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

  “You were there?” Morna asked Cross.

  Cross shook his head. “Heard about it afterward, like a dozen times. Captain Varik got a medal for that arrest.”

  “Who?” Bharat asked.

  “An asshole,” Cross, Morna, and Jan all said in unison.

  Cross gave Jan a meaningful look. “I bet the Supremacy still wants you really bad. It’d be a real shame if Captain Varik learned you were back on Ceto, and since the Supremacy gave Tantalus prison back to us after the armistice, there’s a good chance he doesn’t know yet. Given how anal that man is about his arrests, I wonder what he’d do if he found out?”

  Jan felt a hint of unease.

  “Also,” Cross added, as a rather shit-eating grin spread across his face, “I’d imagine the CSD doesn’t know someone sprang you from Tantalus. If they did learn you were out, they’d flag you as an escaped prisoner. Having both the CSD and the Supremacy hunting you would make your job a whole lot harder, wouldn’t it?”

  “Hey!” Rafe shouted. “That’s perfect!”

  Jan and Cross both glanced to the ceiling. “What?”

  “It makes us cool!” Rafe said eagerly. “If we blow your cover, Cross, you blow Jan’s cover. That’s bad for both of you, so both of you won’t do it, and I won’t do it since I like Jan. So it all works out. Everybody’s got dirt on everybody, and nobody releases it because we all like living. We all trust each other to act in our own best interest, and we all stay safe.”

  Cross looked at Jan, then Bharat, then Morna. Then back at Jan. “Is it weird that he’s making sense?”

  Morna sighed. “Your proposal has promise.”

  “So we’re all good now!” Rafe assured them. “Friends?”

  Jan closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temples.

  All assurances aside, Jan didn’t actually unclench until the moment he, Bharat, and Rafe all stepped onto the maglev train that had pulled to a stop on Cliffside’s platform. Sheriff Galloway — or Sheriff Cross, according to Rafe’s blackmail data — stood just off the platform, scowling. Miller and Carrell remained on patrol, probably to avoid awkward questions.

  Jan hoped Cross wasn’t having second thoughts. After all, Jan was certainly having second thoughts. A planetwide APB would make his job down here on Ceto absolutely impossible, and if Cross decided screwing him over was more important than not getting his secret identity revealed ...

  The maglev doors closed. Jan sat down next to Rafe, who had wandered out of his habitation unit in muddy combat boots, pink pajama bottoms, and a leather vest that was scarcely darker than his russet brown skin. He had a ring through his nose, two rings through his lip, six rings through each eyebrow, and a bright pink fauxhawk. He did not get into fistfights.

  Rafe’s manner of dress, manner of speaking, and manner of unusual excitability meant he usually didn’t join them on jobs. Even in the anarchy of the Sledge or any of Ceto’s other slums, Rafe didn’t exactly blend. He stayed in the safe house and handled hacking, counter-hacking, and surveillance.

  Bharat watched Cliffside retreat as the maglev train accelerated, then turned to Rafe. “What was all that about?”

  “One second,” Rafe said. He was tapping evenly on the seat ahead with two fingers. He looked to be counting.

  Jan felt a rush of trepidation. “Rafe,” he said, carefully and politely, “why are you counting?”

  “No reason,” Rafe said, still tapping away.

  Behind them, back in Cliffside, an absolutely spectacular explosion ripped skyward. A roiling cloud of smoke and flames mushroomed noticeably as Rafe glanced out the window, cackled, and settled his hands in his lap.

  Bharat’s disapproving gaze darted between the explosive cloud fading behind them and the man in the pink pajama bottoms. “Was that him?” He blinked. “Did he just blow something up?”

  “Couldn’t let them look through my HUe after I left,” Rafe explained, with a shrug. “Too much evidence in there.”

  “Of what?” Bharat demanded.

  “Oh, you know.” Rafe grinned sheepishly. “Stuff.”

  Jan eased back in his seat. As he watched sandy ground and scrub-like trees fly by, he waited for the train to come screeching to a halt. He waited for CSD Vindicators to stomp into the car and arrest them, but that didn’t happen either. He watched the screens at the front of the car for his mugshot, flashing, but the screens stayed off.

