Switched: Brides of the Kindred 17 (31 page)

“
Um, okay,” Frankie said, taking it from him. “I, uh, don’t
like it but I guess you’re right—there’s no choice.”

Jorn looked both
surprised and relieved. “Thought you’d put up a bigger fight than
that.”

“
I
certainly would have! I have no wish to wear Slubgum’s
chunnel!”
Kerov
protested.
“We
don’t even know if he cleaned it recently! There could
be…residue.”

“
Too bad—you’re wearing it. Or I am, anyway,”
Frankie told him
firmly.
“Now come
on—we don’t want to be late to the ball.”

“
The banquet,”
Kerov corrected her but she was already on her way out of the
barracks, following Jorn at a run down the hall with the filthy,
disgusting
chunnel
tucked under one arm of his immaculate dress
uniform.

* *
* * *

Frankie was glad
that Jorn was driving again—not that they had far to drive. The
place the banquet was being held was apparently just on the other
side of the military base. Kerov’s friend gunned the engine of his
big tank-like vehicle and they roared off into the twilight.

Almost before
Frankie knew it, they were parking in front of a vast black stone
structure with red lettering across the front of it.

“
The Ministry of War,”
Frankie read to herself.
“Hey—I can read now! In your language, I
mean,”
she told
Kerov excitedly.
“It must be the whole mind-meshing thing you were talking
about.”

“
Wonderful.”
He still sounded extremely pissed that she was making him wear
another man’s
chunnel.
Well, he was just going to have to get over it, Frankie
decided. After all, it was ridiculous to treat a hat—especially a
metal hat—like it was a pair of underwear. And what was he talking
about when he said there might be “residue?” She could see him
getting upset if the thing was a baseball cap and the previous
owner had sweated all over it but metal should be fairly hygienic,
shouldn’t it?

Hygienic or not, what it mostly was, was
heavy.
As she and Jorn ran up the broad steps that led
to the Ministry of War, Frankie fumbled to put it on, thinking that
it had to weigh twenty-five pounds at least. She was going to have
such a headache if this banquet went on too long—she was basically
balancing the weight of a medium-sized dog on her head and
it
hurt.
There was a black chin
strap which was inexplicably studded with very sharp red stones
which helped to hold the
chunnel
in place but even so it was much too large for Kerov’s
head.

Though Frankie tightened the strap until it felt like it was
cutting into her flesh, the tall, heavy
chunnel
still had a tendency to slip and slide all over her
head unless she walked very straight and tall. Of course, this was
almost impossible since they were practically running down the
long, black marble hallway to the banquet hall, so Frankie just
kept one hand to her head to keep the heavy hat from slipping
off.

“
You’re making me look ridiculous,”
Kerov complained.
“A proper chunnel should stay in place at
all times no matter what the circumstances.”

“
Well, I can’t help it that you guys picked such ridiculous
dress clothes!”
Frankie sent back.

“
Oh? Like a chunnel is any more ridiculous than those strange
high shoes your people wear?”
he demanded, sending a picture of the high heels that
went with her bridesmaid’s dress back home.

Frankie was about to
answer that at least she didn’t have to balance the shoes on her
head but just then she and Jorn arrived at the entrance to the
banquet hall. It was a vast set of double doors at least three
times as tall as Kerov. The doors were some dull silver metal and
there were brilliantly colored images carved into them.

Frankie scanned them
quickly—in the upper left hand corner of the first door was a
round, moon-like planet. The surface of it was teaming with what
looked like a golden, writhing mass of snakes or eels. They were
shooting off its surface and raining down on a much larger planet
below which must be Tarsia. Standing on the surface of the larger
planet were warriors—all tall with white-blond hair and narrow
shoulders. They held what looked like flamethrowers in their hands
and were torching the golden threads out of the sky.

Clearly it was a
typical battle with The Swarm—the alien parasites Kerov had told
her about. But why weren’t there any Kindred represented on the
mural? All the soldiers she could see looked like Jorn—completely
Tarsian. Weren’t there any other warriors that looked like
Kerov?

“
There are hardly any full blooded Kindred left on
Tarsia,”
Kerov
answered her question, which must have gone through their new
link.
“The State
has interbred us with the Tarsians as much as possible in order to
get rid of the Switching gene. And the reason my people are not
represented on the door is that we are not greatly esteemed
here.”

“
But you fight the Swarm as hard as any of them!”
Frankie protested.
“That’s not
fair!”

“
That is the way things are and have been for hundreds of
years. The Kindred are a minority here—a reviled race. Many females
do not wish to be with a Kindred male at all.”

Was there a faint
bitterness in his voice? Frankie felt a sudden stab of guilt.
Hadn’t she said something along those lines to Lacy—that she would
die if she was called as a Kindred bride? That she wanted nothing
to do with them? But that was before she’d gotten to know Kerov,
before she’d come to understand what a Kindred warrior could really
be like…honorable and kind and good with animals…

“
The Kindred are second class citizens here on Tarsia. The fact
that I am invited to this banquet with a possible promotion on the
table is a minor miracle,”
Kerov informed her, breaking her guilty train of
thought.

“
All right. Well I’ll try really hard not to screw it up for
you,”
Frankie
promised.

Just then the vast
doors swung open and a guard in an immaculate scarlet and gray
uniform stepped forward.

“
How may I announce you?” he demanded, looking first at Jorn
and then at Frankie.

“
Battalion Commanders Berex and Volx here at the behest of
Brigadier Tlox,” Jorn answered promptly.

