Honeycomb: Boljelam: Honeycomb

By Junior Sokolov

After a life lived for parties, sex  drugs spiraled into grief, she went to selling herself  and fighting for survival. Now one Boljelam's angry rebels, leads a cheapened life on one of the most unjust space station in the universe. But 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 murder dogging her steps. He wants out as bad as she does!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notch's Publishing House
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393196884

Book preview

That Sorrowful Moment

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!

A Model Dock

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