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Bharat said icily, “perhaps we’d have a better chance of retrieving the senator’s disc if we avoided blowing up the local settlements?”

  Jan glanced at Rafe, glanced at Bharat, and shrugged. Rafe hadn’t ruined everything yet, just most of it. This was honestly going better than most jobs with Rafe.

  And it would be nice to see Emiko again.

  :04 Emiko

  Three hours later, Jan, Bharat, and Rafe exited their chartered autotaxi into the middle of the Luxury District of Star’s Landing, having not been hunted down, shot at, or arrested. As Jan stared up at the shiny, glass and metal, three-story-condo-cum-mini-mall, it was nice to confirm Emiko was doing well for herself.

  A sign on the front had eight businesses listed, but the sign for Emiko’s had the largest type. Summer Breeze Salon and Spa. It featured a palm tree that looked positively delighted.

  The last member of his old crew who hadn’t betrayed him had apparently been running this combination salon, bathhouse, and massage parlor for years now, and according to the financial records Rafe borrowed, Summer Breeze Salon and Spa was doing extraordinarily well. Far better than even the most successful salon, bathhouse, and spa should be doing, even with the level of clientele who kept it busy: wealthy businessmen and investors, Ceto politicians, and Advanced visiting from Phorcys.

  Given the extravagant numbers Rafe had retrieved, Jan was all but certain Emiko was laundering money through her spa. She was always laundering money somewhere. Back before everything fell apart, after Jan’s capture, Emiko’s clever financing and creative investing had kept their entire operation afloat.

  Rafe stepped up between Jan and Bharat. “Sweet pad. She’s gotta have some top-notch hookers in there, yeah?” He snapped a bite off his frosted cinnamon stick. “We got time for a taste?”

  Bharat narrowed his eyes. “This is a house of prostitution?”

  “No,” Jan said. “That’s not something Emiko allows.”

  Rafe slapped Jan’s shoulder. “Ha! How else you think she’s bringing in five times what a shack like this should, mate? No massage costs that much, unless it has a rub and tug.”

  “It’s something else,” Jan informed everyone.

  “Yeah, well, whatever, mate! I know you’re sweet on her.”

  “Bharat,” Jan said, pointedly ignoring the man in the pink pajama bottoms, “can you top me off?”

  It had been seventeen hours since he and Bharat had departed Senator Tarack’s spacecraft. Jan didn’t know how long enlisting Emiko would take. Also, given the unknowns, he welcomed any opportunity to reset his ticking clock.

  “You’ve still got eight hours,” Bharat said.

  “Yes,” Jan agreed, focusing his patience. “Convincing Emiko to side with us could take some time. I do not wish to reveal that I’m working with a new partner until I have her convinced she can trust you. That could take longer than eight hours, especially if you and Rafe are busy securing us a home base.”

  Bharat watched him for a moment, scowling past his impressive beard. “You’d better not be planning anything.”

  Jan fixed Bharat with what he knew was a wide and disarming smile. “I’m always planning something. But this time, I assure you, my plan is entirely for your benefit.”

  Bharat shrugged. “Done.”

  Jan didn’t feel any different. “Now?”

  “You’ve got twenty-five hours again. Use them.”

  Jan flipped his wrist over, then double-tapped the wrist chrono imbedded beneath his flesh. A timer started. He’d have to take Bharat’s word for t
his, because really, what other choice did he have? It wasn’t like torture nanos came with a brochure.

  “What happens twenty-five hours from now?” Rafe asked.

  Jan ignored the question. “Rafe, why don’t you show Bharat the terminals at the local library. Browse local real estate back in Duskdale, and find a vacant safe house for Bharat to buy. We could be on this job for some time, and I’d like a base within easy driving distance of the Bowsprit.”

  “Shit, yeah, we can do that.” Rafe slapped Bharat’s arm. “C’mon, mate, let’s go buy me a house.” He took another bite of his cinnamon stick and sauntered off, not looking back.

  Bharat glanced at Jan as if to say You do know how much I hate you now, right? and walked after Rafe. Bharat seemed almost tolerable now, for an Advanced. Jan could almost allow himself to believe that Senator Tarack would keep her end of the bargain after they found Fatima, that she would order Bharat to disable the torture nanos and send Jan on his way.

