Jailmates

by Lesli Richardson

  “Love and well wishes,” he tells me. “Stars and sunrise. Hopes and health. May truth walk with you.”

  “As does my heart,” I respond. It’s a traditional farewell he taught me, and it damn near breaks my heart right now.

  I watch as they put wrist and ankle manacles on him, which to me is just fucking cruel, but that’s the rules.

  They lead him off, followed by H’looder and the techs, and I’m left standing there with the crew of the skiff. I return to it, take a seat in the very back, and have a good, hard cry.

  * * * *

  I’m not going back to H’looder’s tonight, though. They take me down to Pfahrn. I opted to go there tonight because I know if I stay up there all I’ll do is lie there and fricking cry.

  Most of my stuff’s still up there, though. H’looder’s assigned me that stateroom on a permanent basis, and instructed the transport crews that I’m to have free and unlimited passage back and forth. If not on their ship’s skiff, I can catch a transport from town and take it up to the orbital hub and hitch a ride from there. I have a special pass from the MC that will take care of any ticket I have to purchase on the surface.

  When the ground transport takes us to Mohrn’s house, we find Cloohdlin out front and tending to what Mohrn told me is a household herb garden.

  “Welcome, Simon,” they say.

  At least this dude seems polite. “Hey.”

  He notices H’looder’s with me. “Has Mohrn started pheir sentence, then?”

  “Yeah.” I shoulder my bag that I brought with me. “I promised Mohrn to give this a shot, so here I am.”

  “Of course. It is in the contract. You are welcome here.”

  They have a funny way of showing it, but I don’t say that. Cloohdlin leads me inside and explains they’ve added me to the house’s computer system. I can come and go whenever I want. After I stow my stuff in what’s now my room, I turn to H’looder. “Thanks for coming with me, Doc. I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you certain?” He doesn’t look convinced.

  That’s okay. Neither am I.

  I nod. “I just need to…decompress.”

  “If I don’t have contact with you sooner, I’ll be in touch three days before the scheduled visit to bring you up to our ship for samples and a debriefing.”

  I nod.

  They finally leave, and I realize Cloohdlin has gone back outside, too.

  I’m alone in the house.

  So I lock myself in my room and have another good, hard cry.

  * * * *

  I must have dozed off. When I wake up, I hear harsh voices arguing over something in Pfahrn, but I’m not sure the translator is working right, because it sounds like they’re pissed off about…juice?

  I open the bedroom door and cross the living room. In the kitchen, Allhrn and Stohrn are arguing over—yep—juice. There’s an empty pitcher on the counter between them, and they’re accusing the other of putting the pitcher back into the fridge empty.

  They both look at me, Allhrn practically sneering. “There it is.”

  I feel my fists clench. “It? Dude, you and me are gonna have us one.” I say that in Standard, though, because I’m too pissed off to translate it. I’ve actually taken a couple of steps toward them when I hear Dohrn behind me chastising their offspring.

  “Allhrn. Stohrn. Apologize.”

  That freezes me in my tracks and I look back at the dude.

  He stands in the doorway of what I now know is his bedroom. His arms are crossed over his chest. None of the three of them are wearing shirts, but all of them are wearing variations of the kilt-like garment called a brahkhen, and slip-on leather shoes.

  They’re all dark green with the reddish hair, and it’s weird seeing them.

  Mohrn is my “normal.”

  To me, these fucks are the ones who look out of place.

  “Apologies,” they both say.

  “We honor contracts in this house,” Dohrn scolds them. “Unless you’d like to lose your birthright over not honoring one.”

  That seems to knock sense into both of them. They ditch the attitude and turn to the counter, apparently to start making dinner.

  Dohrn walks over to me. “We will honor the contract,” he tells me. “You are welcomed to our food, lodging, whatever it is you need. Cloohdlin will see to your requests. It is pheir job. Phey work early morning until late afternoon, with evenings and nights free. If there is an emergency, whoever you talk to will bring me or Cloohdlin. Phey live out back.”

