I read through all three novels as fast as I could order them. While I get the comparison to firefly, the universe he's created has a depth that found believable with characters that you cheer, laugh at, laugh with, and mourn.
It is my fervent hope that more people discover this amazing series because I need to know what happens next dammit!
My only complaint is that the writing is so smooth I finished each book too quickly and am now sick with the reality that I must wait for my next fix like the addict that I am.
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Dark Deeds (Keiko Book 3) Kindle Edition
by
Mike Brooks
(Author)
Format: Kindle Edition
| Mike Brooks (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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In the third book of the “entertaining” (Kirkus Reveiws) Keiko series, Captain Ichabod Drift and his crew find themselves in another mess as a ship-wide vacation leads to their second-in-command taken hostage by the planet’s criminal mastermind.
After the riotous civil war in Dark Sky, the crew of the Keiko decides to go on vacation at an illegal gambling port for a little fun. What they don’t realize is that the casinos are run by an ex-client who didn’t get his shipment due to the war. The mob boss decides to take Tamara Rouke, the Keiko’s second-in-command, and hold her hostage until the crew raises enough money to pay him back for the lost shipment. If they don’t pay up in time, Rouke will be killed.
Captain Ichabod Drift and his crew agree. But as they find a way to get the funds, one will betray everyone and one will die…
After the riotous civil war in Dark Sky, the crew of the Keiko decides to go on vacation at an illegal gambling port for a little fun. What they don’t realize is that the casinos are run by an ex-client who didn’t get his shipment due to the war. The mob boss decides to take Tamara Rouke, the Keiko’s second-in-command, and hold her hostage until the crew raises enough money to pay him back for the lost shipment. If they don’t pay up in time, Rouke will be killed.
Captain Ichabod Drift and his crew agree. But as they find a way to get the funds, one will betray everyone and one will die…
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherGallery / Saga Press
- Publication dateNovember 14, 2017
- File size2523 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“The bonds among the crew continue to be a high point of the writing, as are Brooks’s terrific action sequences.” (Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW)
About the Author
Mike Brooks is the author of The God-King Chronicles epic fantasy series, the Keiko series of grimy space-opera novels, and various works for Games Workshop’s Black Library imprint including RITES OF PASSAGE and BRUTAL KUNNIN. He was born in Ipswich, Suffolk, and moved to Nottingham to go to university when he was eighteen, where he still lives with his wife, cats, and snakes. He worked in the homelessness sector for fifteen years before going full-time as an author, plays guitar and sings in a punk band, and DJs wherever anyone will tolerate him. He is queer, and partially deaf (no, that occurred naturally, and a long time before the punk band).
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Dark Deeds
A Harja Logistics standard small shipping container was a mainstay of commerce, used galaxy-wide and across governmental boundaries. Produced from high-grade steel in huge quantities, it was precisely two metres long, a metre wide, and half a metre deep.
It seemed a lot smaller from the inside.
Ichabod Drift knew precisely how long it had been since he’d been forced into one with a hood placed over his head and anchored around his neck by a collar that his fingers couldn’t loosen, because his mechanical right eye could call up a chrono display. It had been seventeen hours and twenty-six minutes, and that information wasn’t reassuring him at all. He’d tried to batter his way out at first, but that was futile. He had very little room for leverage, and besides, standard shipping containers were sturdy things. All he’d managed to do was hurt his hands. He’d yelled as well—for someone, anyone—but all that had got him was a dry mouth and a sore throat.
He hadn’t had a drink since, and he was so thirsty his hands were shaking. He’d been unable to restrain his bladder any longer at about the twelve-hour mark. Half of his right thigh was still damp, and the container stank of piss, which was aggravating his throat further. Most of his body was damp, in fact, because although the hood was porous and airholes must have been added to the container before his incarceration, the limited airflow didn’t have a chance of counteracting the accumulated water vapour from seventeen-and-a-half hours of respiration by a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound adult male.
A six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound adult male who was, by now, scared so bad he could hardly think straight.
