

  Maybe they’d find a shortcut. Maybe they’d find an operable vehicle. Maybe Jan would trip and knock himself out.

  Kinsley joined their light jog once they caught up with her, and the three of them made decent time down the abandoned tram tunnel. Tiana had suggested the tunnel had been shut down years ago, but Ceto’s first settlers had built these tunnels to last. They probably even cleaned it from time to time, just in case they ever decided to rehabilitate the Sledge and open things back up. Be a shame to waste a perfectly good tunnel.

  Everything went fine until they were attacked by giant lizards.

  It was only once Bharat stood inside his recently purchased safe house, in the company of Fatima Blaize, that he allowed himself to recognize how much he hurt. It wasn’t merely the physical pain of having the shit beat out of him by those Truthers — his PBA’s pain-nullification protocol had dealt with most of that — but the emotional pain of failing both his old partner and his new one. Jaxon Cole was dead, and though that wasn’t necessarily Bharat’s fault, it still felt like it.

  He and Cole had worked together for over four years, and Bharat knew Cole’s younger sister, Ava, as well as he knew his own parents. Ava and her brother were inseparable, and now? They’d never see each other again. Given how fucked up things were here on Ceto, Bharat would be lucky to get Cole’s body back.

  Still, he owed it to Cole’s family to try.

  Yet as terrible as losing Cole was, Bharat had lost operatives before. It never stopped hurting, but it was also something everyone in his line of work prepared to deal with every day of their lives. What Bharat had not prepared for — what no one could prepare for — was colossally fucking up his own plan.

  “You’re certain this place is safe?” Fatima checked the door locks. “Your boss does know about it, doesn’t she?”

  “She knows only that Jan Sabato and I still seek the Golden Widow, and the data disc you stole.” Bharat marched glumly toward an old plastic crate. “So she knows I bought this place, with her money, but has no reason to come here looking for me.”

  Fatima stalked away from the door, tapping one finger on the butt of the pistol at her hip. “Jan knows about it, too.” She glanced at the door. “Think he’ll join us?”

  “He has no reason not to.” Bharat sat down on the old crate. “If we’re lucky, all we need to do is wait.”

  “For three hours,” Fatima said. “Because if Jan does not return to us in three hours, he’s dead.”

  “Those nanos won’t cause any permanent damage.”

  “Jan does not, I fear, give a shit.” Fatima took off pacing again, boots echoing in the largely empty room. “He’s a talented grifter, and light on his feet, but he does not tolerate pain. I’d bet my next score he offs himself before the nanos kick in.” Fatima kicked a small chuck of fallen biocrete hard enough it ricocheted off a nearby pillar. “That horrid bitch has murdered him, as easily as shooting him dead.”

  Bharat stared straight ahead. “I killed him.”

  “No, that’s not true.” Fatima spun on Bharat and marched over. “Tarack did this, and without you, Jan would still be rotting in orbit. Neither of us anticipated your sociopathic employer would make Jan inject himself with torture nanos.”

  Bharat grimaced. “Even so.”

  “I don’t need you moping.” Fatima raised his head with one firm hand on his chin. “I need you focused. We have three hours to save Jan, so where do we go next? What’s our play?”

  Fatima was right. He was moping. Bharat pushed all his failures away and focused on the problem. “What about that hacker friend of yours? Kinsley? Could she find Jan in time?”

  “I already tried her. She isn’t picking up.”

  “And the others?”

  Fatima turned away, but not before Bharat caught the hurt in her eyes. “I told you, I cut ties with my old crew after Mastermind threatened to murder them. Kinsley’s the only option we have. If I contact any of the others, Mastermind may intercept that call, and then their families will die.”

  This “Mastermind” person was the reason Fatima had come to Bharat in the first place, almost three months ago. Apparently, Mastermind had robbed Fatima and her crew of a considerable amount of money five years ago. He was, as Fatima told it, also responsible for the Supremacy sending Jan Sabato to orbit.

  “You truly think Mastermind is that good?”

  “What I think scarcely matters. What does matter is one wrong move leaves my friends or their loved ones dead.” Fatima sighed. “We cannot risk involving anyone from my old crew, or moving against Mastermind, until we can protect everyone.”

  “This Mastermind cannot be omnipotent.”

  “Oh really? He cut the feed from my drone the moment I spoke to Jan. I’ve no doubt he’s the one who put those Truthers onto you as well, and he may also be responsible for the tip that allowed them to capture Jaxon Cole. You may be willing to roll the dice where our families are concerned, but I’m not.”

  Bharat considered Fatima’s paranoia. The Truthers who had nabbed him in the Luxury District had gotten awfully lucky, yet this Mastermind could not anticipate everything. Still, Bharat doubted he could talk Fatima into risking her associates.

  Bharat thought back. “What of the bounty hunter who helped you free me from that Truther warehouse? Marquis?”