  Also, perhaps Jan was an Advanced jet pilot.

  He walked out of Ceto’s oppressive summer heat and into the cool, air-conditioned bliss of the first floor of a three-story mini-mall. Summer Breeze was on the top floor — naturally — but Jan strolled past the storefronts, ignoring the suspicious side-eye he received from well-dressed customers. Those merchants who could see out of their stores avoided his gaze.

  He still wore the low-rent clothes he’d bought on arrival, despite the fact that Bharat would buy him any clothes he needed, by design. Jan had no intention of blending into an area this rich. His intention was to make absolutely sure Emiko knew he was here and coming to visit, because if there was one thing that pissed Emiko off, it was surprises.

  Especially from a man who was supposed to be in jail.

  After a good five minutes of browsing, more than long enough for Emiko’s security people to notify her a guy dressed like a crawler driver was wandering her mini-mall, Jan took the escalator up to the third floor. A bright orange sign glowed above the wide entry, and an icon of the happy palm tree swayed beside it. Inside, a dozen plush barber’s chairs with attached sinks sat male and female clients attended by sharply dressed stylists, who shaved faces, massaged scalps, or clipped hair.

  Emiko’s salon occupied a third of the upper floor. Jan knew a luxurious bathhouse waited beyond the salon, with a number of private massage rooms beyond that. Rafe’s talent for accessing floor plans was surpassed only by his talent for being annoying.

  Emiko’s office — or the office of Miss Orchid Nakamura, as Emiko was known here — was at the back. Jan strolled right up to the front desk, which earned him a pair of dubious eyebrow raises from the attractive white man sitting behind it. Well, well.

  While Jan preferred a bit more muscle on his casual encounters, Emiko’s receptionist had one of the most gorgeous faces he’d ever laid eyes upon. The man’s bleached-blond hair was shaped in a half-cut Jan just adored. He had cheekbones you could use to shave ice.

  “Excuse me,” Emiko’s receptionist said, in a cool tone that did nothing to spoil his allure. “Are you ... lost?”

  Jan stopped before the counter and rested both crossed arms on it. “Would you like me to be?”

  His mark stared. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’d like to schedule a close shave.” Jan lowered his voice and leaned in. “As close as you’d like, if an encounter of that sort interests you. This could be pleasant, yes?”

  “I ... uh ...” The now obviously flustered receptionist flushed bright red. “I just work the desk here.”

  Jan wet his lips. “Can you work anything else?”

  The wall behind the desk opened silently. A short Asian woman in a lined shirt and dark skirt stepped out of what was quite literally a secret passage. She waved, casually.

  “Serge!” Emiko singsonged, smiling like she wanted to murder someone. “Don’t you have some appointments to schedule?”

  Jan’s wide-eyed mark — Serge, which was a rather delightful name — just stared at Emiko with his jaw hanging open. Jan reached out and closed it for him.

  Emiko had scarcely aged. She still looked at least ten years younger than she actually was, with large brown eyes, a cute nose, and wide, perfect lips. Her short hair was dark now, not red, with one attractive clump hovering above her left eye.

  “Ah, Miss Nakamura!” Serge’s eyes darted between Emiko and Jan. “I was just ... this man just ...”

  “Miss Nakamura!” Jan performed a dangerously low bow. “How wonderful to see you again.” He straightened and beamed at Emiko. “I trust you didn’t forget our appointment today?”

  Emiko breezed forward and returned his bow, though not nearly as low. “You wound me, Mr. Allan. How could I forget a long-delayed meeting with one of my oldest friends?”

  Serge glanced between them. “He’s ... your friend?”

  “Theodore Allan,” Jan said, dropping into the alias Emiko had suggested. “And you and I will speak again, young man.” He offered a suggestive wink, then turned to Emiko. “I see your talent for hiring talent has not dulled in these past years.”

  “You flatter me, as always,” Emiko said, not at all exposing the dagger gaze he’d likely receive the moment they were alone together. “Come. Let’s speak in my office.” She glanced at Serge. “Be a dear and hold my calls, would you?”