  I take a deep breath and try to remind myself Mohrn loves these assholes, and that their culture is different. “Thanks,” I say in Pfahrn. “I appreciate it. Is there anything I’m supposed to be doing?”

  “Doing?”

  “You know, chores?”

  “Mohrn worked with the field crews, but that is outside of your contract. You are welcome to watch or ask questions, but there is no requirement of you beyond the contracted terms.”

  Dohrn is totally serious. “I mean, I don’t mind helping out with laundry or anything.”

  “That is Cloohdlin’s job.”

  “Cooking?”

  “Morning and afternoon meals are Cloohdlin’s job. Morning meals are our largest meal, with afternoon and evening little more than snacks. There are usually plenty of leftovers from morning, or available food in storage, for evening meals.”

  I give up. “Will I be able to tap into the network with my tablet?”

  “Certainly. Bring your devices.” He walks over to the house’s computer, so I go get mine.

  It’s a coalition-standard system. The Pfahrn race is highly techno-savvy, but they don’t flaunt it. If something took out their systems, their planet could still function and thrive, although contract issues would grind to a halt if someone had to do research, because they wouldn’t be available in a searchable database. After contracts are filed, or completed, or amended, they print out paper copies for the archives in weekly batches and then index them, with the copies all being shipped to a central location at a city ten hours away, where their secure records vault is located. But when contracts are first filed, it’s all done electronically.

  Ten minutes later, I’m online with my devices. “Thanks.”

  “You are welcome.”

  I opt to get this out of the way now. “Can you tell me more about accident? Mohrn didn’t say much about it.”

  The dude’s face goes blank for a moment. “There was an accident. Wrohlyyn died. Mohrn has taken responsibility for it.”

  Another long, hard wail from my bullshit buzzer.

  “I have things to do,” Dohrn says. “Enjoy your evening.” He turns and leaves.

  I’m not getting anything out of the other two, either. They repeat the same explanation when I ask them. Frustrated, I use my tablet to try to search local news for reports about what happened, but don’t get very far. That’s when I realize all three of them have gone their separate ways for the evening, leaving me alone in the living room.

  I opt to head for bed.

  As I lie there and try to sleep…

  Fuck.

  I miss the big, pink bastard.

  And not just because I’m horny.

  I mean, I really miss him. I miss talking to him, I miss curling up in bed with him. I like him.

  Them.

  Whatever.

  I won’t see Mohrn for two weeks, and…

  I mean, I guess normal guys would be all woo-hoo! and going out and looking for a piece of ass, or celebrating they’re getting paid to literally do nothing but stay alive for the next two weeks.

  I’m…not.

  I think about the drawing Mohrn made that day in my stateroom on H’looder’s ship. In fact, I get up and go to my belongings and find it, pull it out of the protective tube I had it rolled up in, and look at it.

  It’s beautiful. I’m no artist. I can sketch out electrical circuits and shit, but on a tablet, and nothing like this.

  This is art. Trained or untr
ained, this is a beautiful little drawing.

  I hope I can have it framed or something.

  Not helping my mood? Mohrn’s “family.” Like they couldn’t care less Mohrn is now in prison. Their attitude seems to be oh, well.

  I mean, yeah, I know I’m new to this party, but I’ve seen these fucks express more emotion about being out of guava juice, or whatever the fuck it was, than they are about Mohrn’s absence.

  What if he’s a massive dick?

  What if, despite H’looder’s assurances, I’m basically spending five years with a guy who’s actually despised by everyone not because of what he is but because of what he does?

  Doubt wants to sneak into my mind despite the great three weeks I just spent with him.

  Despite what I…feel about him.

  Them.

  Whatever.

  I know H’looder pumped both of us full of all sorts of hormones and DNA and other things to assist us, but that just helps with the physical attraction. That wouldn’t help if the other guy’s a total asshole, right?

