I have an evil twin.
Okay. My evil twin is me.
The fact of the matter is, I love to write so much, and my imagination is always working...sometimes my story ideas are not (GASP) romance.
Case in point, my most recent release.
It's not even a Sabrina York book! It's certainly not romance, though there are romantic elements.
I wrote it a couple years ago as a palate cleanser after writing the first three books in the Untamed Highlander Series in four months. I needed a break.
So I sat down and binge watched Sons of Anarchy for a couple hours in the morning, wrote for five and then ended the day with more SOA.
I finished my opus in one month and even though I loved the story and the characters, I knew it would probably never sell. But that was OK. It was fun.
And then my agent got an offer on it. I was stunned.
The way publishers work, the book was earmarked to release in April of 2018, which seemed like a century away.
Well, the Viridian Convict (Book One of the Blue Dominion series) came out to rave reviews and I am thrilled.
Naturally, I have to tell you about it. If you like super snarky sci-fi (with a side of romance), please check it out.
Here's the info:
BLUE DOMINION--An epic
trilogy of rebellion, passion and the struggle to survive in
a universe crushed beneath the draconian thumb of the Fed
The Viridian Convict
The Indigo Operative
The Cerulean Insurgent
The Viridian Convict by Sam
York
Damned if you do, dead if
you don't.
Welcome to Viridian, a prison moon full of
aliens…who want to eat you.
READ AN EXCERPT!
Chapter One
Kaww Settlement,
Viridian Moon, Federation Penal Colony
3.1.5.15, 27:55
The call came in just as I was
about to clock out, but then, munis in my position never really clock out. Not
on the moon of Viridian. Not when they work for Granny.
“This one’s for you, Tig,” Marmot
said with a smirk as he handed me the slip.
Annoyance fizzled and spat.
God, I hated that rat-faced weasely
piece of Scard excrement.
Too bad he was my boss.
Well, technically my shift
supervisor. Granny was the real boss and everyone knew it.
No one was more powerful on
Viridian. Except the Fed.
But then, Fed agents, those blue
bastards, rarely came on planet.
For one thing, this place was a
shithole that made Lord of the Flies
look like Disneyland. For another, there really wasn’t much to police here.
Nothing they cared about anyway. Their job was to sit up there in their
luxurious space station and make sure none of the cons escaped the planetary
shield.
Occasionally one of them would drop
down—usually to indulge their darker appetites—but they never stayed long. Just
long enough to fuck shit up.
My gut clenched as the memory of my
last tangle with a particular Fed scorched my brain. I tried to push all
thoughts of Mia from my mind, but it was hard to forget what that blue bitch
had done.
“Well?” Marmot’s pointy nose
quivered.
“What is it?” I snapped.
He grinned. His razor-sharp teeth
glinted in the light. “DB. Out in Harleytown.”
“Awesome.” I scrubbed at my face.
My day beard scratched at my palm. I was tired. I wanted to go home and take a
load off. Maybe get shitfaced. I glanced at the other munis lounging in the
lobby: a couple Trogs, a Raven, and some random Frogs. They all avoided eye
contact. With a sigh, I dropped the annoying assignment. The paper fluttered
onto the desk. “I’m off in two.”
Marmot pushed the slip right back
at me. “Special request. Asked for you.”
Yeah. I loved being popular. “Who?”
“Jimmy Bluenote.”
Well,
hell.
That Dink had saved my ass last
week in a sting that went sour—way sour. I’d be rolling around in an Ozzie stew
about now if it hadn’t been for him. I owed him. And here, on Viridian, a
prison moon filled to the gills with all manner of vengeful species, you always
paid your debts.
“Fine.” I snatched the slip from
Marmot’s bony fingers and wheeled away.
“And Tig?”
I glanced back at him. His nose
wiggled. His whiskers quivered. His beady little eyes glinted. “Take the
Skeeg.”
“Seriously?” I’d spent most of my
day trying to shake that tail.
Marmot waggled his furry eyebrows.
“Take the Skeeg.”
Each flatfoot working for Granny
was assigned a Skeeg for “protection,” which was a fucking joke. Those frogs
could barely protect their own eggs. I suspected Granny was just doing them a
favor, offering them a place in his kingdom in exchange for licking rights.
Some creatures on this rock would kill or die for Skeeg pglet. In addition to
having rumored regenerative properties, it was, apparently, a most excellent
high.
I’d never been tempted. The thought
of licking one of those repugnant creatures made me want to vomit. Besides, I
had my own dark cravings to deal with. Last thing I needed was another
addiction.
At any rate, on Granny’s behest, I
spent my shifts being trailed by a tall, skinny, green douchebag with one eye
on a stalk. It creeped me out, the way he looked around, that stalk all bendy
like it was. The way he smelled wasn’t orgasmic either. But Granny was God. We
did what he said. No matter what.
We knew we were damn lucky to have
the job. Some vestige of power in a world where power equaled survival.
