Welcome Space Critters. Today, I'm interviewing Angel Martinez's book Gravitational Attraction.
Space Rep: Is this a book on Quantum Physics?
Liza: I hope not, because I don't think we understand the force we call gravity at all.
Space Rep: It's pretty simple. You let go of your sandwich, it will drop to the floor and I'll swallow it up before you can say oops.
Liza: That's a highly limited explanation of gravity. Rather like trying to describe an elephant by feeling one piece. You'll end up insisting it's nothing but a toothless snake.
Space Rep: So is the book about the other parts of gravity?
Liza: I hope not. But let's bring the book in and find out.
Gravitational Attraction, Come on out of my miniature transporter.
Space Rep: That's a transporter? Well, that explains why my soup disappeared when I tried to heat it up.
Liza: Don't touch my equipment! Hopefully, your soup hasn't harmed Angel's book...
Liza: Hello, Gravitational Attraction. Welcome to my ship. May I call you Grav?
Book: Man, I'm losing my mind! First, a bowl of soup comes flying out of my transport and now, this pale monkey is talking to me.
Liza: I apologize for the soup. That had to be frightening. I know books fear water.
Book: Not too keen on fire either.
Liza *laughs* I hadn't thought of it, but none of the elements are very book friendly.
Book: Forget the elements, you're freakin me out.
Book: Because I'm talking to a pale primate!
Liza: May I call you Grav?
Book: I suppose.
Liza: Great. You can call me anything but 'pale primate'. That's kind of insulting.
Grav: Oh, my apologies to all primates.
Space Rep: I call her Nutty Liza.
Liza: OUT! *watches Space Rep scamper out* You probably shouldn't call me that either. So Grav, tell me about your story.
Grav: I don't want to brag, so let me share what others say about me.
“Angel Martinez has created a magnificent saga blending intense conflict, humor, poetic sensuality along with compassion. Gravitational Attraction is absolutely a must read for all M/M science fiction fans.” Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs (A Golden Blush Award Winner)
Liza: I didn't realize there was a subsection of sci fi fans who like eating chocolate.
Grav: What are you talking about--Oh, I'm not talking about M&Ms. I meant a Male/Male Romance.
Liza: Thank God! I feared you were a milk chocolate fan. I only eat dark chocolate.
Grav:*Shakes covers* Let me share another excellent comment about the book.
Liza: Well people seem to really like you.
Grav: Yes. Not one person has dog-eared a page corner.
Liza: Good thing. I'll toss anyone dogearing out into space. Now, onto the interview! Pretend I'm a famous publisher and we're headed down to the sauna--
Grav: The sauna? *pages tremble*
Liza: Sorry, the library.
Liza: And tell me about yourself.
Grav: A distress call draws the Hermes to a drifting ship.
Liza: What happened to it?
Grav: Don't know, but it's empty except for the gore-spattered corridors and one survivor.
Liza: Is the survivor male or female? Do they live? Talk to me Grav. I'm worried!
Grav: One man survives. Drawn to the traumatized man, Isaac offers the kindness he needs. But Turk harbors secrets.
Liza: What kind of secrets?
Grav: His brain is a dangerous military experiment.
Liza: What does that mean?
Grav: It means it will take more than kindness to save them all.
Liza: While annoyingly cryptic, it does sound interesting. Can I have a peek beneath your covers?
Grav: * pages ruffled* Since you asked so nicely.
A terrible jolt yanked him from the dark. Shchfteru. Agonized screams. Rage coursing through every nerve. The white… blinding white… imploding suns… the terrible silence…
He had no wish to open his eyes again. There had been a face, a beautiful face, but he must have dreamt it in his madness. The silence remained. If he opened his eyes, he would see the cell again, the blood drenched walls, the gray horror of his floating tomb. No. Better to keep his eyes closed and see again those dark eyes set against flawless golden skin.
Wait. Sound. The soft sound of even breaths drawn. Not alone. Sweet spirits, I'm not alone.
His eyes flew open to find a miracle staring at him from across the room, the same lovely face from his vision. It must have been true. His body felt warmer and no longer as if he might go mad from thirst. Rescue… perhaps. But he needed to be cautious.
"Hey." The beautiful, golden-skinned man spoke, his smile reaching his raindrop-shaped eyes. "You recognize me?"
He could only stare, hesitant to believe the evidence of his senses. They had lied to him before in recent days.
"You have a name?" The voice rivaled the face in beauty, soft and warm, caressing his exhausted mind. "All right, we'll start with mine. I'm Isaac Ozawa. And I guess I could just call you the Marduk Rescuee, or maybe Ishmael—"
"Ishmael?" The word caught in his dry throat, barely a rasp.
