Forgotten (68 page)

The soft, male voice
interrupted her thoughts and Frankie turned quickly, her heart
pounding.

“
Oh, Professor Ramlow.” She smoothed her fly-away hair
nervously, wishing she’d gotten up in time to wash it. “Good
morning.”

“
Now, Francesca, how often do I have to tell you to call me
Todd?” He smiled at her benevolently.

“
Of course…Todd.” Frankie smiled at him shyly. Professor Ramlow
was one of the few males teaching in the Women’s Studies department
and he also happened to be very handsome—in a generic, white guy
kind of way. But that was fine with Frankie—she’d had enough Latin
machismo bullshit to last her a lifetime with Carlos. She was so
sick of male posturing—she could definitely see herself with a
sensitive, enlightened, emotionally intelligent man. Even if he was
white and Protestant, which would undoubtedly give her
abuela
another fainting
fit.

Frankie sighed inwardly. Too bad, Professor Ramlow was married
because there was
definitely
some kind of attraction between them. She had taken his
course,
Literature
by Women of Color,
and had stayed after one day to argue about one of the poems
they were studying. Ever since, he made it a point to talk to her
and pay her special attention whenever he saw her.

Even though she knew he was married, Frankie couldn’t help
feeling flattered by the way he singled her out. She was older than
the traditional student, after all, and she wasn’t Barbie-doll
pretty like most of the twenty-year-old co-eds running around
campus.
Her
fly-away hair and big behind were the exact opposite of the slim
girls with their long, straight hair she saw all around her. Yet
Professor Ramlow—Todd—seemed interested in her—seemed to respect
her intellect. And after years of living with a man who only cared
about her cooking and cleaning skills, it was refreshing to find
someone who liked the fact that she had a brain.

“
I’m so glad I caught you,” Todd said, smiling at her. “I know
you’ve been looking for a TA position and something has just opened
up.”

“
It has?” Frankie couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice.
“With you?” Though teaching Yoga classes would help her leave
retail hell, it still wouldn’t make her enough to move into a
nicer, safer place. But being a TA
and
teaching some classes on the side would certainly pay enough
to get her out of the starving-student gutter.

Todd nodded. “Yes,
with me. So I was wondering if we could have dinner tomorrow night
and discuss it?”

Frankie felt her heart flutter.
Stop it,
she told herself sternly.
It’s only a job he’s talking about and
besides, he’s married!
Still, it was flattering that he would come looking for her
because he wanted her especially as his new TA.

“
I’d love that…Todd,” she said, smiling shyly. “Where and what
time?”

“
Well, I was hoping maybe we could go to your place.” He
shifted uneasily, his genial smile slipping just a little. “You
see, Jackie—my wife—and I are, er, going through a rather messy
divorce. And I don’t need to give her any more ammunition by
letting myself be seen with such a beautiful woman out in
public.”

“
Oh, well…” Frankie could feel herself blushing. “My place
isn’t in the best part of town, you know. I really can’t
afford—”

“
I
don’t care about the location,” Todd assured her quickly. “All I’m
interested in is the
company.”
He
took Frankie’s hand and squeezed it gently, looking into her eyes.
“What do you say? I can bring take-out from Lemon Grass—they were
just voted the best Thai restaurant in the Bay area.”

Frankie’s pulse was
racing so hard she wondered if he could feel it as he held her
hand.

“
I
think that would be great,” she said softly. “Um…should I give you
my address?”

“
I’d love that.” Todd brought out his cell phone and tapped it
in as she recited it. Then he tucked it back in his pocket and
flashed her a grin. “See you tomorrow at eight,
Francesca.”

“
See you then.” Frankie smiled and headed off to class. She was
going to be walking in late at this point but she barely cared. A
new TA position
and
an
evening alone with the handsome Professor Ramlow—could this day get
any better?

