Honeycomb: Boljelam by Junior Sokolov Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Honeycomb:
Boljelam
by
Junior Sokolov
Genre:
SciFi Action, Adventure
After
a life lived for parties, sex and drugs spiraled into grief, she
went to selling herself and fighting for survival.
Now
one Boljelam's angry rebels, she leads a cheapened life on one
of the most unjust space station in the universe. Then, she finds an
unexpected way out.
An
escape from a life of abuse and hardship in the form of a ticket on a
ship set for Honeycomb. Taken from a dead woman's purse, it's a one
way ticket to a new pristine planet, to heaven.
Will
she be able to pull it off and get out alive?
Or
will two rabid cops, a zombie AI and a level full of monsters in
her way keep her escaping?
And
what about that bio-engineered murderer dogging her steps. He wants out
as bad as she does!
The
deformed little bastard has been following her for blocks; her
mistake had been taking out her boarding pass in plain view of anyone
with a set of functioning eyeballs. Why, why the hell had she done
that? Because every time she looked at the brightly colored, thin,
encoded metal pass she felt excited about what amounted to an
adventure, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live on a
real
planet, that’s why. And it had gotten her this wraith on her tail.
Damn him.
She
walked faster, ducked into an alley, so close to the ship, so close.
“Wait!”
She
sprints and hears him pick up his pace. She’s about to scream for
help when he catches up to her and pushes into the wall.
“Shut
it, just shut it! I don’t want to hurt you. Give me your pass and
your backpack, and I’ll leave you alone.”
She
can’t help the revulsion she feels; her disgust etches a mask of
repugnance on her face. The monster in front of her has gold-yellow
eyes with pupils that aren’t entirely round — the scales of his
skin give him an almost metallic look and his coloring keeps
changing.
“Get
away from me, you, you think. You sick—”
Like
a soul possessed she rakes his face with her nails.
He
hits her then, and keeps hitting, fist flying inflicts one cruel blow
after another; deep buried within him a core part of his being
screams at him to stop before he does something he’ll regret
forever. But lost to the rage of emotions that core part is
overwhelmed by the anger, and it can only watch as if from far away,
out of body, as his hands wrap around the woman’s neck. When the
barbs in his palms inject his poison, he starts to cry because he’s
gone too far and can’t go back.
Yelling
from the alley’s entrance breaks the moment.
“FREAK,
you quit that! Pick on someone your own size!”
***
She
places her forehead against the transparent metal wall that shields
her from the unforgiving void of space and watches the ships that
dock or depart from Boljelam’s tenth-level port.
To
her left, the worn Mirabelle, the small Malfa, the
powerful Hreif. Ahead of them all, the grandiose,
silver-and-gold Raleigh—which ferries the pilgrims of the
Sonshine Ministry—looks like a swan surrounded by lesser ducks.
Then to the Raleigh’s right there’s the colorful
Okuzenzekelayo, wildly alive with the colors ancient kente.
Next to her in quiet dignity moors the hulking Phoenix. She
can’t
think of a birdlike comparison for her, a whale, maybe; an armor
plated sperm whale. When Brea had been well, they’d watched the
ships together, speculated about their destinations, plotted
fantastical hijackings, setting course to paradisiacal planets. Now
Brea is gone, her sister’s absence felt like a rugged hole had been
punched in the center of her chest then filled with sorrow. The loss
has left her alone to admire the coming and going vessels, to wonder
about their destinations. Now, much of the pleasure is gone, she no
longer cares or thinks that there might be a better place, not for
her, anyway.
A
whore is a whore is after all, with a sigh she steps back from the
transparent wall. She’s been sorrowful and grief-struck for so long
now that she doesn’t feel her eyes tighten or her mouth curl
downward in an arch of misery.
At
least the last guy had paid well. All in all, she could’ve done
worse for herself. The others she had met that day were no winners,
but at least now she’s got the rent covered, along with assured
party favors for the next few days.
“Dinner!”
