Well, shit.
I hear a Pfahrn epithet from the kitchen that sounds serious, like pain. I take a deep breath and emerge from my room to find Allhrn standing there, wrapping a dishtowel around their hand.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Knife slipped.”
“I doctored my fair share of minor injuries while I was in the military. Hold on.” I did, too. Guys—including me—were always getting hurt on the job. Kind of an occupational hazard when turning wrenches. It’s a waste of fricking time sending someone to sick bay every time they skin a knuckle. And if you’re down on a planet, sometimes there is no other medic—or they’re busy with other guys who are, you know, dying. I received basic medic training, meaning I could patch guys up and get them back to work immediately for minor stuff, or maybe save a life in the field if someone was seriously injured. I could stabilize them until we could get a real medic to them.
I fetch my first-aid kit, the comprehensive one that I brought with me from the military, and have them sit at the table. “Let me see it.” They glare at me but hold out their hand and allow me to unwrap it.
I gently prod it. The bleeding is already slowing. “It’s not deep,” I tell them. I know I could let the fucker bleed, but when I ask myself what Mohrn would want me to do…
They’d want me to help them.
That means I can’t ignore this.
I’ve had worse than this myself, and treated far worse on my guys. I use a universal antiseptic cleaner on the wound first, and then skin glue to seal it, followed by a dressing, just to be safe.
“There.”
They examine my handiwork and nod. “Thank you, Simon.”
Holy shitballs. They actually used my fucking name. “You’re welcome.”
Not bad for a slutty, stupid, greedy human ishblane-mohr, huh?
But I don’t say that.
They stand to resume their food prep, leaving me to clean up from doctoring them. But before I toss the sodden towel into the laundry, I stop myself, another idea hitting me as I stare at the large blood stain there.
Allhrn has already forgotten about my presence. Motherfucker still doesn’t offer to make me any food, either.
I return to my room to stow my first-aid kit and bring the towel with me. There, I close and lock the door behind me and root through my things until I find what I’m looking for—one of the sample containers H’looder gave me.
I carefully fold the towel so the blood is hidden in the center—and there’s plenty of it—and tuck it into the container. Using the marker H’looder gave me, I write an A on that container.
Not that any of the three of them can read Standard, but I don’t want to risk inviting trouble.
Now all I need are two more samples to confirm at least part of my theory.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Did I mention how fricking complicated the Pfahrn contract system is? I mean, it’s excessively complex. Which, I suppose if you want to assure compliance with a contract, okay, great.
When you’re trying to prove your mohr is innocent and being fricking railroaded as part of a larger fucking scam?
Doesn’t make it easy.
Nothing good ever comes easy. At least, that’s what they always say, right?
I spend the rest of the afternoon going through the computer system, trying to locate anyone who might be kin to Dohrn who might have an incomplete breeding contract that could be for Mohrn. I even figure out how to search by date and region, and I cannot come up with any incomplete breeding contract that can even be remotely tied to Mohrn.
Shit.
I’m missing something, I know I am. It’s nagging at me, too. There’s a big, honking clue right in front of me, and I’m not recognizing it.
I just know it. My gut’s telling me that. Stohrn and Allhrn probably don’t know the truth, just what they’ve been told. Mohrn’s never had a reason to look any farther than what they’ve been told, either, because they carry the burden of being ishblane.
That night, after Stohrn returns for the day, they go take a shower. I already cleaned the bathroom despite knowing Cloohdlin will do it again in the morning.
I had a reason for that, though.
Sure enough, after Stohrn’s done in the bathroom and returns to their bedroom, I go in there. On the floor is a freshly discarded towel, and there’s a glistening slick on one corner of it.
Smiling, I pull on gloves I brought in with me from my first aid kit, take the towel to my room, cut the corner off of it, and tuck it into another sample container I mark S. I conceal the rest of the towel in my stuff to dispose of later.