* *
* * *

Commander Kerov Volx
sighed with satisfaction and armed sweat off his forehead. Could
his day get any better? The fighting had been particularly rough of
late, but his battalion had repelled the enemy yet again and the
Ministry wasn’t predicting another swarm for a week at least. Which
was good. It meant he could have some time off—a few days when he
didn’t have to sleep in the barracks and live on war rations.

Kerov looked around
the large, cavernous holding facility with satisfaction. Everywhere
males and females in black and scarlet uniforms were busy—breaking
down equipment, servicing transports, cleaning and checking
weapons. His people knew they had a whole solar week off but before
they could leave, every piece of equipment had to be in top shape,
ready for the next swarm. There was an air of suppressed excitement
and a hum of contentment all around. Though the battle had been
even more arduous than usual, they hadn’t lost a single soldier. It
had been a good day.

“
Kerov.” A hand clapped him on the back and he turned to see
Jorn, the commander of another unit similar to his own.

Jorn was tall and
slim with narrow shoulders, a shock of white-blond hair and
blackish-purple eyes. His build as well as his long, angular face
betokened the fact that he was pure bred Tarkien with no Kindred
DNA in his gene pool. Kerov was the opposite—his broad shoulders
and heavy musculature gave away his Kindred origins as unmistakably
as his pale gray eyes.

Yet, despite their
differences and the fact that those with Kindred DNA weren’t always
smiled upon in Tarkinian society, the two males were good
friends.

“
Greetings,” Kerov said heartily, clapping the other male on
the back in return. “How goes the battle?” It was a standard
greeting but his friend laughed anyway.

“
You tell me! I heard you repelled a swarm twice as large as
usual and yet didn’t lose a single man. That’s good work, my
friend.”

Kerov shrugged
modestly. “It’s all in knowing the strengths and weaknesses of
those under your command. I have a good group.”

“
And they have a good Commander—which hasn’t gone without
notice. Brigadier Tlox has requested your presence at the General’s
Banquet at the Ministry of War tomorrow night.”

“
Really?” Kerov’s heart pounded a little faster though he
tried to keep his face impassive. “I wonder what he wants with
me?”

“
He wants to promote you, of course,” Jorn said. “That’s my
guess, anyway. What else would he want from the most successful
Commander in the Quadrex sector?”

“
I
doubt that.” Kerov ran a hand through his short, dark blond
hair—much darker than his friend’s white-blond shade and another
giveaway as to his ancestry. “You know those in the upper echelon
are all pure bred Tarkiens. When was the last time anyone with
Kindred genes rose above the rank of Commander?”

“
That’s just holdover from the early days when the Kindred
first joined our society,” Jorn objected. “Back before the need to
Switch or Trade had been bred out. Everyone knows such prejudices
are outdated now.”

“
Some bigotry never dies,” Kerov said darkly. “Sometimes I
think I’ll never live down my ancestors’ shameful proclivity for
Trading bodies with their mates.”

“
You will—you
have,”
his
friend insisted. “All the old thoughts are dying as younger
commanders rise to take the places of our sires and grandsires. Do
you know that Brigadier Tlox is only five cycles older than you and
me?”

“
And
a pure
Tarkien with no Kindred blood to sully his pedigree,” Kerov pointed
out. But secretly, he couldn’t help feeling excited. Could Jorn be
right? Was he really being singled out for promotion?

“
The Brigadier doesn’t care about things like ancestry and
pedigree,” Jorn said, waving off his objections. “He only cares
about results—and you’ve been delivering them steadily since you
rose to the rank of Battalion Commander. You’ll be commanding a
whole Brigade soon. And then a Regiment and before you know it,
you’ll be the first Kindred bred General the Ministry of War has
ever seen.”

“
You have high hopes for me, I see,” Kerov said dryly. “And
what about yourself?”