From
behind the food cart, Josey Patten pours hot, fragrant soup in a
large cup. She's become a regular at his noodle cart where the
plentiful bowls of soup are delicious—better yet—he doesn't judge
her and has always welcomed her as if she matters. He hands her a
steaming container of veggies and noodles with a promising aroma.
“Extra hot, more broth, but I added some extra chicken for you. You
eat that now, all right?”
“Yeah,
that's the ticket.” She smiles, it stretches over her face erasing
her wary expression, making her look years younger and far more
innocent.
"Look
at that! When you smile you don’t look old enough to drink, and
you're too skinny. You always look so sad, come to our Soul
Realization group, hang out, make friends with good people, stop
living like this. Anyone can realize their soul, it’ll set you
free.” He shakes his head and frowns, the action
creating
a map of concern on his pale, craggy face. “This lifestyle is not
good for you."
She
knows, but as long she isn't hurting anyone but herself, why give a
shit?
She
beams him her best, unguarded smile, the one that implies that one
day, she just might join his realization group, but for now, they
both know the answer.
"Some
other time, maybe. Not really into organized realizations, you know?"
With a shy shrug she walks away. Salvation through realization.
Well-meant as it is, the idea of joining a Soul Realization group
doesn't do it for her. She’d have to give up rocks toking, fucking
and partying, not to mention force-stop her embedded AI and realize
her ‘soul’ at least quinto daily. She glances at one of the
watches in the wait station. It’s too damn early in the new day;
she’ll finish eating, call it quits, and pick up some rocks before
heading home. She beelines for one of the outdoor tables beneath the
shade of potted trees, but before she can begin to eat, a sharp yell
of pain followed by the sound of a struggle spikes her heartbeat,
wipes out her appetite.
“Damn,
what the hell...” She quickly turns to and fro, looking for the
origin of the noise, searching for the threat. The struggle is in one
of the smaller side alleys. She should ignore it but instead takes a
few steps toward it. Then she keeps walking and hears harsh
breathing, thuds of bone on flesh, nothing, one second, two seconds,
three...
“HEL—”
A
final shout turns into a sound of pure anguish before it’s brutally
cut off.
Silence
follows.
She
can’t help it. ‘You’re born curious,’ her mother used to say,
and she’s proving that again.
It’s
an all-too-short distance to the source of the scream. In a low-lit
alley, a DNA Fail straddles the body of a woman, his hands still
around her neck. A tick hood covers most of his face; what she can
see is a face wet with tears but contorted with fury. His victim
twitches, too feeble to fight now, but her wild eyes find her.
Connection
made, she can’t help herself. “FREAK, you quit that! Pick on
someone your own size!”
He
snaps around; she sees nothing but unforgiving rage in his eyes. The
Fail makes a brutal final choice, flexes the muscles in his arms and
hands to crush the fragile windpipe then drops his victim to the
ground. Now free of one distraction, he sprints toward her with a
guttural hiss, so fast she doesn’t have the time to think or blink.
So fast her fear takes flight and instincts take over and she throws
the scalding soup directly at his face. Oh, she delights in his
screams of pain.
“Yeah,
that's right! Hurts, doesn't it? Son of a bitch!”
Her
pent-up anger and fearsome grief mixed with bitter resentments soar
free like wild birds. She attacks the blinded Fail like a mad dervish
with a flurry of kicks and blows until one kick lands lucky at the
back of his knee, something gives, and with a yelp the Fail hits the
ground.
“I
got company, you fool! I got friends!” she growls. “They are
coming for you!”
It’s
a blatant lie, but it feels nice to say it as she keeps up her
attack.
The
Fail bears under the attack, his face burns, and his eyes feel like
they are on fire but he looks around. The moving blurs at the alley’s
entrance could be her friends, and that could be trouble. Enough is
enough. He scrambles to his feet—damn her if his knee doesn’t
feel like it’s cased in cement—shoves her back on her ass then
hobbles away into the alley.