  The family actually went through the trouble to pay for Mohrn to find someone. They can’t be evil…right?

  Can they?

  I mean…

  I stare at the picture.

  I remember Mohrn telling me about loving Pfahrn, what he’s going to miss most about it.

  Honestly? I zoned out during some of that because I got so fricking horny I couldn’t see straight.

  Still, Mohrn seemed…genuine.

  I have a pretty well-refined bullshit meter. I always have. Mom said I inherited that from Dad. Helleia has it, too.

  Since this whole thing started, I don’t think anything about that part of me has changed.

  The shades of grey in the drawing almost look like three-dimensional art. And yet Mohrn has no formal training.

  I mean, nothing says an artist can’t be some sort of raging sociopath. But a sensitive artist is sent to jail for what still feels…

  Off.

  When I look at this whole situation…I don’t know what’s going on, but something smells fishy.

  In the picture, there are swirls and texture that don’t seem possible to achieve in just a pencil drawing.

  When I look around the house, I see evidence of the other two siblings, Stohrn and Allhrn. I see what passes for formal pictures of them, from youth to adult. I see their possessions all over the place.

  Mohrn’s room is much smaller than even this guest room I’ve been put in. What I don’t see, however, is tangible evidence of Mohrn’s presence in these people’s lives. There should be something, right?

  I quietly exit my room and walk down the hall to Mohrn’s. It even feels like it’s out of the way, down the corridor on the other side of the kitchen. If he was in it he wouldn’t be able to hear anyone in the rest of the house like his parent or siblings would from their rooms.

  Or me from the guest room.

  The guest room is a better room than the one Mohrn has.

  How fucked up is that?

  I know Mohrn’s the youngest, but…

  Is this some cultural thing I’m missing?

  I open the small cabinet that Mohrn has instead of a closet like I do in the guest room, and it holds very little. Not because it’s small, which is unusual considering the average size of the Pfahrn to start with, but because there’s not much in the space available. I mean, while I was in the military, in my tiny bunk area I probably kept at least three times this much crap. Hell, in my guest room I have more, and I didn’t even bring everything with me. Most of my stuff is still up on H’looder’s ship.

  In the main part of the cabinet are some clean and neatly stowed clothes, hanging and folded. In the top drawer below that area, a com unit, and a few assorted things that I’m not even sure what they are.

  And a rock.

  Just a small rock.

  I pick it up and look at it, feel it. It doesn’t seem particularly light or heavy for its size. It’s a sandstone sort of color, kind of beige and rust-colored, with threads of black and brown shot through it. It’s not quite big enough to fill my palm, but I imagine it in Mohrn’s hand and it’s probably smaller still in that context.

  I don’t put the rock back yet. I close the drawer with my free hand and open the bottom drawer.

  Another device that looks like a tablet, and a charger cord for it. Some papers—actual papers.

  Three pencils, and a small notepad, maybe six inches by six inches. Smaller than the one Mohrn had with him, and it’s still up on the ship with the rest of his things and mine. I’m kicking myself in the ass that I didn’t bring it, but there were only a couple of other drawings in it.

  This notepad looks kind of battered, like it’s been carried around in a pocket for years.

  I sit down right there, the rock in my lap, and go through the notepad. There are random sketches of small items, like a leaf, or an eating utensil. They aren’t as good as the one that is in my room.

  I see progress being made on technique throughout the notepad, until about three quarters of the way through, where the last image is one of the rock in my lap.

  And there is where I see the start of the beauty of Mohrn’s art. I don’t know where Mohrn’s other practice pieces are, because there’s literally nothing else in here.

  I stare at the rock. I wonder if he got it from his special place in the woods. I don’t even know where it is to find it.

  I also won’t be able to have contact with Mohrn again until our next scheduled visit.

  I know Stohrn left the house, and Allhrn has their door closed. I have to pass both rooms on my way back to mine. Carrying the rock in my hand, because I want it in my room, I pause in Stohrn’s doorway.

