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

Ceto was not ready to face the might of Phorcys in a full-scale war and likely wouldn’t be ready for decades, if ever. Killing Advanced civilians or blowing up settlements on Phorcys wouldn’t make anything better for anyone. All more war would do was get a shitload of people killed.

Would reparations be nice? Would seeing corrupt Supremacy commanders in front of firing squads be nice? Sure. A blanket pardon and a sloppy blowjob from Ceto’s President Mendoza would also be nice, but Jan was realistic.

He’d been kicked around enough to know that whining about life not being fair would not stop it from murdering you. And he’d seen enough war zones during his time smuggling, before the armistice, to know anyone who wanted to bring those back either needed a kick to the balls or a bullet to the head.

Yet Rafe was all in with the Truthers. This was going to significantly complicate Jan’s escape. Also, Hanson had just led them into a laundry room, which required Jan’s full attention. He spotted the first surveillance camera five steps inside.

“We, uh, don’t have any actual uniforms that you can wear,” Hanson said, as if Jan would want one. “But I’m sure we can find you some maintenance coveralls.”

Hanson led Jan through a large room that smelled of bleach and oil. Industrial washing machines thrummed loudly against the wall, and a uniform track whirred as it transported laundered clothes. Jan found it alarming that the Truthers had built a laundry system this complicated. If they had room for this on their priority list, this base must be well established.

Jan catalogued the cover offered by each piece of machinery and the positions of every wall-mounted camera. Hanson didn’t look back. Still, caution was warranted when one was planning a daring escape from a highly fortified military base, run by a group of murderous zealots, with rooms full of high-powered guns.

Hanson stopped at a makeshift counter behind which a single person lounged. The muscular gray-haired woman with a thick hair bun didn’t look up from her tablet. Small bleeps and bloops occasionally erupted over the sound of the machines.

“Hey, Solorio,” Hanson said. “Need a couple of maintenance overalls for my friends here.”

Solorio did not look up. “Why?”

“They’re going to meet the Commander.”

The laundry matron set down her tablet and stared at Hanson. “And you’re dressing them in coveralls?”

Hanson blanched at the woman’s intense stare. “I, uh ... I figured we have some to spare?”

When Solorio’s gaze fixed on Jan, he instinctively stood up straight and raised his chin. This woman reminded him of Tiana, if Tiana were white and murderously insane. Jan supposed it took real gumption to handle the Truthers’ dirty laundry.

“Hmmph,” Solorio said. “Might have some flight suits that’ll fit them.”

“Oh!” Hanson said. “That’d be great!”

“I’ll handle it.” Solorio’s intimidating gaze returned to Hanson. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

“Sure,” Hanson said, with an apologetic look at Jan. “So, she’ll get you everything you need. I should, uh ... I have stuff to do. In the infirmary.”

Jan stepped forward and gripped Hanson’s arms. “Thank you.” Jan smiled warmly and was pleased to see the man blush bright red. “Be well.”

“You too!” Hanson said.

Jan released him and stepped back. Hanson beamed as he walked off, staring straight ahead. Jan turned back to Solorio to find her watching him with a disapproving frown.

He stepped forward. “Miss Solorio, I would just say—”

“Blow it out your ass, Sabato.” The matron snorted and shook her head. “Save some of that kiss ass for the Commander.”

Jan nodded and stepped back. He was certainly not going to charm this woman. Matron Solorio was no idiot.

“Stay here and don’t move,” Solorio said. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Don’t you need our sizes?” Rafe asked.

Solorio rolled her eyes and walked off.

So the Truther matron was getting him a flight suit. This could work even better than maintenance overalls. Assuming they let Jan keep it, it would make an excellent disguise when he made his escape. And assuming they didn’t — Jan now knew exactly how to sneak in and out of this laundry room without a single camera tracking his movements.

Solorio brought them a pair of dark gray flight suits and some fresh-smelling underclothes, then left them to get dressed in the middle of the laundry room. Jan shed his clothes and pulled on the flight suit without shame, in clear view of the cameras. Rafe looked around nervously as he did the same, but no one walked in on them while they were changing.

Jan picked up their soiled clothes and dumped them in the nearest hamper. It wasn’t like he’d be needing those any more. The moment he finished dressing, a male soldier in a gray uniform marched into the laundry room. The Truthers had been watching the whole time, on camera, because of course they had.

“This way,” the soldier said. He turned and walked off.

Jan motioned for Rafe to follow and followed. He was fortunate none of the Truthers had decided to blindfold him, though he supposed it didn’t matter what he saw so long as he stayed inside their base. That the Truthers trusted him this much suggested he could still convince them he was on their side.

The soldier led them through a few more hallways and up several flights of stairs, confirming that this portion of the base was buried belowground. Jan passed no windows, but there were ventilation ducts everywhere. For all Jan knew, this entire base might be underground, which might explain why the CSD hadn’t found it yet. They barely had enough planes and soldiers to keep bandits from robbing the maglev out of Cliffside.

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