What if they never let him out, whoever they were? What if his container’s current resting place was to be his final resting place? At first, when he was still capable of rational thought, he’d tried to work out who’d grabbed him and where they might be taking him. After a few hours of imprisonment, though, he’d lost his grip on that thread of speculation. He’d started to fear that he wasn’t being taken anywhere, that the container he’d been trapped in had simply been dumped somewhere out of the way, for someone to find days or weeks or months later when he’d long since expired of thirst.
His mind worked away feverishly, focusing on the problem like a hypochondriac with a chest pain. He’d heard that a human could go about three days without water, and the glowing chrono display in his right eye was starting to feel like a clock counting down towards his own end. Yet he didn’t dare turn it off, for fear that abandoning the one constant he had left to focus on would see him pass into a state of true madness. He’d tried sucking the hood to recover the moisture his breath had lost to it; it didn’t seem to do a thing. How badly would he have decomposed by the time someone wondered what this container was and opened it?
Ichabod Drift had made enemies during his career as a smuggler, bounty hunter, and entrepreneurial starship captain; it was true. But this seemed extreme. What if whoever had trapped him in here wasn’t after Ichabod Drift? What if they were after Gabriel Drake, the name he’d adopted when he’d been young and desperate and had agreed to a career of piracy in service to the Europan Commonwealth in exchange for not being executed for a mutiny that he’d only technically led?
Well, in that case, his captors would likely be from the Federation of African States, and their government would undoubtedly be very interested to hear that he wasn’t as dead as they’d thought. The fate that would await him at their eager, vengeful hands might make dying of thirst over the course of a couple of days in the forgotten corner of a cargo hold somewhere look positively idyllic by comparison. He’d cost them an awful lot of money when he’d repeatedly hit their shipping over several years.
Of course, he’d also caused the deaths of a fair few of their people on the occasions that the crews had tried to resist his boarding parties, but in Drift’s experience, governments mainly cared about money.
There was a jolt. He cried out involuntarily in shock and sudden fear, but his throat strangled it down to barely a whisper. More jolting, and a disorientating swaying motion. He was being moved.
There was a brief sensation of increased weight—being lifted into the air?—and then an impact hard enough to knock the back of his head against the container’s bottom as it landed on something. He groaned, then threw his hands up reflexively and as best he could in the confined space as something hammered viciously on the metal, scant inches from his face.
He might have whimpered. He wasn’t sure if any noise made it out or not. However, the hammering broke off after half a dozen or so impacts and was replaced by harsh laughter that filtered dimly in through wherever the airholes were.
Another faint sensation of movement, this one rather smoother. He forced himself to ignore the burning pain in his throat and concentrate. Something was happening, enacted by people who knew there was a human inside this container, and that meant he wasn’t just going to be left to rot.
So what was happening?
He was still horizontal but apparently moving, and moving smoothly. So perhaps his container was being transported on some sort of maglev bed? That meant a spaceport, presumably. There was certainly some sort of noise from outside his container, but it was hard for him to tell what, exactly.
He didn’t get a quick answer to his question. His right eye’s chrono told him that it was a further twenty-two minutes, containing various other jolts and knocks, before he came to a final halt.
He sniffed. There was a very unsettling smell starting to seep in through the airholes. It smelled like . . .
Meat? Lots of old meat?
Oh, that’s not good. That’s never good. --This text refers to the hardcover edition.
SHIP HIGH IN TRANSIT
A Harja Logistics standard small shipping container was a mainstay of commerce, used galaxy-wide and across governmental boundaries. Produced from high-grade steel in huge quantities, it was precisely two metres long, a metre wide, and half a metre deep.
It seemed a lot smaller from the inside.
Ichabod Drift knew precisely how long it had been since he’d been forced into one with a hood placed over his head and anchored around his neck by a collar that his fingers couldn’t loosen, because his mechanical right eye could call up a chrono display. It had been seventeen hours and twenty-six minutes, and that information wasn’t reassuring him at all. He’d tried to batter his way out at first, but that was futile. He had very little room for leverage, and besides, standard shipping containers were sturdy things. All he’d managed to do was hurt his hands. He’d yelled as well—for someone, anyone—but all that had got him was a dry mouth and a sore throat.