  The room is full of…stuff.

  Random crap.

  Clothes carelessly tossed over the end of the bed, things on a wide dresser, a door I suspect goes to a closet.

  Stuff.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had that much stuff in my entire life. Hell, even all the cargo I brought with me on this trip I don’t think adds up to all of this.

  I continue on to my room and quietly close and lock the door behind me. I wish Mohrn was here to curl up with me in what should be our bed.

  I wish Mohrn was here.

  I wish he—they—were here, and that his family wasn’t.

  I think about it for a moment and I return to Mohrn’s room and go through the cabinet again. I find what looks like a knit sweater that…

  I inhale deeply.

  Mohrn.

  Mine.

  Simon-mohr. I hug the sweater to me, even though it’s a poor substitute for the firm, warm body I spent the past three weeks entwined around.

  Nothing about this situation feels…right.

  There’s something off, something under the surface, some subtext I’m not grasping.

  My gut tells me it’s far more than cultural differences, or a language barrier the translator augmentation isn’t picking up.

  My gut tells me that Mohrn is the good and the light, and that the darkness surrounding them originated here, with these three people.

  But I’ll be damned if I know what the hell I can do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I decide to get out of the house the next day. Cloohdlin shows me how to use the VR mapping software to explore, and I see there is a compound not far down the road from this estate.

  “That is where Yyallohrn, Geelahm, and Ayyalhm live,” Cloohdlin tells me. Khalden K’lyandi. Phey are a close friend of many years to Dohrn.”

  “Mohrn told me about them. He—they, I mean phey are close to them?” Pronouns are fricking hard.

  “Very close.”

  I think about it. “Would they mind if I walked over there to say hello?”

  “Not at all. The Khalden helped negotiate the contract for Mohrn with Wrohlyyn’s family.”

  “They did, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  It looks like it’s only a
bout fifteen minutes, so I set off on foot, my com on me in case anyone needs to get in touch with me. It’s a much larger house than Dohrn’s house, and the Pfahrn who answers the door manages to keep a bland look on their face.

  “Mohrn-mohr?” they ask when they open the door.

  I guess I do tend to stand out around here.

  I smile. “Hiya. Simon, Mohrn-mohr.” I extend my hand. “I wanted to come over and say hello.”

  “Hello.” He doesn’t take my hand.

  Great. Leave me hanging, asshole. I’m really trying here, but these assholes don’t make it easy. “Mohrn told me a lot about all of you, spoke very highly of you. I mean, of the Khalden, and the Khalden’s offspring.”

  “The Khalden is out at the main barn and overseeing operations. Pheir offspring are with them. I am Flaurnha. I am a family friend staying for a few weeks.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you know where the main barn is?”

  “No, I—”

  The dude steps out, walked around the corner of the house, and points down a dirt road. I scramble to follow. “About five minutes that way, on your left. You will see it. It is a large, white building.” They turn back toward the house.

  “Um, do you know Mohrn?”

  “I have met phem before.” They’re still heading to the house.

  “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

  They stop and turn. “Apologies, but I do not know what an ishblane-mohr would need to talk to me about. I have things to do. Good day.”

  Their words stop me in my tracks. I watch as they return to the house and close the door behind them.

  Fuuuuck.

  Fuck these fucking fuckers.

  Seriously, the only one I don’t want to punch is Cloohdlin.

  Well, I’m here, and it might seem weird if I don’t go to the barn now, so I do it. The day is very pleasant, sunny, and comfortably warm. I enjoy the walk, if nothing else. The land is beautiful. This area has low hills and wide, sweeping valleys perfect for agriculture, with thick woods in the areas not being farmed. When I reach the barn, there are over twenty Pfahrn busy at work. Before I can speak up and ask who’s who, one older-looking one walks over to me.

  “Hello, Mohrn-mohr.”

  Nice to have a rep, I guess? “Hi. I’m looking for Khalden—”