It takes me three more days to get a sample from Dohrn. As creepy as this is, I’ve learned to sit up and listen for him masturbating in his room late at night.
Thank you, hearing augmentation.
He always gets up and uses the bathroom after, so I’m ready with gloves and a sample container as soon as the bathroom door latches behind him.
Thank you, darkvision augmentation. I silently dart into his room, find the freshly discarded paper napkin in his garbage, snag it, and return to my room before he even finishes his business in the bathroom.
I mark that container D and put it with the others.
Within Mohrn’s contract with Dohrn and Yyallohrn is a Pfahrn standard boilerplate clause covering fraud. Confidential or not, any of the signatories—or their agents, spouses, or heirs—can contest the contract if it’s believed there’s fraud or dishonor on the part of any of the other signatories.
By Pfahrn law, I’m Mohrn-mohr. I get no inheritance or birthright or status or anything like that, but in the eyes of the law I’m a full spouse and have all the legal protections and rights of a Pfahrn citizen.
Ishblane-mohr or not.
That means I can bring these assholes to court to contest the contract and assert my right to claim dishonor and fraud on their parts. If I can prove dishonor and fraud, as mohr I can demand immediate recompense—restoration of birthright, compensation, jail, whatever.
But before I go there, I need to be sure. I haven’t found the last piece of the puzzle yet, and it’s infuriating me. Every day I can’t ferret out what I need to know is one more day my poor Mohrn is stuck in that fucking prison, miserable, when they shouldn’t be there.
So while I search for an answer, I also make myself a lay-expert in Pfahrn contract disputes and their legal system. Hells would likely be proud of me. I memorize exactly what I will have to do to bring the challenge, the kind of evidence I’ll have to present to make my claim, and how to call my witnesses.
I know because I’m “just” a human they will likely not take me very seriously, at first.
That works to my advantage.
I don’t want any of them realizing exactly how I obtained my insider knowledge of the contract Mohrn signed with Dohrn and Yyallohrn, because that would trigger penalties against Mohrn.
I have to prove this without that becoming known.
Meaning I have to find that last piece of the puzzle—I have to track down who is really Mohrn’s biological parent.
* * * *
It takes me another week of nearly nonstop searching through contract records for the solution to finally hit me. I’m carefully poring through records for Dohrn’s siblings for the third time when I find a contract that doesn’t make sense to me, at first. It’s a spouse contract that was terminated early because Throhrn, the sibling, failed to provide a contracted minimum annual household income.
But it’s the main contract itself that I take a second look at. It isn’t just a breeding contract—it’s a mate contract. Not one like the one I have with Mohrn, though.
A permanent full mate contract, without a predesignated yundohn. A marriage, in other words. A separate breeding contract wasn’t necessary, because producing offspring was part of the main contract. A contract like this is drawn up for true love, basically.
I’ve seen many of these contracts during my research, but
I haven’t seen any like this, where there was a termination.
Then I pause.
Correction—I have seen one other early termination.
My heart races as I quickly return to the contract I’d seen and I take a second look at it. It’s a permanent mate contract, no original yundohn term, but terminated early due to a breach of contract terms. The actual term breached was withheld for confidential reasons and locked under a separate and confidential termination contract.
I’m glad I’m locked in my room right now, because I know my triumphant grin would draw questions even from my disinterested Pfahrn housemates.
The contract was terminated on a date that lines up perfectly with Mohrn’s age, and would’ve terminated right around the time their egg would’ve emerged from the parent carrying it.
Which would’ve also been when they realized Mohrn was ishblane.
While the reason for termination is confidential, I don’t even need it. Because I scan through the original contract and find the clause under producing offspring that makes me certain I’ve just hit pay-dirt.
Should any ishblane offspring be produced, the carrier mate will provide to the other mate compensation as specified in the compensation section, this contract will be nullified in full, and the mating shall be terminated as stated in…
See, one of the things I’ve learned over the past several weeks as a byproduct of going through contracts is that an ishblane offspring is produced due to two recessive genes, one in each parent.
