Supremacy's Outlaw: A Space Opera Thriller Series (Insurgency Saga Book 3) by T.E. Bakutis (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📗

safe.” Emiko gingerly rubbed her shin with one hand. “I feel like I broke my shin and almost got eaten by giant lizards. And Jan’s ... what, now? Kidnapped?”

“Temporarily inconvenienced would be more accurate, given it’s, well, Rafe.”

“He didn’t seem incompetent when he blew us off the scow. He also had an extra engine ready to go.”

Kinsley sighed. “I will admit Rafe surprised me on both counts. I will not underestimate him again. If we don’t find Jan immediately, I’m sure he’ll get free on his own.

“So, what?” Emiko asked. “So the CSD can arrest him? So Elena Ryke can torture him to death? So Senator Tarack can wipe him out with an orbital strike? Seems like it doesn’t matter if we catch up with Rafe at this point. Jan remains colossally fucked no matter what we do.”

“One problem at a time,” Kinsley said.

Emiko could finally make out the barest details of Kinsley’s face. Light grew in the tunnel. Emiko looked ahead and spotted a bright headlamp in the distance, bobbing as it approached.

Marquis was running toward them. Pollen and others were running toward them, and it looked like Kinsley had been right after all. Jan’s whole crew was together at last.

The problem, of course, was Jan wasn’t.

Jan Sabato had come awake with many hangovers. This was worse. He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, not once, but repeatedly, and then kicked down several flights of stairs, after having his balls trampled by a circus.

Jan’s world remained a dull white blur, and it took effort to keep his eyes open. Yet he was alive. He was not burning alive inside a furnace, and it was difficult to remember what it was like to not be burned alive. Was he dead now? Perhaps his nerve endings had burned out from the raw, unending pain?

No. He was far too sore to be dead. Also, he could smell wet biocrete, old mold, and a ration pack: chicken surprise, if his churning stomach remembered. The surprise, of course, was that it was not real chicken.

“He’s coming around,” a male voice said, one Jan didn’t recognize. “Looks like the cocktail is starting to kick in.”

“Guh,” Jan agreed.

“Sssh.” The strange man had a kind voice. “Don’t try to talk yet. You’ve recently endured over ten minutes of torture nanos. That does a number on your nervous system. You’re safe here, and we’ve disabled the nanos, so just breathe.”

Disabled ... the nanos? That didn’t seem possible. Bharat had been quite clear that only he could disable the nanos.

“Hey, mate,” a soft, familiar voice said. “It’s me, Rafe.”

Jan frowned and focused. Rafe had been taken by the Truthers, or the CSD, or ... someone. Rafe was here, on his other side. Rafe had always loved chicken surprise.

“So yeah, I did it!” Rafe continued. “Nanos disabled permanently. Told you I could. You’re free and clear!” Loud smacking followed, not-chicken shoved into face.

So far as Jan could recall, Rafe knew exactly jack shit about nanomachine technology. So why was he lying? And more importantly, what had happened to Jan’s torture nanos?

“I’ll leave you two to catch up while Mr. Sabato recovers,” the unidentified voice said. “Come to the command pit when you’re ready. Now that you’ve brought us a genuine insurrection hero, the Commander will want to speak to you both.”

“Right, sure,” Rafe said. “The Commander. Wouldn’t miss it, mate. We’ll get right on that, soon as Jan can walk!”

The rustle of clothing marked someone standing up, and the padding of slippers against hard floor marked someone walking away. At least Jan could hear, though his vision remained a mess. The pink and flesh-colored blur sitting to his right must be Rafe. No one else smacked their food that loudly.

“Water?” Jan managed, throat raw.

“Sure,” Rafe said, “hold on.” His blur shifted as he set something down, probably his half-finished surprise.

The Rafe blur crossed in front of Jan’s bed, followed by the sound of running water. The blur returned and leaned over. A plastic cup tipped to Jan’s lips. Jan drank, spit up, and drank again. Each swallow hurt, but water was worth it.

“Easy now, mate, don’t want to piss yourself.”

Judging from his disturbingly damp underwear, Jan suspected he already had. “More.” Had they even changed his clothes?

“Not yet, okay?” Rafe sat back down. “Make sure you can keep that down first. Don’t want to throw it all up at once.”

“Will ... not.” Speaking was tolerable.

“We’ll give it five minutes,” Rafe said. He sat back down and picked up his ration packet. Smacking resumed.

Jan relaxed in what he now assumed was a hospital bed and gathered his thoughts. What hospital was he in now, and why had the CSD not come to arrest him? This place did not smell like a hospital. It smelled like an abandoned dentist’s office.

“Where?” he managed.

“Oh, right,” Rafe said. “So after I disabled your torture nanos, I, uh ... we had to get you off the grid. CSD’s hunting you, right? Had to take you somewhere those assholes couldn’t find you. We’re in a private hospital, with friends.”

“Friends?” Jan rasped.

“They’re Patriots of Ceto,” Rafe said after a moment. “Former. I mean, they’re still Patriots, but after the Supremacy pulled out, that kind of all stopped meaning so much, you know?”

Jan felt a growing sense of dread. “Patriots?” He swallowed a knife of pain. “Or Truthers?”

Rafe was quiet for a long moment. “They’re True Sons of Ceto. Truther’s right derogatory, mate.”

Jan managed one long, disgusted, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Now hold on!” Rafe protested. “They’re not all bad.”

Given