The guard turned to
the banquet hall and bellowed their names in a voice that echoed
through the cavernous space. The enormous room had black marble
floors and white marble walls and looked large enough to hold about
a hundred long tables although only three were set up at the far
end.

Before the echoes of
the guard’s voice had faded, a tall, cadaverously thin man with
white hair and dark purple eyes came forward to greet them.

“
Ah, Jorn…Kerov, I’m glad you’re here at last.” He frowned at
the way Frankie still had one hand to her head, trying to hold
the
chunnel
in place.

Quickly, Frankie
snatched her hand away and attempted to look normal.

“
Oh, ah…” she began, unsure what to say.

“
Brigadier Tlox—that’s Brigadier Tlox,”
Kerov prompted her.

“
We’re both glad and grateful to be here, Sir,” Jorn said,
before Frankie could frame any more words. “Truly it is a privilege
and an honor.”

“
Yes, yes—an honor,” Frankie echoed, hoping it was the right
thing to say.

“
Well, you’ve both earned it.” Tlox gave them a short, curt bow
which Jorn imitated at once. Quickly, Frankie bowed as well but to
her horror, she felt the heavy
chunnel
sliding off her head. She grabbed for it with one hand and
straightened up, narrowly avoiding disaster.
Whew—
that had been close!

“
This is what comes of wearing another male’s chunnel,”
Kerov remarked darkly as
she and Jorn followed Tlox back to the middle table.

“
We didn’t have a choice!”
Frankie reminded him. Really, this whole
chunnel
debate was getting
old!

“
Now, Jorn, you’re sitting at my left hand,” the Brigadier told
them as they reached the long table which was covered with a black
cloth and laid with bright red cutlery. “And Kerov, you’re on my
right. And to the
left
of
General Von-Doddle. So for pity’s sake, be on your best behavior
and be careful during the pouring of the tears.”

“
Of course,” Frankie agreed quickly, though of course she had
no idea what he was talking about. “I’m honored to sit by General
Van-Doodle.”

“
Von
-
Doddle,”
Tlox
corrected her, scowling. “Commander Kerov, your
chunnel
is crooked.”

He said it in the
same way he might have told her that Kerov’s fly was unzipped and
his shaft was hanging out.

“
Oh—excuse me!” Hastily, Frankie fixed the heavy hat, trying
to ignore the soft swearing from Kerov in her mind.

“
That’s better.” Brigadier Tlox nodded, although his
expression was still disapproving. “Let us take our seats before
the General arrives.”

“
Of course.” Nodding, Frankie took the tall, angular seat which
he indicated, making sure to keep her head and shoulders straight
to avoid any more
chunnel-
related wardrobe malfunctions. Sitting in this way made it
difficult to survey the table in front of her but somehow she
managed.

To her dismay, the
place setting in front of her looked incredibly complicated. There
was a large red plate, a smaller gold plate on top of that, and an
even smaller black bowl which appeared to be filled with dark red
jelly on top of that. Lying across the bowl was a tiny instrument
like a triangular shovel with a short handle at its base.

On one side of the
plate was an array of cutlery which looked like sporks of various
sizes. They ranged from a little one which was the size of
Frankie’s pinky all the way up to the largest, which was as long as
Kerov’s forearm.

On the other side
were several knives, one with one sharp edge, another with two, and
one which actually had three which gave it a bizarre triangular
kind of appearance. Frankie thought it looked like some weapon you
might see the bad guy in a cheesy sci-fi show pull out for a
fight.

Most of the cutlery was bright, shiny red but lying at the top
edge of the red plate was a long black metal rod with a curving
corkscrew end that looked wickedly sharp. Frankie wondered uneasily
what in the world it was for. Then again, what was
any
of it for?

There were several
glasses too—one looked like a square shot-glass except it was three
times as tall as a regular shot glass back home. The other was long
and low—almost rectangular-shaped—with a pour-spout in one corner.
It looked like it might be made of stone.

Frankie surveyed
everything before her with deep misgivings. She’d only been to one
really fancy restaurant—a place called The Kapok Tree—when Carlos
had taken her years ago for their senior prom. There had been a lot
of silverware and several glasses there too, but she hadn’t gotten
a chance to use most of them. That was because her ex was too eager
to get her up to the room he had rented and try to get under her
prom dress to let her eat the entire dinner. Frankie had always
regretted not getting to try the dessert which looked amazing when
it came around on a little rolling cart.

Now it looked like
she was going to have a dinner that rivaled even the Kapok Tree for
fanciness. But she had no idea what any of the utensils were or how
to use them.

“
Don’t worry,”
she heard Kerov murmur in her head.
“I’ll tell you exactly how and when to use
everything here. Just listen to my instructions and do everything I
tell you.”

“
All right—I’ll try.”
Frankie felt another flash of gratitude that they
were able to communicate telepathically now. There was no way she
could have muttered to Kerov at this banquet—it was much too formal
and there were too many people watching.

Just then three,
low, sonorous notes sounded and the guard at the door shouted, “His
Eminence, General Von-Doddle, commander of the Tarsian Military,
and Head of the Ministry of War.”

There was a scraping of chairs as everyone stood. Frankie
hurried to do the same. Then a short, squat, almost perfectly round
man wearing an elaborate uniform and the tallest
chunnel
Frankie had yet seen came
into view. With his red, gold, and gray uniform covered in shiny
gold metals he looked like a well-decorated bowling
ball.

“
That’s the General?”
Frankie stared at him in surprise.
“Why doesn’t he look like
any of the other Tarsians I’ve seen?”

“
It’s said he’s part Twerkin—an ancient race even older than
the Tarsian one. They are revered for their wisdom,”
Kerov informed
her.