Forgotten (69 page)

When she came to his
quarters for their weekly sessions, their routine was always the
same. They would sit across from each other on his sensu-chairs
making polite but stilted conversation as the chairs stimulated the
correct parts of their anatomy.

Then, once he was
appropriately tumescent and Xirnah was sufficiently lubricated,
they would retire to his sleeping chamber where she would open her
sex garment and bend over his sleeping platform to reveal her
narrow, bony behind. Kerov would part her thin thighs to locate her
tight, almost colorless slit and insert his shaft into her chilly
depths.

True Tarkiens had a
body temperature that was a good ten to twenty degrees lower than
those with Kindred blood. The result was that Kerov always felt
like he was fucking an ice sculpture—his partner was quite
literally frigid. Xirnah, for her part, often expressed discomfort
with his body heat, saying that he burned her with his crude
Kindred temperature. Kerov always apologized but again, how could
he help being himself?

He would try to
hurry the process along because he could feel Xirnah stiffen with
resentment at his intrusion. Thrusting mechanically, he took only
as long as was necessary to inseminate his partner exactly once.
Then he would withdraw, to their mutual relief, and Xirnah would
use his fresher facilities.

Though she never
admitted it aloud, Kerov was certain she was washing his seed out
of herself, as much as possible. It might have hurt him if he had
cared for her at all. But even after being paired with her for the
last three years, he could summon no emotion other than dread when
he knew it was time for their weekly state-mandated sexual
encounter.

“
How can relations between you not be amicable?” Jorn
demanded, breaking his train of thought. “I’ve seen your
partner—Xirnah, isn’t it? She’s quite a beauty. I wouldn’t mind
plowing her furrow myself.”

“
You shouldn’t speak so of another male’s partner,” Kerov
said, glowering at him. He might not like Xirnah much himself, but
he would be damned if he’d allow anyone to denigrate her. After
all, it wasn’t her fault she was assigned to him and that they
didn’t get along—it was pretty much the same with any partner he
was assigned to and had been since he had reached sexual maturity
at eighteen cycles.

“
Sorry,” Jorn said unrepentantly. “I’m just saying she’s
pretty—I wish I’d be assigned someone like her.”

“
No doubt Xirnah would like that,” Kerov said dryly. “In fact,
with your pure Tarkinian blood, you’d be her ideal
partner.”

Jorn shrugged
philosophically. “Well then it’ll never happen—not unless there’s a
foul-up of unheard of proportions at the Ministry of Matching.”

“
True,” Kerov agreed. The Ministry of Matching was the
government agency that assigned sexual partners. But rather than
matching males and females that were most compatible together, they
sought out the most mismatched pairs they could find and put them
together.

This was an
unpleasant but necessary part of life on Tarka Six, where it had
been determined that too much interest in one’s sexual partner took
away focus from an individual’s State-mandated career and
responsibilities. Also, by matching people only with the opposite
of their ideal, the Tarkinian government had been able to breed the
tendency to Switch or Trade bodies with their mates out of the
Kindred population.

It was said that
such a Trade was possible only between couples that were truly
meant to be together—fated by the Goddess to fall in love and form
a soul bond. By making sure that the males bearing Kindred DNA were
matched with a female they did not love, the tendency to Switch or
Trade or Jump—whatever you wanted to call it—had been all but
eradicated.

“
Well, I’d better go. I can’t keep Xirnah waiting and she
always arrives promptly at sixteen hundred hours,” Kerov told his
friend.

“
I
understand. Did you drive your rover?”

Kerov shook his
head. “Didn’t know I’d be getting a whole solar week off so I just
rode public transport.”

Jorn made a face.
“Ugh—it’s a long way home on pubtrans this time of day. I’d offer
you a lift but I’m on my way to celebrate.”

“
Alone?” Kerov raised an eyebrow at him.