He hadn’t had a drink since, and he was so thirsty his hands were shaking. He’d been unable to restrain his bladder any longer at about the twelve-hour mark. Half of his right thigh was still damp, and the container stank of piss, which was aggravating his throat further. Most of his body was damp, in fact, because although the hood was porous and airholes must have been added to the container before his incarceration, the limited airflow didn’t have a chance of counteracting the accumulated water vapour from seventeen-and-a-half hours of respiration by a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound adult male.
A six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound adult male who was, by now, scared so bad he could hardly think straight.
What if they never let him out, whoever they were? What if his container’s current resting place was to be his final resting place? At first, when he was still capable of rational thought, he’d tried to work out who’d grabbed him and where they might be taking him. After a few hours of imprisonment, though, he’d lost his grip on that thread of speculation. He’d started to fear that he wasn’t being taken anywhere, that the container he’d been trapped in had simply been dumped somewhere out of the way, for someone to find days or weeks or months later when he’d long since expired of thirst.
His mind worked away feverishly, focusing on the problem like a hypochondriac with a chest pain. He’d heard that a human could go about three days without water, and the glowing chrono display in his right eye was starting to feel like a clock counting down towards his own end. Yet he didn’t dare turn it off, for fear that abandoning the one constant he had left to focus on would see him pass into a state of true madness. He’d tried sucking the hood to recover the moisture his breath had lost to it; it didn’t seem to do a thing. How badly would he have decomposed by the time someone wondered what this container was and opened it?
Ichabod Drift had made enemies during his career as a smuggler, bounty hunter, and entrepreneurial starship captain; it was true. But this seemed extreme. What if whoever had trapped him in here wasn’t after Ichabod Drift? What if they were after Gabriel Drake, the name he’d adopted when he’d been young and desperate and had agreed to a career of piracy in service to the Europan Commonwealth in exchange for not being executed for a mutiny that he’d only technically led?
Well, in that case, his captors would likely be from the Federation of African States, and their government would undoubtedly be very interested to hear that he wasn’t as dead as they’d thought. The fate that would await him at their eager, vengeful hands might make dying of thirst over the course of a couple of days in the forgotten corner of a cargo hold somewhere look positively idyllic by comparison. He’d cost them an awful lot of money when he’d repeatedly hit their shipping over several years.
Of course, he’d also caused the deaths of a fair few of their people on the occasions that the crews had tried to resist his boarding parties, but in Drift’s experience, governments mainly cared about money.
There was a jolt. He cried out involuntarily in shock and sudden fear, but his throat strangled it down to barely a whisper. More jolting, and a disorientating swaying motion. He was being moved.
There was a brief sensation of increased weight—being lifted into the air?—and then an impact hard enough to knock the back of his head against the container’s bottom as it landed on something. He groaned, then threw his hands up reflexively and as best he could in the confined space as something hammered viciously on the metal, scant inches from his face.
He might have whimpered. He wasn’t sure if any noise made it out or not. However, the hammering broke off after half a dozen or so impacts and was replaced by harsh laughter that filtered dimly in through wherever the airholes were.
Another faint sensation of movement, this one rather smoother. He forced himself to ignore the burning pain in his throat and concentrate. Something was happening, enacted by people who knew there was a human inside this container, and that meant he wasn’t just going to be left to rot.
So what was happening?
He was still horizontal but apparently moving, and moving smoothly. So perhaps his container was being transported on some sort of maglev bed? That meant a spaceport, presumably. There was certainly some sort of noise from outside his container, but it was hard for him to tell what, exactly.
He didn’t get a quick answer to his question. His right eye’s chrono told him that it was a further twenty-two minutes, containing various other jolts and knocks, before he came to a final halt.
He sniffed. There was a very unsettling smell starting to seep in through the airholes. It smelled like . . .
Meat? Lots of old meat?
Oh, that’s not good. That’s never good. --This text refers to the hardcover edition.