Viridian wasn’t a penal colony so
much as a Federation garbage dump. A first-uni Australia of the 19th century …
only with aliens. Who wanted to eat you. Loads of fun.
Got a problem you wanna make
disappear? Send it to Viridian with the scumbags and lowlifes of the uni, let
nature take its course.
I’d been somebody’s problem.
I suspect we all had been. At some
point.
For many, a conviction and transport
to Viridian was a death sentence. Pity it wasn’t for most. Fact was, the ones
who thrived here were the most brutal, pitiless, soulless creatures in the
known universe. Savages who would do anything to survive.
No one expected me to make it a
week.
Soft Earthie? Pretty boy? I didn’t
have venom, no spines, no secret weapons. To make matters worse, of all the
creatures in this universe, humans and Feds looked far too much alike. Except
for my non-blue skin color, I could have been one. That alone made humans
exceedingly unpopular.
Yeah. I shoulda died. Expected to.
No one could have predicted I’d
land on my feet, first day out the gate. I sure as shit didn’t. But fortune
fell in my lap in the holding cell in intake, up on the Fed station orbiting
this moon. My dumbshit noble sensibilities clicked on when I saw two Ozzies
making a move on a kid. A young, stupid Ferrod, with velvet still on his
antlers. He was utterly out of his league here in this hell hole, but
connected. The Ozzies wanted to chow down—they’ll eat anything and they have
these long, razor-sharp teeth to make the job easier. You could call them
fangs. Or straws.
Any rate, I snapped a couple off,
saved the sniveling kid and got him through the gate. To daddy. I had no idea
“daddy” was Big Jogn. That furry, fat fence set me up with his capo and that
led me to Granny. I’d been working under his banner ever since. Ten years. Or
what passes for a year on this rock.
My official title was Enforcer, but
we all knew we were errand boys. Bag men, cleaners, muscle. Whatever Granny
demanded, we did it.
Even consort with Skeegs.
I glanced over to my office where
my partner sat slumped in a chair at his desk, wiping the slime from his green
skin. Great. He was oozing again. I knew what that meant.
Of course, I was assuming One Eye
was a “he.” Skeegs didn’t have a gender, not until it was mating season, then
they’d do whatever Skeegs needed to do.
God. Skeeg mating season. What a
mess.
“Hey, Frog,” I called. One Eye’s earhole
twitched. He looked up. His long, stalky eye settled on me and he blinked,
slow, steady, like he did. I waved the slip. “We got a call.”
I crossed my arms and watched as he
unfolded his long, leggy body from the chair and made his way through the
stationhouse toward me, his flat, webbed feet slapping wetly on the hardwood
floor. He left a trail behind him. The other munis curled their noses—and other
various appendages—when he passed. When Skeegs started going into musth, they
stank to high heaven. And dripped.
He moved like molasses in winter,
but I was in no hurry. I owed it to Jimmy to respond to whatever emergency he
had, but seriously, there was no call to go overboard. At least tonight I’d be
able to clear an annoying debt.
And Jimmy was annoying.
We headed down to the garage and
hopped into my skimmer, but I took the precaution of pulling some towels out of
the trunk and draping them over the passenger seat first. I didn’t have a fancy
ride, but it was mine, and the last thing I wanted was to get Skeeg cum all
over the leather.
I was assuming it was cum.
One Eye and I weren’t close enough
to ask.
I never wanted to be that close.
Point being, it was a wise
precaution. You could never get that stank out.
Once we were both settled, I
flicked on my hovers and headed out onto the street. It was a dark night, but
hardly quiet. There were few quiet nights in this town. In fact, nighttime was
when it came alive, started to hum, sometimes scream. When I’d first arrived here
I’d hated it, the constant thrum of excitement, expectation, and malicious
intent. But you get used to everything. Eventually. And sometimes you even
start liking it.
We hit a snag in the Prospect
District. Some riot in progress. I switched on my lights and a path cleared
through the melee. It wasn’t like back on Earth, where people had respect for
the law and pulled over when they saw a unit coming. Here they cleared a path
because they knew if they didn’t I would blast my way through them.
I didn’t miss the snarls they
flashed me as I flew by, but I didn’t care.
They all knew who I worked for, and
no one pissed on Granny’s parade.
We turned onto the flyway and I
jetted into gear. One Eye gasped and grabbed the handgrip as I accelerated,
which sent a curl of annoyance through me. Skeegs never liked going fast and
One Eye had never been a fan of my driving.
“Chill, Frog,” I muttered, as I
shifted gears and roared into seventh gear. The skimmer shot forward with a
howl.
One Eye didn’t respond, other than
to level that big, glassy orb on me. I hated when he stared.
I angled my skimmer up to the top
lane where we could really fly. Aside from the speed, I liked the view. Nothing
overhead but the great expanse of the city dome—the dome that kept out the
brutal storms of the Barrens and served as climate control for the settlement.
Tonight, the sky was clear and myriad stars speckled the firmament.
