Forgotten Read online

  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 conc