Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) by T.E. Bakutis (e reader pdf best TXT) 📕

Bharat grimaced as their autocar pulled to a stop a full three blocks away from their intended destination: the Greasy Bowsprit. It was all too obvious why the autocar had stopped. It was the line of blinking armored barricades with the glistening letters “CSD” prominently displayed.

Each barricade stood at least two meters tall. Though they did not fit together tightly enough to prevent a single person from moving in and out, they certainly constricted movement such that anyone squeezing through in either direction would be an easy target for an average marksman. Bharat idly wondered how the CSD had hauled those barricades out here. Airdropped, or did they have a fleet of flatbed trucks?

“Whatever are they doing here?” Fatima asked from beside him, in what would have been the driver’s seat in a vehicle that had manual controls. “Did we miss a gang war?”

Bharat debated charting another destination, but they’d already wasted forty minutes on the drive over here. Jan had less than an hour before the torture nanos inside him spun up and stung the shit out of him. Their best and only chance of finding Jan before that happened was speaking to the woman Jan had mentioned earlier: Tiana Johnson, owner of the Greasy Bowsprit.

Bharat tapped the green exit button by the door. The gullwing door hissed open. Yet as he stepped out, Fatima grabbed his shoulder and pulled.

Bharat allowed himself to be pulled back inside the autocar. His only alternative was yanking Fatima out in front of the officers watching from the barricade, and he imagined that would raise some eyebrows.

“Are you blind?” Fatima whispered, even though Bharat doubted the officers could hear. “That is Ceto Security Division. You do recall they plan to arrest us?”

“You,” Bharat said. “They plan to arrest you.”

Fatima huffed and released his shoulder. “I hate to shatter your illusions of supremacy, but even if they don’t want you in orbit, they do not let random civilians wander in off the street. Given how many CSD officers are former Patriots of Ceto, you’ll be lucky if one doesn’t accidentally shoot you in the back.”

“I have diplomatic credentials,” Bharat reminded her. “Even if those don’t get me inside the barricade, we have no better options. You asked me to rescue Jan, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Fatima said, one elegant eyebrow raised. “And that’s worked out splendidly.”

“Let me do this,” Bharat insisted. “Given the CSD presence that has now formed a perimeter around Tiana’s tavern, it’s likely Jan was here not long ago. If Tiana hasn’t stashed Jan somewhere, she’ll certainly know where he is.”

“And you honestly believe she’ll reveal anything to you?” Fatima asked. “To some random Advanced she’s never met?”

Fatima made a good point. Bharat had never actually met Tiana Johnson. Still, Bharat couldn’t know his plan wouldn’t work until he tried it. “Will she trust you?”

“I quite doubt it.”

“So we try this my way first,” Bharat said. “Hold onto the car. We might need it. I’ll be back soon.”

Fatima sat back and crossed her arms. “See that you are.”

Bharat stepped out of the autocar and approached the barricade. He could just make out a man in body armor standing behind it. The man stood well in the shadow, and it was impossible to tell what he wore or if he was armed.

“Stop!” the officer at the barricade shouted. “This is a restricted area! Turn around and return to your vehicle!”

Bharat did stop walking — it wouldn’t do to keep advancing on an armed CSD officer — and casually raised his hands. “I’m here on diplomatic business for Senator Clara Tarack!” he shouted. “I must speak with your commander!”

“Return to your vehicle!” the officer repeated.

Behind him, Bharat heard the crunching of the autocar’s wheels and the audible hum of its electric motor. He glanced back in time to see the car finish a turn and glide away.

What was Fatima up to? No matter. This played right into his hands. Bharat turned back to the barricade.

“As you can clearly see,” he shouted, “it is now impossible for me to return to my vehicle! If you’ll just summon your commander, I’ll present my credentials, and we can all avoid an interplanetary incident!”

There was no immediate response, which was the confirmation Bharat needed that the officer had just radioed his commander. Bharat invoking the name of a Supremacy senator had marked this encounter as far above this officer’s pay grade. Each passing minute brought Jan closer to death by torture nanos, but Bharat waited. Rushing the barricade would simply get him shot.

“Approach slowly and keep your hands up!” the officer shouted. “Do it now!”

Bharat kept his hands raised and walked forward. He reached the barricade to find one officer waiting. From the way his hand hovered at the pistol at his hip, the man was a rookie. The face behind his visor looked nervous for a man in full body armor, behind multiple barricades, with other officers backing him up.

The man standing beside the rookie obviously wasn’t one. His posture remained ramrod straight, and he had his feet placed evenly to maximize balance. He wore body armor as well, but no helmet, and had short blond hair. His handsome, unscarred face belonged on a CSD recruitment poster.

“Identify yourself,” the blond officer ordered. The name tag on his chest read “Coffman.”

Coffman wore what Bharat believed to be a lieutenant’s pips on his shoulder, though Ceto Security Division wasn’t consistent with their ranks. Bharat saw no reason to lie about his identity, given he had no way to plausibly do so.

“My name is Bharat Dhillon. I’m Senator Clara Tarack’s chief of security. May I ask what happened here?”

“Credentials,” Lieutenant