“
Sure—why not? If my good friend can’t make it, I’ll have to
make do with what I can find. And you never can tell—I
might
find a female willing to share my
company for the night. I’ve been saving my credits to visit the new
brothel near the Ministry of Agriculture.”

“
Enjoy yourself then,” Kerov said blandly. Prostitution wasn’t
forbidden by the Tarkinian government—in fact, it was encouraged as
a good way for over-eager males who weren’t content with their
weekly mandated sexual encounter to release tension. But the
prostitutes all wore masks and no talking was permitted during the
encounter, lest inappropriate feelings be engendered by the
encounter.

Kerov had tried it
once or twice but the sex workers were almost as cold as Xirnah and
even more impersonal. Though at least he didn’t have to worry about
impregnating any of them due to their mandatory use of
contraceptives and plasti-shield barriers both inside and out.
Still, he found the encounters to be like having sex with a machine
and after one or two trips to the state-run brothels, he’d avoided
them ever since.

“
I
will
enjoy myself—for both of
us since you’re so dreading your mandatory sex,” Jorn said,
laughing.

“
You don’t find it…impersonal?” Kerov asked, meaning both sex
at the brothel and the state mandated encounters.

“
Sure I do, but who cares?” Jorn shrugged his narrow
shoulders. “Fucking is fucking, my friend. The sooner you learn
that, the sooner you’ll begin to enjoy your time with the lovely
Xirnah.”

He clapped Kerov on
the shoulder once more and walked off, laughing.

Kerov sighed as he
watched him go. He wished he could adopt his friend’s nonchalant
attitude but somehow he couldn’t manage it. His parents, who had
joined before the Ministry of Matching had come to power, always
seemed so fond of each other—so “in love”, for want of a better
word.

Although the very idea of passionately loving one’s mate was
now considered a quaint and outdated notion, it was the ideal that
Kerov had been raised with. He couldn’t help remembering the loving
touches and kind words his parents often exchanged and comparing
them with the stilted conversation and cold, mechanical encounters
he had with Xirnah. He didn’t see his parents often now—he’d had to
move closer to the base and the Ministry of War which put his
off-site barracks far from their domicile. But when he
did
manage to get back on State Holidays,
his Sire and Mater always seemed as much in love as
ever.

It
made Kerov feel like he had missed out on something
somehow—something vital and important. As much as he tried, he
couldn’t reduce sex to a purely biological function or a purely
recreational one either. It ought to
mean
something, damn it! Ought to have some significance
other than blowing off steam or producing offspring for the State.
At least that was what he thought when he let himself think about
it at all.

Overhead, the last whistle blew, signifying the end of the
work day and letting everyone know it was time to wrap up tasks and
get back to assigned domiciles and barracks.
His underlings scattered and Kerov
realized he’d stalled long enough. It was time to go home and get
ready for his encounter with Xirnah.

An encounter he was
already beginning to dread.

* *
* * *

“
So he
actually
asked you out on a date?” Lacy leaned forward eagerly, sipping
her Pumpkin Spice Latte with evident relish. She was a nurse over
at University Community Hospital and since Frankie worked at the
University Square Mall across the street, they often tried to
coordinate their break schedules to grab some girl time in the food
court.

“
Oh, no—it wasn’t a date.” Frankie brushed off the idea,
though she could feel her cheeks heating at the idea.

“
Of
course
it’s a
date,” her best friend said, grinning. “I mean, he asked to come to
your house
and
he told
you he’s getting a divorce. That means he’s definitely
interested.”

“
He’s only interested in having me TA for him,” Frankie
insisted. “Which is a good thing—it would finally get me out of
Victoria’s Suck-ret.” She took a sip of her Matcha Green Tea slush.
“Although I
would
miss
our girl time.”

“
I’ll take an extra yoga class a week so we can be
together—any one you teach, I’ll take,” Lacy vowed recklessly.
“Even if it’s super hard core with a ton of handstands and
headstands and inversions.” Of course, since she was tall and thin,
and “extra-bendy” as she put it, Lacy would probably be able to
manage that kind of class—not that Frankie ever planned on teaching
one like that.