Product details
- ASIN : B06ZXWGPHR
- Publisher : Gallery / Saga Press (November 14, 2017)
- Publication date : November 14, 2017
- Language : English
- File size : 2523 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 293 pages
- Lending : Not Enabled
- Best Sellers Rank: #702,360 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #7,132 in Space Opera Science Fiction (Kindle Store)
- #10,441 in Science Fiction Adventure
- #11,951 in Space Operas
- Customer Reviews:
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4.6 out of 5 stars
4.6 out of 5
70 global ratings
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Reviewed in the United States on April 15, 2018
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Reviewed in the United States on December 16, 2017
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This latest installment in the ongoing trials and tribulations of the Keiko and crew saga just keeps getting better and better. I rarely give a 5 star rating but this deserves it IMHO. Great character development and story telling here. Never a dull moment wrapped around interesting storylines. What can I say, I’m loving the series!
I never go into the exact storylines so won’t here. Just to say that nothing is a what I thought it would be and that’s part of the pleasure!
Loved it.
I never go into the exact storylines so won’t here. Just to say that nothing is a what I thought it would be and that’s part of the pleasure!
Loved it.
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Reviewed in the United States on December 15, 2017
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Wow, this was good. Really good. The author took his established characters from the first two books, then skillfully wove multiple story lines with those characters and didn't hesitate to put them all at risk. There were genuine moments when I wasn't sure anyone would survive, and that requires courage on the author's part. Too many books try to take the reader to the precipice, but in the back of your mind you know that your beloved characters will survive. Not so in this book. Up until the end, Mike leaves you guessing.
We get a chance to learn more about the crew from the Keiko, and what we learn is sometimes surprising. Their development is very believable and I can genuinely relate to them.
Can't wait for the next installment!
We get a chance to learn more about the crew from the Keiko, and what we learn is sometimes surprising. Their development is very believable and I can genuinely relate to them.
Can't wait for the next installment!
2 people found this helpful
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Reviewed in the United States on August 2, 2021
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I like a book with lots of action and twists and turns. This series has all that. But, it is nothing if you can’t feel for the characters. I feel like I know all of them and wish I could continue with them on their journey.
Reviewed in the United States on November 15, 2017
Verified Purchase
This sequel is so good that I couldn’t put it down. Well written, suspenseful and a great read. It stands alone but you really should read the first two first.
2 people found this helpful
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Reviewed in the United States on January 1, 2020
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Space opera meets caper story. Enjoyable characters,action without being too gory. Not meant to be an epic but I quickly read all three books with pleasure.
Reviewed in the United States on February 19, 2018
Verified Purchase
Amazing at the amount of spelling errors. Seems like a translation issue of some kind as it was typically around his or he but really distracting. Otherwise a pretty good story.
Reviewed in the United States on December 17, 2017
Verified Purchase
Great bit of space opera in a series that has been a great read. I'm looking forward to more from Mr. Brooks.
One person found this helpful
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Amazon Customer
5.0 out of 5 stars
Very good third book in the series
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on April 24, 2021Verified Purchase
I came across the Keiko books while searching, mostly in vain, for something similar to the Ketty Jay series or Firefly. Most Sci Fi these days seems obsessed with large interstellar wars but this is refreshingly different dealing instead with a small group of individuals and their struggle to get by. I loved this series and hope the author writes more. It's well written with memorable characters. I've been reading Sci Fi for over 40 years (gulp!) and I'm pretty fussy. Take from that what you will.
Timex
4.0 out of 5 stars
A jolly good, fun read for sci-fi lovers.
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 21, 2018Verified Purchase
The third (just going from memory) - it might be the fourth) in a really nicely written sci-fi series, very much of the "Firefly" variety. This seems to be winding the whole storyline up, which is a great pity as I'd love to read more. I can't say these books are the best for characters, plots, etc. BUT THEY'RE JUST FUN TO READ and I personally have no time for all the terribly serious and heavy "new worlds" that are floating around the place nowadays. Reading should be easy and fun and these books are. Recommended.
D Whitehouse
2.0 out of 5 stars
Dull and uninspired
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on September 16, 2019Verified Purchase
The worst of the trilogy, the story doesn’t feel very sci-fi, it could be set on earth in the modern era. The characters are missing something, maybe it’s the conflict of interests they had in previous books. When they all get along it’s boring. The previous books were better.
Katya
4.0 out of 5 stars
Enjoyable read and fun!
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 4, 2019Verified Purchase
Great series of books. Space opera at it's best without the daftness of Peter Hamilton ex machina business and bogged down hard science. Lightweight, but fun.
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