  “He’s taken another contract. Also, I spent the last of my savings to hire him. I have no liquid assets at the moment.”

  That reminded Bharat, again, of just how much she’d risked to save him. “Thank you for coming for me.” He might still see his wife and child again, might still free them from Tarack, if he could just figure out a way to save Jan Sabato.

  Fatima shrugged. “I had an obligation to rescue my partner. We are still partners, aren’t we?”

  “We are, and I’m focused.” Bharat looked beyond his failure to the options he still had. “Give me a moment to think.”

  “You have three hours.” Fatima sett
led on the hard floor as smoothly as if she were reclining on a soft bed, crossing one leg over the other and swaying a booted foot.

  Bharat knew why she didn’t press him further. Fatima knew he had as much at stake as she did, if not more. She knew if this didn’t work out, neither Bharat’s wife nor his son would ever be free of Senator Tarack and her island retreat.

  Fatima knew Bharat might lose his family, too.

  There had to be some option Bharat hadn’t considered, some course of action he just couldn’t see. He knew from past experience that the best way to figure out what he’d missed was to go back over everything he hadn’t, so he’d start at the beginning of it all. At the beginning of the grand plan he’d created with Fatima, then locked away inside his PBA until she said the three-word phrase that unlocked it.

  And he’d find some way to fix everything he’d screwed up.

  10: Holo

  THREE MONTHS EARLIER

  Sitting across from Bharat in a cramped booth in a cramped nightclub, wearing a nice suit over concealed flexsteel body armor, Jaxon Cole looked like just another rich asshole in a club full of rich assholes. Yet their contact continued to make them wait. The Creed was the most prestigious nightclub in Star’s Landing, though “most prestigious,” in regard to Star’s Landing, was the equivalent of a participant trophy in grade school football. Ceto really was a shitty planet.

  The Creed had been some sort of warehouse once, and its stark, straight lines remained, but whatever entrepreneur bought the place had added what they probably thought was “style.” The owners had added a second deck supported by metal poles, around which glowing streamers of purple and blue wound like mechanical ivy. Circular metal tables parked around the edges allowed people to drink and make out in near darkness amidst the club’s mind-throttling, repetitive electronic trash music.

  The bar was backlit in light blue, with a bunch of top-shelf booze that wouldn’t even be found on the bottom shelf of a Phorcys club. A motley crowd danced and writhed in the center, where there were no tables, and others leaned against the railing on the second deck. The club was impossible to secure, and the sightlines were fucked. Bharat had hated it on sight.

  The only positive Bharat could see was that he and Cole had acquired a private booth with only one obvious way in or out — the stairs leading to it. Bharat leaned back in the booth and kept his eyes on the painted windows on the second-floor wall. Wi-Vi would see right through those, and anyone hoping to get the drop on them would probably come from that direction.

  It wouldn’t do to have their meeting with a Star’s Landing crime boss interrupted, and in Bharat’s experience, people who interrupted meetings generally came crashing through windows. As for the stairs, he trusted Cole to watch those. He’d trusted Cole to watch his back for almost four years now.

  “Got ’em,” Cole murmured. “Finally.”

  Bharat’s sensitive ears, enhanced by his Personal Brain Assistant and noise-filtering implants, picked up the rhythmic tapping of their contact’s narrow heels as they ascended the stairs. Each click was confident and unhurried, as were the heavier, flat footfalls that no doubt belonged to her bodyguard. Neither sounded like they cared they were an hour late, but given the background Bharat had on their contact, he suspected the late arrival was intentional. It was, simply put, a flex.

  In regard to their contact, psych had been right about everything so far. The Supremacy’s infamous intelligence gatherers/psychoanalysts were very good at anticipating how people would act. In this case, Bharat was almost disappointed.

  “Gentlemen.” Elena Ryke, Star’s Landing crime boss extraordinaire, paused at the end of their small booth, hands clasped behind her back. “I trust you’ve not been waiting long?” The club lights lit her pale skin alternately blue and pink.

  Though Ryke had her dark hair bound up in a rather impressive headdress consisting of needles, tiny skulls, and ribbon, she wore a revealing green dress that clung to her languid curves. The outfit looked entirely impractical for any sort of wet work. Then again, everything psych had on Ryke said she preferred to do her wet work in private, with sharp instruments, with people who were heavily restrained.

  Bharat didn’t particularly care what got Ryke angry, or what got her off, but he hoped the crime boss’s rumored flair for the sadistic wouldn’t complicate what was, at its core, a simple transaction. Senator Tarack had information Ryke could use to bend Ceto’s politicians to her will, and Ryke had the money to buy it. Any crime boss would make that deal.

  Cole scooted over in the booth to make room. Bharat could have scooted over as well, but he didn’t. That was the plan.

  “Sasha,” Ryke said, “be a dear and watch those stairs, would you? These gentlemen and I have business.”

