Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2), Kevin Ikenberry [reading the story of the txt] 📗

Desperado

Book Two of Murphy’s Lawless: Watch The Skies

By

Kevin Ikenberry

PUBLISHED BY: Beyond Terra Press

Copyright © 2021 Kevin Ikenberry

All Rights Reserved

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Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”

and discover other Beyond Terra Press titles at:

https://chriskennedypublishing.com/

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License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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For My Girls

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Cover Design by Shezaad Sudar

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About Kevin Ikenberry

Find out what’s coming from CKP!

The Caine Riordan Universe

Excerpt from Book One of the Chimera Company:

Excerpt from Book One of the Revelations Cycle:

Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy:

Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War:

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Chapter One

Imsurmik R’Bak

Tucked against a low, tilted plateau rising from west to east, the town of Imsurmik sparkled with life in the early evening twilight. The days approaching the Sear grew ever warmer. Working outside, even to feverishly harvest the last of the seasonal crops, grew more difficult to endure, and its citizens slowly transitioned toward nocturnal schedules and events. Typical human behavior was one of the first casualties of the rising temperatures and radiation. Across the city, its inhabitants worked tirelessly to secure their own survival. Some settlements planned to migrate north in search of cooler climates. Others expanded their underground refuges and fortifications. For all of them, the plan was the same: endure the Sear.

Her eyes on the glowing city, Aliza Turan made her way up the curving road from the farmlands toward the central fortifications. Around her, farmers returned from the fields after gathering their crops. Miners carried tools and dust-covered implements from the long hours of digging before the nightly feasts. As she passed through the gate, groups of women and children carried water from the central spring to fill artificial reservoirs. She paused there and washed the thick, protective paint from her exposed skin. Without it, skin cancers were common on R’Bak. The cool water felt heavenly. Excited voices chattered around her in a myriad of dialects. The buzz of general activity wound deeper into the city where the bazaar, nearing the end of its needfulness as a trading center, transformed nightly for what could only be called a party. The town’s collective excitement grew as the crops approached harvest, but something special was in the air. Tonight, and every night for the next two weeks, would be the Festival of the Kr’it.

Aliza stepped into the mud and rock home she shared with a group of friendly migrants to change her garments for the evening’s festivities. All the women greeted her with smiles and barely contained excitement as they too prepared for the night. Everyone’s spirits were higher than she’d seen before. She’d known and lived among the migrants for months. They’d agreed to smuggle her into the town so she could gather information as long as she played her role and worked the fields alongside them. Moving into town had been easy, even if daily life was difficult. Now, there was a different energy in her surroundings with the approaching festival. With full darkness settling across the countryside, there would be no need for the thick, preventive face paint to cover their exposed skin. Nor would the locals need the traditional robed and hooded garments. While she appreciated the cover they provided, she was more than happy to let her dark hair blow free in the relatively cool evening breeze.

Like the others, Aliza prepared a basket with large, flexible handles that could double as shoulder straps. Before she tied it shut, she checked inside and carefully laid the few tools they would need for the harvest atop a concealed parcel. She glanced at her olive drab Timex watch, tucked underneath the long sleeves of her garment, and saw the time was much later than she’d expected. While the harvest was a significant and time-consuming event, the Festival of the Kr’it was casual by comparison. After nightfall, the lack of urgency in Imsurmik’s citizens surprised her. The hours in total darkness on the planet were limited, yet everyone around her appeared content to wait until the night air was as cool as it could get before moving to the thermal pool.

One woman, the one the others called Momani, looked at her sternly. “Patience, young one,” she said. A thin smile grew across the woman’s leathered face.

Over the last several months, and with considerable time and practice, Aliza had become fluent in several dialects. You’re a regular chameleon, Bo had said proudly. Prisoner, survivor, teacher, and now officer. Is there anything you can’t do?

The military lifestyle of their band, the Lost Soldiers, hadn’t come easily to her. Yet she’d been assimilated and become one of them as much through shared experience as through actual leadership. Colonel Murphy’s desire for her to identify medicinals and teach soldiers how to ride the whinaalani, the lizard-like mammals who served as beasts of burden and skilled combat mounts, had led her to a life she’d never