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

floors were more crowded, and most everyone Jan passed was dressed in the same gray uniforms as the soldier who led them on their way. Those who weren’t in uniform either wore pale coveralls, like Hanson’s, or orange coveralls Jan assumed marked them as maintenance staff. This base was being run like an active military installation, not some hideout in the wilderness. Just how many soldiers did this Commander have?

The crowd thinned out once they climbed another set of stairs, then vanished entirely as they entered what looked to be a much nicer portion of this underground base. Officers’ quarters? This part had faux wood floors, polished white walls, and ceiling lights that didn’t buzz like those downstairs.

The soldier stopped beside two wooden-looking double doors and faced them. “You’ll be dining with the Commander today.” He thumped on one doorframe with the back of his fist.

Rafe looked between them. “We, uh ... really?”

The double doors opened to reveal two soldiers inside, both armed. Jan strode inside and assumed Rafe would follow, then paused as one soldier stepped in his way. He obediently spread his arms and looked straight ahead as the soldier checked him for weapons very thoroughly. He avoided any wisecracks.

“Whoa, really, mate?” Rafe asked, as the other soldier firmly patted down his crotch. “I mean, okay, sure!”

Both soldiers stepped back. The dining room into which they’d just been ushered was rectangular, had faux wood panels on its walls, and had an actual wooden dining table with eight wooden chairs. Two more double doors at its far end popped open.

A tall gray-haired man strode inside, overhead lights glinting off his narrow wire-rimmed glasses. A well-kept moustache shadowed his scarred lips. His gray uniform looked clean, starched, and well fitted. He stopped and pulled out a chair at the head of the table, then looked expectantly at Jan.

The Commander. The old man certainly fit the part. Jan pulled out a chair and sat. When he noticed Rafe standing and staring, he motioned for Rafe to sit on the other side of the table. That left a chair between them and the Commander, and the chair at the other end of the table empty. Table manners.

The Commander sat last. He adjusted his glasses and smiled at Jan. “Hello. I’m Commander Graham Esparza.”

All four doors closed at once.

14: Dirty Secrets

The Commander eased back in his chair and crossed his fingers over one another, resting both hands on the wooden table. “Now,” he said, in a calm, rumbly voice that demanded immediate respect. “What would you like to eat?”

Jan knew better than to look at Rafe for help. “Whatever you’re having, sir. I don’t want to put you out.”

“That’s kind of you,” Esparza said, “but your choices are salted beef, some medium-rare steak, or fresh kav stalks.”

Rafe eagerly raised one hand. “Kav stalks, please!” So he was still a vegetarian, even after five years.

“A steak would be just lovely,” Jan said. He resisted the urge to verify the room was entirely empty. No guards. “Though I will admit, I’m overwhelmed by your hospitality. First you save me from the CSD, and now, a steak?”

The doors opened as people in light-blue overalls entered, carrying trays. Esparza had his own dining staff and plenty of listening devices. Jan had no doubt one word from Esparza would have them filled with bullets.

“It’s a long-belated thank you,” Esparza said. “I figured the least I could do, upon meeting the famous Jan Sabato, was offer to feed the man who saved my life.”

Jan beamed at Esparza and sat back, keeping one eye on the young woman delivering his steak. What the hell was Esparza talking about?

“Jan saved your life?” Rafe asked, wide-eyed.

“After Mercy Plaza,” the Commander agreed. “I was wounded, grievously, in battle with the Supremacy, not three days after you sold us the shipment of regeneration drugs you and your crew stole. Those drugs, Mr. Sabato, saved my life.”

“I’m glad,” Jan said, even though the whole world would likely be better off if this murderous wanker had died five years ago. “It was a good score, but I cannot take sole credit. I had a truly talented crew working with me.”

The server who’d delivered his steak set down a fork and a knife. This person probably didn’t know just how dangerous it was to give Jan Sabato a knife. Still, if Jan put a steak knife through Esparza’s eyeball, he wasn’t getting out of here alive, and Jan did not die for any cause.

“I’m sure your people are highly competent,” Esparza said, “as are mine. Yet leaders give the orders and, in failure, bear the blame. The Supremacy never captured your crew, did they?”

“No.”

“But they captured you.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

So this was yet another interrogation by a very dangerous criminal. An interrogation with fresh steak. That was better, Jan supposed, than being tied to a chair and kicked in the balls.

“I was betrayed,” Jan said, “by someone I trusted.”

“Who?”

“You might know her as the Golden Widow.”

Jan was a very good liar. He also had no idea what Esparza already knew. Even the smallest lie or omission could give Esparza a reason to make him dead, and Jan wasn’t ready to be dead. Not yet. Not after escaping those torture nanos.

Esparza adjusted his glasses and picked up his knife and fork. “I know the Widow both by name and reputation. So she sold you to the Supremacy?” Esparza sawed away at his steak.

“She did,” Jan said. “And I’m ashamed to say I never saw it coming.”

“Yet here you are,” Esparza said.

Jan sliced into his steak and launched into the story he’d already told what felt like a dozen times, about Senator Tarack and