*****
Silk
It was so stupid! She was furious. Her boot heels stomped the cracked pavement as if she were stomping their vacuous, stupid faces. Talent and skill counted for nothing. Education counted for even less. She had no family, no clan to claim, so she was less than this trash blowing by.
Blinkman had been so smug. "No woman has ever been given tenure at the Vostok School for the Children of Gentlemen," the old fossil had said. "For a person like you, a solitary, it's not even to be thought of."
It didn't matter that this solitary was the only member of the faculty to have published any papers in the past three years. While everyone else pretended to engage in research, Silk actually did the work of digging through the old archives. She was the foremost scholar on Teshara on the history of the war with the Sovs. She was the undisputed expert on the battles of the last fifty years. Even General Greenvitch had sent for her to come to his office so he could consult with her about the strategy for his next campaign. But that meant nothing. She was nothing.
Then her angry, head down march down the street was halted abruptly as she ran into the man who'd stopped in front of her. She bounced off him and onto the chest of his partner, who'd positioned himself behind her.
Shit! Brownshirts! Uniformed bullies who got their jollies shoving people around, people like Silk with no family to stand up for them. Why couldn't her mother have abounded her on a more civilized world?
"What's the big rush, pretty face?"
"Nothing," Silk muttered. "No rush."
He frowned at her lack of deference, but nothing in this world would make her call this lout "sir."
"You should pay attention to where you're walking," said the one who stood behind her. His big hands came down on her shoulders, holding her in still.
"Solitaries should know their place," the first lout said. He was a foot taller than she and twice her weight. Silk was sure the one behind her was the same, even though she hadn't seen him yet. The Brownshirts were all of a type, recruited for their size, their aggression and, most important, for their family connections.
The bully in front of her put one finger under Silk's chin and raised her face so he could peer down at her. He would have been handsome, she thought, if it weren't for the malice in his gray eyes. She resisted the urge to spit in his face. She hated them, but she wasn't suicidal yet.
Instead, Silk closed her eyes and willed her face to show no emotion. She knew he'd take her stillness for fear but, she hoped, not enough fear to trigger violence from the pair of them.
"Let's take her in the alley," the one behind her said. "Teach the bitch to show some respect."
Silk gasped. She couldn't help herself. This was going to be more than the usual humiliation.
Gods and Demons in Love Page 10