  Serge snapped to attention. “Yes, Miss Nakamura!”

  Emiko stepped back into her hidden passageway. “Please follow me.”

  “Delighted,” said Jan, and did so.

  Apparently Emiko had installed her own series of narrow private passageways so she could move through her salon without traveling the way other people did. That fit a woman as paranoid as her. Yet Emiko neither spoke nor looked back as they practically speed-walked through the back halls.

  Jan pondered explaining why he was here, but Emiko never gave him the opportunity. Finally, they emerged into what was obviously Emiko’s corner office. The view was as impressive as Jan had expected.

  A wall of one-way bulletproof plastic looked down a shallow hill onto the glitz of the Luxury District. Jan took a moment to appreciate the view. Star’s Landing was a long way from Duskdale, and its Luxury District was a long way from the Sledge.

  Some city planning committee had artfully arranged angular metal and glass skyscrapers with overlapping footprints, and the nearer buildings featured arrangements of hanging greenery highlighted by colorful lights. In the round courtyard below Emiko’s window, a fountain with water spouts glittered in the afternoon light. Paved walking paths wound through the grassy space, kept immaculate by roving vacuum bots. Wealthy people in fancy clothes strolled easily, unconcerned with theft.

  Emiko’s office featured a large wooden desk, stained and gorgeous. At least four pieces of expensive sculpted artwork sat in its corners, each likely costing as much as the shuttle Jan had taken down from Senator Tarack’s private spacecraft. A rather impressive oil painting of Emiko herself — labeled Miss Nakamura, of course — hung on the wall beside the door.

  “Your own portrait.” Jan couldn’t help but smile at the audacity. “Really, Em?”

  All else ceased to be as a surprisingly soft and lovely-smelling woman melted up against him from behind, spun him around, and rose on tiptoe to kiss him, quite delicately. Jan knew only that Emiko’s lithe body against his felt every bit as wonderful as always, that Emiko’s hands roamed freely across his back. The thrill of her lips made him woozy.

  No, not just that. It wasn’t just her lips. Jan frowned as the room blurred.

  “Ah ...” Jan wobbled. “Hello?”

  “You’re out of orbit,” Emiko said, wiping her lips with a handkerchief. “And now you’re here, and she’s seen you here.”

  Why was Jan so weak in the knees? “Who’s seen me?” He focused on why. “I have a ... I was freed ...”

  This wasn’t him. This wasn’t natural. This was that mind-numbing lip gloss Emiko kept for special occasions.

  “I’m so s
orry, Jan.” Emiko’s voice echoed from high above. “You really picked the wrong day to escape from prison.”

  Then it was time to pass out.

  JAN SNAPPED AWAKE WITH A START, heart hammering in his chest. A moment of useless, thrashing panic verified his hands were cuffed behind his back and his ankles were clamped into restraints. They left his knees more apart than he liked.

  He was restrained in some sort of metal chair, and quite thoroughly. While that could be fun under certain circumstances, this was not one of them.

  The room was dark, but not completely. Despite the darkness, Jan could see a stained biocrete floor, walls padded with soundproof eggcrate insulation, and a single overhead light, which was off. Faint light crept in beneath the bottom of the single closed door. Voices spoke outside, obviously unhappy.

  “—told me you had the problem handled,” one voice said, female, not Emiko’s. She sounded used to being in charge.

  “It is handled.” Emiko’s voice was stressed. “He is handled.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.

  “But he’s not dead,” the first voice said.

  “There was no reason to kill him,” Emiko said forcefully, which was a relief. “He was a friend, once, and he could be useful to us. He’s really good at ... smuggling things.”

  Jan flexed his wrists in the very metal restraints.

  “And can you explain to me, Emiko,” the other woman said, which meant she knew Emiko’s real name, “how harboring an escaped convict, still wanted by both Ceto’s government and the Supremacy, a week before we take delivery of an extremely lucrative and illegal item, is useful?”

  Jan cocked his head at the word “lucrative.” Not only did this woman know Emiko’s real name, but it sounded like Emiko had a profitable job lined up. Just what had he walked into?