“
Oh, I’ll come along with you—I’ll be your Chief of Staff.”
Jorn grinned. “I’m going to be at the banquet tomorrow night too,
you know. And rumor has it that there are
two
openings in the Battalion Commanders’ ranks. Next
week you and I will be eating together in the Officer’s Mess
hall.”

“
From your lips to the Goddess’s ears,” Kerov said, smiling at
his friend’s enthusiasm.

“
The Kindred Goddess, you mean?” Jorn frowned. “Look, I know
you’re just kidding but, uh, don’t let the Brigadier or the General
hear you talking like that at the banquet. You know, the Kindred
religion isn’t actually
forbidden…”

“
But it is
frowned
on.
Don’t worry.” Kerov clapped him on the back. “I’m not a true
believer or anything—it’s just a saying of my sire’s.”

“
Well, just don’t say it at the banquet,” Jorn cautioned. “No
one there is going to care if you’re Kindred as long as you don’t
rub it in their face. And you know those that hold a religious
view—especially that old Kindred religion—aren’t considered too
bright.”

“
My sire is bright enough,” Kerov said a bit stiffly. “He just
holds with the old ways—the Kindred ways.” Which was why he had
gone against his mandatory mating assignment and married a female
he loved instead of the one assigned to him. Such a thing would
never be permitted now—a fact which didn’t really bother Kerov much
since he was much more interested in promotion at his chosen career
than finding “true love”—that elusive emotion those with Kindred
DNA seemed to think so essential.

“
Of course your sire was bright—he had you, didn’t he?” Jorn
grinned. “Kindred DNA be damned, you were the top of all our
classes. I never would have gotten through quantum astronavigation
without you.”

Kerov grinned. “Only
because I drilled the formulae for each test into your thick skull
over and over.”

“
I
thought I’d never get through that class—but look at us now—barely
twenty-nine cycles old and about to rise to the exalted rank of
Battalion Commander.”

“
Thirty-one,” Kerov corrected him but his friend waved his
words away.

“
Who’s counting? We’ll still be some of the youngest to ever
achieve such a rank! Come on—I’m taking you to the
y’xx
hall to buy you a drink.”

Regretfully, Kerov
shook his head. “I wish I could but I have my mandatory sexual
encounter tonight.”

“
Even better—you lucky bastard!” Jorn pounded him on the chest
with a closed fist. “To get news of a promotion and have your
weekly fuck-session all in one day—I must admit, I’m
envious.”

“
Don’t be,” Kerov said dryly. “I’m not exactly looking forward
to it.”

“
What? Not looking forward to sheathing your saber? Why in the
Seven Hells not?” his friend demanded amiably.

Kerov shifted
uncomfortably, feeling he had said too much already. Still, Jorn
was looking at him for an explanation and he didn’t like to brush
his friend off with a curt reply.

“
The relations between myself and my state-mandated partner
are not always…amicable,” he said at last.

In fact, that was a
gross understatement. He found Xirnah, the female he had been
matched with, to be cold and off-putting and she, in her turn, had
made it abundantly clear that she resented being assigned to a male
who had Kindred DNA. If she conceived a child by him, it would
almost certainly have physical characteristics that were noticeably
Kindred—a fate which would shame her—at least in her view.

Kerov knew she
detested his broad shoulders and heavy, well developed muscles, so
different from the slender build of a pure bred Tarkien but he
couldn’t help being who he was. And to tell the truth, he didn’t
find Xirnah especially attractive either.

It wasn’t that she
was ugly—she was tall with a perfect, angular figure and a mass of
straight, white-blonde hair which was always perfectly coifed. Her
wide, blackish-purple eyes were fringed with white-blonde lashes
and her breasts were high and shapely. Her hips were almost as
narrow as her waist—another Tarkien trait that was considered
especially beautiful.

But there was nothing to hold
on
to while they had sex—she was all angles and straight lines.
Kerov couldn’t think of it as making love because it certainly
wasn’t. State-mandated sexual relations with Xirnah was a
mechanical affair, devoid of any warmth or affection.