  Ryke settled in beside Cole, closer than he probably liked. She smiled at Bharat like the predator she was, then frowned past Bharat. “Sasha?” Her bodyguard was still there.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ryke’s light-skinned bodyguard — Sasha — inclined her head, but didn’t step away. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want me to stay?” Like Ryke, Sasha wore a shimmery dress, red, though Bharat suspected Sasha could rip the skirt off and have freedom of movement. Sasha also wore flats.

  Ryke tsked and waved one hand. “Your concern is adorable, but you’re questioning my orders. I’ll have to punish you later.” After a long moment, she smiled Sasha’s way. “Oh, don’t make that face. We’ll both enjoy it.”

  Bharat didn’t miss the way Sasha’s wary eyes lingered on him and Cole. This woman hated the idea of leaving her employer alone with two Advanced commandos. Bharat wouldn’t like that either, but it wasn’t like Senator Tarack ever gave him a say in the matter. He empathized with people who worked for sociopaths.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sasha said again. She backed away, reluctantly, and strode off.

  Bharat didn’t watch her go, but he listened. He suspected Sasha would head down the stairs leading to this very private booth, then take up position at the bottom. That was what he would do, hoping he could dash up those stairs in time to save his employer, all the while knowing he probably couldn’t.

  “Wonderful girl,” Ryke said, tracing a tiny circle on the glass table with one crimson fingernail, “but she does think more than I’d like. Now, gentlemen. Shall we start with a drink?”

  “No,” Cole said. “You ready to deal?”

  “Only if you’ll indulge me first.” Ryke flashed another predatory smile at Bharat as she walked her bare fingers toward his side of the table. “That’s the most impressive beard I’ve ever seen, especially on an Advanced. I don’t see many of your kind with facial hair. Do you soften it with oil?”

  Bharat didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The entirely aloof act psych had suggested he play was obviously working.

  “Miss Ryke,” Cole said, from beside her, “are you—”

  Ryke popped a raised fingertip to Cole’s lips. She didn’t look at him. Slowly, smiling at Bharat, she removed it.

  Bharat caught an obvious hint of frustration in Cole’s features, a hint that was, just like Bharat’s aloof nature, entirely planned out by psych. Jaxon Cole was a decent actor when he wanted to be. Better than Bharat, at least.

  “Now, Mr. Ember.” Elena Ryke stared straight at Bharat, her own impatience as obvious as Cole’s. “Of course I’m ready to deal. The question is, can you prove your merchandise is what you claim?”

  Mr. Ember was Bharat’s code name. Mr. Ash was Cole’s. Both names were stupid, in Bharat’s opinion, but as with his decisions during Senator Tarack’s business meetings, it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter.

  Bharat gifted Ryke with one more moment of stony silence before he responded, “Yes.”

  Elena Ryke laughed and sat back, spreading both arms across the back of the booth. “He speaks!”

  Bharat waited.

  “So prove it.” Ryke waited, too.

  Silence apparently played like catnip to someone like Elen
a Ryke. She’d wanted to force him to talk, and now that she had, it felt to her like a victory. An Elena Ryke that thought she was winning this negotiation was an Elena Ryke who would be more likely to accept Senator Tarack’s deal.

  “If you don’t believe us,” Cole said, frowning at the side of Ryke’s head, “we have plenty of other—”

  Bharat raised one hand to silence Cole. To Ryke, it would look like a commander dismissing the concerns of his subordinate, just as Elena Ryke had recently done with Sasha. It would look like Bharat had silenced Cole in deference to her.

  Bharat produced a flat datascreen from his suit jacket pocket — slowly, to make it absolutely clear it was not a gun — and slid it across the table. Ryke kept up their staring contest, picked up the tablet, and then, and only then, did she lower her eyes to browse its contents. One thin eyebrow rose.

  “Oh my,” Ryke all but purred. “Senator Angthorn, I had no idea.” Her gaze rose. “And what about the politicians on Phorcys? Do you have these sorts of lurid details on them?”

  “You know better than that,” Bharat said. Senator Tarack was perfectly happy to sell Elena Ryke information about Ceto’s senators, but Tarack would be a fool to give Elena Ryke any leverage against Tarack’s fellow politicians on Phorcys.

  “Thirty-four senators isn’t all I’d hoped for,” Ryke said casually. “I’d like more.”

  Bharat shrugged.

  “Especially for what your employer is asking.”

  Bharat glanced at Cole. Ryke was testing them, and he needed to test right back. They almost had her.

  “Like I said,” Cole continued, “we have plenty of other buyers lined up if you don’t want to deal now. We brought this to you first, out of respect. For your position.”

  “Mmm.” Ryke laced her fingers together as she stared at Bharat. “I do enjoy a number of positions. What about you, Mr. Ember? Any favorites?”

  Bharat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ryke favored women — that was in her file — but she’d flirt with anything with a pulse, at least until she fucked them or murdered them. Still, Bharat made sure to let himself look annoyed.