However, it’s the presence of a second recessive gene in the partner who provides and carries the egg, not the one who fertilizes it, that means an ishblane offspring will be produced. Unfortunately, there’s no way to test for it. Once one ishblane offspring is born, it’s likely others will be born through that same mating pair.
I’m so excited that I’m shaking as I contact H’looder and request they immediately send a skiff for me.
I don’t bother telling anyone in the household where I’m going when I literally run out the front door and head to town on foot. I carry the three sample containers securely stashed in my bag slung over my shoulder, and all the information I need is saved on my tablet and com, which I have with me.
Not like they’ll care, anyway. They don’t.
But they will.
Oooooh, allll these fuckers will care, soon enough.
Because the contract I’ve found that I’m certain is the one that covered Mohrn’s birth? It’s not for Dohrn, or any of Dohrn’s siblings or other relatives.
It’s for Yyallohrn.
* * * *
H’looder isn’t expecting me, but since I’m his number one patient I can pretty much come and go as I please. I show up in his lab, open my bag, and set the three containers of samples on his counter.
“Need an emergency favor, Doc.”
“An emergency favor?”
“You have all of Mohrn’s DNA samples, correct?”
“Yes?”
“That means you can tell if a sample comes from someone biologically related to Mohrn?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Is the machine you use to do that testing portable?”
“We do have a portable one, available on board the station, yes, but the one in my lab is not.”
“But if I need you to bring the portable one with you and ask you to go somewhere, you could bring it and test people right on the spot?”
“Yes, I can. Simon, what is—”
“And you said you’ve done DNA infusions with me, right? Mohrn’s DNA?”
“Yes, we have. Quite a bit.” He cocks his head to the side and stares at me. “What is going on?”
“If we’re standing in a room with two Pfahrn, one who is a biological relative of Mohrn and one who isn’t, could you compare my DNA to both of them and determine which one is related to Mohrn and which one is not?”
“Absolutely.”
“With the portable unit?”
He cocks his head to the other side and fluffs a little. “Simon, is there a point to this exercise?”
I point at the containers. “There are three samples, one in each. I want you to tell me if any or all of them are biologically related to Mohrn.”
He studies me for a moment. “What is this about?”
“This is about some fricking fucked-up shit, Doc. Will you do it, or not?”
He eyes me for a moment, one of those Veraci flutters washing through him and transmitting his unease, but he reaches for a container. “Are you certain of the purity of the samples? That they are only one person per sample?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Just don’t mix them up. I labelled them. How long will it take?”
“We have Mohrn’s samples, and yours, in our database, so nearly immediately.” He picks up another container and looks at it. “What kind of samples are these?”
“One is blood, two and three are…eh, secretions. From three different Pfahrn total.”
If I’m right, and I’m nearly certain I am, I have just found my way to not only free Mohrn from prison early, but to guarantee him a birthright and estate.
Two birthrights and estates.
I can’t violate the contract Mohrn signed. Not without admitting Mohrn technically told me, which while they didn’t know they told me is still a violation of the contract.
As Mohrn’s spouse, however, I can officially throw a shadow over the two elder Pfahrns’ honor, and thereby open not only my contract’s details for review on the basis of potential fraud without ever implicating Mohrn in it, but Mohrn’s as well. I’m Mohrn-mohr.
Regardless of my species, as mate I’m entitled to ask for a review on behalf of my spouse if any of the signatories have been proven to lie about anything else.
Which, they haven’t yet, but they don’t know that they soon will be. They’ll think I’m just the stupid human, and they’ll humor me. Except in a quirk of their fucked up judicial system, even a stupid human mate of an ishblane is entitled to ask for a contract review. It’s a matter of honor, especially since my spouse isn’t around to advocate for himself.
Themselves.
