True Son of Tartarus should be published within the next few weeks. But for those of you who just can't wait, here's a brief preview from a chapter titled "Damned to Hell":
He was back at the ISS Academy again---on Terra---seated cross-legged upon the hard, narrow bunk in his quarters. The computer readout-arm extended before him, he was engrossed in his astronautical-engineering text when a loud, bold knock at the door disturbed his concentration. The door was pushed open.
A dark-haired young Terran male poked his head into the room. "Howie Watenabe here?"
Without speaking, Malkis shook his head in the negative---a perfunctory gesture.
The Terran stepped inside, uninvited---as far as Malkis was concerned, a supreme act of rudeness.
"You his roomie?" the young man demanded.
Malkis bristled and stared blankly at the intruder without deigning to reply. A foolish question, he thought, typically Terran!
"Mind if I come in?" the Terran asked belatedly.
Now Malkis scowled at him in outright annoyance. "It would appear to me that you are already 'in'," he said brusquely, hoping that this obnoxious Terran would take a polite hint and leave him to study in peace.
Instead, the young man gawked around the cramped quarters with brazenly-undisguised Terran inquisitiveness. "No bigger than mine," he noted aloud. "The room, I mean. Hell, wouldn't you think the star-blasted brass could spare us cadets a little more space? Feels like we're confined to a flaring cage, doesn't it?"
Malkis studiously ignored this brash intruder with the abominable lack of manners, but the smiling Terran drew offensively close, cornering Malkis. "I'm Hughes," he offered, sticking out his hand. "Richard---but my friends call me Hugh. And you must be Malkis of Tartarus."
Malkis recoiled, staring at the proffered hand, as if this "Hughes" were a known-carrier of the Lamidian plague. He made no move to take the Terran's hand. "Since I am the only Tartarian cadet enrolled here, I would think the answer rather obvious."
Hughes shrugged off the rude refusal of his hand. "One hell of a long way from home, aren't you, friend?"
The Tartarian deliberately pinched his straight, black brows together in an indication of annoyance that even the most obtuse being on Terra ought to be able to perceive. "My affairs are none of your concern---and I am most definitely not your 'friend'."
The dark-haired intruder was finally put off by the brusque reply. His dark-blue eyes began to smoldeer. "Maybe not---but I am a friend of Hiro Orion Watenabe," he said quietly, trying unsuccessfully to read this silver-haired son-of-a-bitch.
"Indeed?"
"Well, you're his roomie, dammit!"
Malkis continued to regard this Hughes with a cold, disdainful stare. "Not by choice, I assure you," he retorted acidly.
"Are all Tartarians as damn friendly as you are, Cadet?" Hughes demanded, crossing his arms on his chest, chin jutting forward in anger.
"The term you insist upon employing is Terran in origin," Malkis responded in an ice-edged tone. "'Friendly' has no equivalent in the Tartarian language."
"That I can believe!" Hughes declared wryly, starting back to the door. "Hell, I've heard talk about you. Thought everyone was having me on---until now!"
Malkis glared anew at this impertinent Terran. "Is it too far beyond the limitations of your Terran abilities to close the door---behind you?"
Hughes flashed the impossible Tartarian a corresponding glare and stalked out of the room; he slammed the door behind him in a typically-Terran display of anger and frustration. Malkis clearly heard the stream of colorful Terran invective released on the other side of the door, as Hughes called his Tartarian ancestry into question and damned him to Hell for all Eternity!
That's it---hope you enjoyed!
MRTighe
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