I turned on the radio and let the
Earth tunes wash over me as we wailed along the flyway. It helped me ignore my
partner’s unnerving, silent stare. When he didn’t quit staring, I turned the
volume up. And sang along.
I smirked when he grimaced.
Yeah, I’m pretty tone deaf.
“Call?” One Eye asked over the
cacophony. A croak.
“DB.”
One Eye let out something that
might have been a burbly sigh. Yup. I hated dead bodies too. Freaking pain in
the ass. Way too much paperwork. Not that anyone cared, but Granny liked to
keep tabs. On everything.
Viridian was his kingdom.
We came to the Harleytown exit and
I veered onto the ramp, a glittering, silver beam of light ribboning off into
the darkness. The howl of the flyway receded as we whipped down into the bowels
of the city.
As we slid onto the street in one
of the dirtiest districts of town, One Eye turned off the radio. I shot him a
glare as I hovered to the address on the call and switched off, tugging on my
gloves in an almost-automatic motion. One Eye did the same. His took a little
more work, on account of the slime and everything. But no way was I helping
him. No way was I touching that.
It might have been my imagination,
but he seemed to be seeping more than usual.
“You ready?” I asked.
He did a quick weapons check and
then nodded to me. Together, we eased from the skimmer.
The buildings towered over us,
shutting out the light of the night moons. The streets were quiet. Eerily
quiet. It was odd for Harleytown, which was usually crawling with johns and
hookers seeking out depraved companionship, drug dealers, predators and not-so-petty
thieves. But tonight it was as though something, some dark whisper in the
night, had spooked them all back into their hidey-holes.
A shiver danced down my spine and I
gave my gloves a tug.
This was a perfect place for a
crime.
But, hell, what was I saying? Any
place on this rock was the perfect place for a crime.
A rat skittered through the garbage
piled on the street and someone peered out at us through the curtains of a
window on the first floor of a seedy brownstone. When they noticed my attention,
the curtain fluttered closed. Light flicked off.
Yeah. No one in this part of town
wanted to tangle with one of Granny’s munis. They’d lose.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Jimmy’s
nasally voice echoed through the shadows, bouncing off the stones. “You’re
here. Thank God.”
God had nothing to do with it.
I narrowed my eyes against the
gloom and spotted him, hunkering in a debris-strewn alley. Jimmy was a jumpy
gecko, but the way he was shuddering, the way his gaze kept skipping over the
empty street, the way his left eye twitched, made me think this was something
more than his usual paranoia. “What is it, Jimmy?” I called.
“Here. Come ’ere.” He waved me
over, a frantic flutter of fingers. “Pflerg, Tig. Hurry.”
I shot a glance at One Eye and
sighed. My partner held up his scanner and pointed it at the slender slit
between the buildings. A beam of iridescent light walked its way over the
crumbling bricks and scattered refuse with a low hum. The scanner beeped, a
harsh intonation. One Eye nodded. Clear.
Nice to know the Dink wasn’t
leading me into an ambush.
I headed toward him and One Eye
took up position at the mouth of the alley, facing out, watching the street.
Granted, we were Granny’s munis, but experience had taught us never to let down
our guard. There was always someone watching. Always some shit in play.
I strolled down the long alley to
Jimmy, adjusting my gloves. Not to make a point or anything. His gaze fixated
on them, his slit pupils dilated, and his throat worked. Sweat beaded his scaly
forehead … and Dinks sweated in pus. Great, gooey globs of it. And they were
green. Great gooey green globs. Rolling down the side of his face. Jesus, it
was gross. Almost as bad as the Skeeg.
“What is it, Jimmy?” Goddamn it. I knew this
was going to be a pain in the ass, whatever it was. Just knew.
He stubbed out his draw and
scuttled over. “I swear to God, Tig. I didn’t know.” His eyes bugged out. His
way of emphasizing his innocence—or his ignorance. Hard to tell. He had little
of one and a lot of the other.
“You didn’t know what, Jimmy?”
“Oh pflerg, Tig. Over here.
Pflerg.”
Damn. I’d seen the little lizard in
a wad more than once, was used to his mouth, but this …. This was weird.
I shook my head and followed him
back into the corner of the alley barely lit by a faint streetlamp. It was a
dead end, a box in. Stone walls on all sides. No escape but the mouth of the
cave. Ideal for a surprise attack. The body lay at the far end, a jumbled pile
of clothes draped over a stack of wooden pallets.
“We was just, you know, tanging a
little. Just playing around. It got a little rough and … I swear. I swear, Tig.
I didn’t know.”
I leaned closer and shone my light
on the scene with a tsk. “Jimmy, Jimmy. What did you—?”
Oh.
Fuck.
About the Author
Blessed (or cursed) with dyslexia and ADD, author Sam
York has always loved creating worlds, tantalizing readers, and having complete
and utter control over the universe. What could be better than writing
snarky stories in a variety of genres?
Under various pen names, Sam has won multiple writing
awards and hit the New York Times and USA Today bestseller list several times.
Sam lives in seclusion east of Seattle with a really
drooly Rottweiler.