“Take
this with you!” she yells, still gasping for breath as she picks up
from the cluttered waste on the ground a broken, discarded metal nut;
it fits her hand like it was custom-made for this moment and she
hurls it at his head with admirable aim. The thick sound of metal
hitting bone brings a smile of victory and satisfaction to her lips.
It’s a perfect throw that face-plants the Fail into the ground, but
not for long. Spitting curses, he forces himself to his feet and
vanishes in the labyrinthine maze of the alleys of Boljelam,
“Yeah,
that’s right...go cry home to Mother. Bitch! Oh wait, you can't!
Your momma was a test-tube cocktail! Creep!”
Giddy
with victory, a wide toothy grin plastered on her face, she catches
her breath, her body buzzing with the adrenaline blast that makes her
blood feel electric. When had been the last time she’d felt this
good? Damn if she can remember.
“That's
right!” she snaps then turns to the still body on the ground. “Hey,
you okay? Bad trick, huh?”
There’s
no response. It doesn’t look like the woman is breathing, either.
She puts the tip of her shoe against the body’s shoulder, then with
a strong pushes rolls it over.
Reclusive
writer from the Pacific Northwest. Hates peanut butter loves Mojitos
(sin alcohol, por favor). Sometimes found around 60 feet (ca. 18 m)
underwater in the Puget Sound or at about the same depth in the blue
and clear waters of Cozumel hovering over a coral reef and hoping to
see a shark or a large majestic green turtle.
"I
love thinking of the intersection of new science and horror, the
future haunted houses could be space stations or our own
scientifically enhanced and hacked bodies,"
Interview Junior Sokolov
General Background Questions
• Where are you from?
The great northwest, specifically the
Oregon part of the Great Northwest. Portland which sadly, is no
longer weird. But still has lots of good restaurants and Powell’s
Bookstore.
• As a child, what did you want to do
when you grew up?
It changed from month to month. Vet,
austronaut, cowboy, doctor
• What do you do to unwind and relax?
Read, work out
• What is your favorite food?
I’m not picky, but I hate meatloaf.
Questions About Writing
• Tell us your latest news.
I just completed my first solo novella
in the Honeycomb series. Honeycomb: Boljelam
• What inspired you to pen your first
novel?
Wren Cavanagh, good friend, knows me
well.
• Who or what has influenced your
writing, and in what way?
William Gibson and working in the
technology environment
• What genre are you most comfortable
writing?
Sci-fi Horror
• How did you come up with the title
for your book(s)?
It was supposed to be Honeycomb: Dock
Lizards, a reference to lot lizards, the sex workers in the trucking
industry. As the story grew so did my appreciation for the characters
and the term Dock/Lot lizard started to feel disrespectful. Also
Boljelam, the huge space station where the action takes places grew
in presence as I kept writing.
• Is there a message in your novel
that you want readers to grasp?
Everyone should be treated humanely
and with respect. Unless they are the bad guy. Then you shot them
into space.
• What are your current projects?
The sci/fi-horror
scify/horror-colonization full length novel in the Honeycomb series.
Quint, the chief lawman for the town of Revaltion will have to deal
with native monster, an incoming religious faction crash landing
nearby and human turned monsters. It’ll be great!
• What is the hardest part of
writing?
Making the event timelines work, and
doing your best to entertain the reader.
• What was one of the most surprising
things you learned in writing your books?
Recognizing that some of my characters
defects, were in fact my own. It helped me address those flaws in
myself.
• Is there anything additional you
would like to share with your readers?
Be excellent to each other.
Reading Questions
• What are you reading now?
Radium Girls, Endurance and of course
I just finished Midnight in Chernobyl
• What scares you?
Serious illness, poverty the loss of
loved ones. The current condition of the planet. Letting people down.
• Beyond your own work (of course),
what is your all-time favorite horror book and why? And what is your
favorite book outside of the horror genre?
Ghost Story by Peter Straub is one of
my favorites. The Stand of course. House of Leaves is not quite
horror but I enjoyed thoroughly. There are just so many.
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the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
Thanks for the chance.
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