“
I’m only going to be teaching the beginner classes to start
with—and that’s
if
I pass
Sheila’s final exam.” Frankie made a face. “You’d think getting my
two hundred hour certificate from the Yoga Alliance would be enough
but no—not if I want to teach at the Lotus Pond.”

“
But look how far you’ve come,” Lacy pointed out. “You know,
it seems like just yesterday we were taking our first class.
Remember? You wanted to take kick-boxing and I wanted yoga. We
flipped a coin and yoga won—aren’t you glad it did?”

“
That was back when I was still with Carlos,” Frankie said. “I
remember telling you I was going to scream if I couldn’t let off
some tension and that was when you said we needed to take an
exercise class together.”

“
Your ex is the one who
really
ought to be glad that coin toss led us to yoga,” Lacy said,
taking another sip of her juice. “If you were about to become a
kick-boxing master like you’re going to be a yoga master, you would
have kicked his ass six ways to Sunday by now.”

“
Don’t tempt me.” Frankie sighed and swirled her straw through
the green matcha slush in her glass. “You know my mom has been
inviting him to family dinners lately? She and my
abuela
are so sure if I see his
face enough I’ll magically want to go back to him.”

“
Ugh!” Lacy made a face. “That’s awful, Frankie—you should
stop going.”

“
Like hell I will.” Frankie frowned. “I’m not going to let
that
hijo de
puta
keep me away
from my own family—even if half of them think I’m crazy and the
other half aren’t speaking to me.”

“
Is it really that bad?” Lacy squeezed her arm
sympathetically. “I’ll come with you to the next one if you
want—for moral support. Only you’ll have to translate for me—you
know how bad my Spanish is.”

Frankie laughed. “As
if I could forget! Do you think we would ever have gotten to be
such good friends if Mr. Gonzalez hadn’t paired us up in tenth
grade Spanish Class?”

“
I
like to think so,” Lacy said comfortably, taking another sip of
latte—none of which would settle on her slender figure or perfect
little butt, Frankie was sure. “We’re kindred spirits, after
all.”

Frankie shivered.
“Hey, don’t say the K word, all right? You know that since my
divorce from Carlos is final I have to go register for the
draft.”

“
I’m surprised they reinstated it after all the trouble we had
with them a while back,” Lacy remarked. “But don’t worry,
Frankie—you know the chances of getting called as a bride are super
slim. I'm registered too and I'm still here. Neither one of us is
going to end up on the Mother Ship.”

“
We'd better not,” said Frankie darkly. “My
abuela
would have another fainting spell if she knew I
was having dinner with Professor Ramlow and he’s just white and
Protestant. If I ended up with one of those freaking huge alien
Kindred who aren’t even human, she’d probably have a
heart attack.”

“
All the more reason to keep it from her. And speaking of the
sexy professor,
you
are going
to go down to that new salon, Wax Me Beautiful, we were talking
about, and get yourself looking all smooth and gorgeous in case the
night gets amorous.”

“
I
can’t afford that,” Frankie protested. “And even if I could,
nothing
is going to happen. Just
because I had the nerve to get a divorce doesn’t mean I can shake a
lifetime of being a good Catholic girl all at once.”

“
Yes, you can,” Lacy protested. “You haven’t gone on a single
date since you got away from that jerk, Carlos. It’s high time you
got some good nookie.”

“
I’m not going to—” Frankie began.

“
Well, just go get waxed anyway, just in case you change your
mind.” Lacy finished her latte and pointed her dripping straw at
Frankie. “Do it, Frankie—you’ll feel like a whole new woman, I
promise. And you can take my appointment—it’s already paid for and
you can just pretend to be me.”

“
I
can’t do that,” Frankie protested. “I can’t let you buy me such an
expensive gift.”