"Yeah, you know, the sole survivor? And I alone survived to tell the tale? Oh, never mind. But it would be nicer to have a name."
He swallowed against the rawness, trying for more of a voice. "Turk."
"That's your name? Turk?"
He nodded and watched in fascination as Isaac shook his head, dark hair fanning his cheeks.
"Of course it is. No soft sibilants or lingual sounds for you. Oh, no. Nothing but hard, strong sounds. You probably have a last name that would hurt to say."
Turk drew a slow breath, trying to keep up with events. His head ached. "Always… talk so much?"
"Only when I'm nervous or pissed off."
"Which is it now? Oh, nervous, definitely." Isaac shifted, head cocked to one side. "Not that strange men usually make me this nervous."
"But… I do." He forced his attention away from the captivating face. Isaac was in uniform, burgundy with gold piping. He couldn't match the colors with any unit he knew. Whose hands had he fallen into? "Water?"
"Oh, shit." The beautiful smile fell. "Of course you want water. Damn. Hang on."
Turk eased his head back to the bed, waiting. Something pinned his hands and feet. In his weakened condition, he had little hope of breaking a magnetic or even a physical barrier. Isaac came back into view, water bottle in hand. A sharp, electric jolt ran down Turk's spine when an elegant, golden hand slipped behind his head to help him drink. He had no business thinking about those hands.
"Thank you." Why did he have to be so kind? It would make what he had to do so much harder. He closed his eyes on a sigh, gauging the remaining strength in his wasted body. "Back hurts. Need to…"
"Stupid restraints," Isaac muttered. "They should've at least left you one hand free so you could shift a little."
He chewed on a sensuously full lower lip, considering, as Turk watched in helpless fascination. Isaac's jaw clenched as he seemed to come to a decision. He reached over and pressed the pad to unlock Turk's left wrist.
The moment he regained movement, Turk lunged. He seized Isaac by the throat, applying enough pressure to constrict his airway.
"What unit? What battle group? Whom do you serve?"
Isaac's fingers scrabbled at his hand, his eyes wide and desperate. "Don't… please…"
"Who are you?"
"Not… military," Isaac choked out, his coloring edging up from pink to crimson.
"Liar," Turk growled. "Implant. Fighter pilot. Behind your ear."
"Ex-Altairian… fleet…" Isaac gasped, struggling to pull away. He was strong but not large enough to break Turk's grip. "Bad… implant. Discharged… this is… commercial ship… courier…"
His eyes rolled back and his body went limp as if someone had stolen his bones. Turk let him slide to the floor, his heart racing. With his free hand, he unlocked the rest of his restraints and rolled to peer over the edge of his bed. Isaac lay crumpled on the decking, the shadows of his thick, black lashes caressing his cheeks.
No insignia, no rank designation, a courier ship… what have I done?
Liza: What have you done, indeed. You know, you may have a more challenging bad boy than my book does. At least mine doesn't attack people.
Grav: Yes, he is a challenge. But challenges are what make life interesting. Of course, Isaac’s a bit of a challenge, too. Then there are conspiracies and aliens...well, things get complicated…
Liza: Oh my, look at the time. I promised Angel to have you home a half hour ago.
Grav: Don't worry about it. She was cleaning soup off the wall when I left.
Liza: Great. So give me the low down on Angel.
Liza: That's got to be hard.
Grav: Actually, she's managed to make her way through life reasonably unscathed. Despite a wildly misspent youth, she snagged a degree in English Lit, married once and did it right the first time, (same husband for almost twenty-four years) gave birth to one amazing son, (now in college) and realized at some point that she could get paid for writing.
Liza: Wow, lucky woman. My first husband sounds more like your survivor. He tried to kill me three times.
Grav: That's terrible. How'd your second husband work out?
Liza: Are you kidding me? Once was enough, thank you please. So back to Angel. Where does she live?
Grav: She currently lives in
Liza: Don't you mean a college town with a drinking problem?
Grav: If I'd have meant that, I would have said it.
Liza: My bad. Carry on then.
Grav: Angel writes Science Fiction and Fantasy centered around gay heroes. Her work currently lives at Amber Quill Press, Mischief Corner Books, and Silver Publishing.
Liza: Hold on. The teleporter just binged.
Liza: Oh, it's just Space Rep's empty bowl. Hold on, there's a note inside. Oh dear, Angel wants you back in one piece or she's firing photons at me.
It's been a pleasure having you Grav. Thanks for teleporting over but you need to return now.
Grav: Yes, I better. I surely don't want to be here when she fires her photons...but wait, I haven't shared my links.
Liza: I'll do it. Just go!
Here's the buy links for this fabulous book
By Angel Martinez
M/M Science Fiction
Don't forget to comment. I get cranky without comments.