I’m not a signatory on Mohrn’s confidential contract with Dohrn and Yyallohrn, or with Mohrn, Dohrn, and Wrohlyyn’s family. But I am a signatory on mine, and Dohrn co-signed mine as a guarantor of payment.
Casting a shadow on my contract means, as Mohrn’s mate, I can open for review any contracts Mohrn signed with the related parties, including the one they signed with Dohrn and Yyallohrn, confidential or not. I can thereby demand the court invalidates that contract on the basis of outright fraud perpetrated on Mohrn for their entire life, and on the one Mohrn signed with Wrohlyyn’s family, since Dohrn will have been proven to have committed fraud.
Meaning Mohrn is free.
I can then also demand recompense.
I find a stool and drag it over to sit and watch while H’looder has a lab tech run the samples.
Minutes later, the tech shows H’looder the results on a tablet, which he then in turn brings over to me to show me.
“None of the three samples you provided can belong to biological relatives of Mohrn. They are related to each other, a parent and two progeny, but not to Mohrn.”
“You’re sure?”
H’looder nods. “One-hundred percent.”
“Thank you.” I return the tablet to him and step into the middle of the lab, safely out of reach of the Veraci, where I punch the air. “Fuck yeah!” I start doing a happy dance, and I don’t give a shit that his human lab techs are laughing as they watch me.
I just don’t fucking care.
Getting that out of my system, I shake it off. Then I walk over to H’looder, give him a deep head bow, and offer him my finger.
He eyes me for a moment, but then reaches out with his finger to touch mine. “I take it this is…good news, Simon?”
I grin. “I wish I could hug you, Doc. This is the best fucking news ever. You just gave me the ability to get Mohrn
out of prison and invalidate the contract with the victim’s family.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Dust off your mech-suit, Doc, and get a portable one of those machines ready, along with a couple of lab techs. You’re coming to court with me in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Simon
Claims of fraud take precedence in the Pfahrn legal system, jumping ahead of everything else, except extreme cases involving life or death, or murder.
That means when I march into the regional government center bright and early the next morning with Dr. H’looder, two of his techs, and four Guyardien security agents from the MC regional space station, jump the twenty or so Pfahrn already in line, and demand precedence, in Pfahrn, with a formal verbal declaration, the Pfahrn wonk at the front counter can’t simply dismiss me as the clueless human, Mohrn-mohr, the ishblane’s mate, and shuffle me off to the side to take care of one of the other people already queued to handle their business.
It’s especially satisfying the way their eyes widen when I slap the official paper I stayed up all night inking onto the counter in front of them.
You see, fraud challenges have a certain…ceremonial aspect to them. While yes, all the paperwork is filed electronically, the initial challenge is formally filed with a literal piece of paper with the grievance inked onto it. That’s because they’re so rare to start with, and it’s not something undertaken lightly.
If a fraud challenge is proven wrong, the person filing it can lose everything.
I stand there with my arms crossed over my chest and a satisfied smirk on my face as the wide-eyed wonk calls several others over to examine the paper. It wouldn’t surprise me if none of them have actually seen one of these up close and personal like this before. That’s how rare they are.
The low muttering of the people in line behind me as they realize who I am and what I’ve just done is very satisfying.
I lean in. “I demand an immediate hearing before the full local magistrate and the Khalden K’lyandi,” I say in Pfahrn, so they know I’m not screwing around. Thanks to a new augmentation tweak to my translator for the Pfahrn language that H’looder installed last night, there’s barely any hesitation between me thinking what I want to say and me actually saying it in Pfahrn. “I claim as my witnesses to my truth Dr. Mafer H’looder, Tech Winston Hermes, and Tech Shana Staowers, whom I present as ready to testify before the Khalden, full magistrate, and all gallery witnesses. I demand appearance immediately by Dohrn A’djanhrn, Stohrn A’djanhrn, Allhrn A’djanhrn, Geelahm K’lyandi, and Ayyalhm K’lyandi. I also demand the magistrate compels them to provide all evidence that is within their hands.”
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