“No, she’s in her office,” Sissix said. “She’s been combing through legal options for Corbin since the moment they let her go.”
Asbhy reminded himself to give Rosemary a raise once the tunnel was built. “I’ll go help her,” he said, pushing his chair back.
“No need.” Rosemary walked in through the kitchen, scrib in hand and pixel pen behind her ear. “But we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Rosemary took her place at the table. “Corbin’s being held at a nearby enforcement orbiter. They’ll be keeping him there indefinitely, before his case is processed.”
“What happens then?”
“If we do nothing, he’ll be sent to a Quelin penal colony. They’re labor camps, mostly, from what I’ve learned. Apparently most of the teracite ore in the GC is mined by Quelin prisoners.”
“Now there’s a happy thought,” Jenks said. “Nice to know what my circuit panels are made from.”
“How can they do that?” Dr. Chef said. “Corbin’s a GC citizen.”
“No, he’s not,” Rosemary said. “Since cloning is illegal in most GC territories, cloned individuals don’t get natural born rights. They have to go through the same application process that non-GC species do, even if they’ve lived in the GC all their lives.”
“That’s not fair,” Kizzy said.
“Yeah,” Jenks said. “But think of how rarely something like this happens. Lawmakers aren’t going to trouble themselves making new legal systems for something that affects maybe — what? A few hundred people, if that? You can’t find cloners anywhere but the fringe, and I highly doubt anybody who’s a part of it comes back to the GC. This probably isn’t something the GC has to deal with often.”
“Exactly,” Rosemary said. “And because of that, the unofficial policy when dealing with a discovered clone is to default to whatever the local laws are. If we’d found out about Corbin in, say, Harmagian space, he’d still have to go through the application process, but the only other thing that would happen to him is a footnote on his ID file. The only person who’d be arrested is his father. Which is probably happening as we speak.”
“Anybody know anything about his dad?” Kizzy said.
“He’s still on the Enceladus orbiter, I think. They’re not on speaking terms,” Ashby said. He turned to Rosemary. “So, let me get this straight. Since Corbin’s not a citizen, we can’t use any of our treaty rights to get him back?”
“Right. But there is a loophole. It’s just not…” She cleared her throat. “It’s not exactly ideal.”
“I figured as much.”
Rosemary fidgeted with her pen. “The terms of the Quelin’s GC membership agreement state that they have to honor any legally binding documents that affect GC citizens traveling through their space. This is meant for cases like…say, you have a Human and a Harmagian who have a registered partnership in Harmagian space.”
“Eew,” said Kizzy.
“Speciest,” said Jenks.
“I’m not speciest, they’re slimy.”
“It’s just an example,” said Rosemary. “Now, they wouldn’t be able to register their partnership with the Quelin, because interspecies partnerships aren’t recognized there. But since they’re already registered in another GC territory, the Quelin have to honor their partnership, legally speaking.”
“How so?” Ashby asked.
“Like if their ship crashed and one of them died, the Quelin authorities would have to recognize the other as their next of kin, even though they wouldn’t grant those rights to people living within their space.”
“Got it. But how does this help Corbin?”
“Well, when you start an application for GC citizenship, you have to have an assigned legal guardian throughout the process. A GC citizen who vouches for you.”
“Yes, I had to do that,” Dr. Chef said.
“How’s it work?” Jenks asked.
“It’s a formality more than anything. The idea is that you have someone there to help you fit in. They make sure you learn the language, learn the laws, understand the local culture and ethics, that sort of thing. They’re also responsible for helping you get your formwork in on time, and they have to come with you to your application hearing. It’s a sort of buddy system to help you integrate.”
“Seems stupid for Corbin,” Kizzy said. “It’s not like he has to learn Klip all over again.”
“So,” Ashby said, “if Corbin has a legal guardian, the Quelin have to release him to that person?”
“Yes, but we only have a narrow window to make it happen. We’d have to fill out the formwork, get the GC to approve it, and get it to the Quelin before they process Corbin’s case. I have a…friend I can contact. A minor GC official. I’m sure once they see it’s an emergency, they’ll sign off the formwork as fast as they can.”
“The same friend that, ah…?” Jenks said. He finished his question by pointing at Rosemary’s wristwrap.
Rosemary’s eyes swung down. “Yes,” she said.
“How long before the Quelin process Corbin?” Dr. Chef asked.
“No one knows. Could be days, or tendays. They could be doing it now for all we know, but I doubt it. From what I understand of the Quelin legal system, they don’t rush these things.”
“All right,” Ashby said. “Just show me where you need my thumbprint.”
“No, see, you can’t be his guardian.” Rosemary took a breath. She looked uncomfortable. “There’s a catch. And it’s a stupid, bureaucratic catch, but it’s one we can’t get around.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Quelin cloning laws aren’t just strict, they’re…I don’t even know what the word is. Unyielding. My understanding on this is sketchy at best, but apparently, the Quelin had a bloody interplanetary war a few centuries back, and it was mixed up with cloning and eugenics and all sorts of messy things. Nowadays, the Quelin don’t just see cloning as an ethically murky practice. They see it as evil. To them, Corbin’s very existence is dangerous. As such, their laws on cloning are a lot more comprehensive than what other species have on the books. It’s clear they thought about the possibility of clones entering in from outside their space.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning GC treaties or no, they won’t release Corbin to anyone who comes from a species that bans cloning. In their eyes, they’re doing those species a favor by keeping him away from the rest of the galaxy.” She cleared her throat. “So, the only way we can get Corbin back is if he has a guardian who comes from a species without cloning laws.”
“Who doesn’t have — ” Ashby paused when he saw the hesitant look on Rosemary’s face. She wasn’t looking at him. He followed her gaze across the table. To Sissix.
Sissix blinked twice, her face blank. She put her palm over her eyes, arched her head back, and let out a long, angry sigh. “You are fucking kidding me.”
“Wait,” Kizzy said. “Whoa. You? Aandrisks don’t have cloning laws?”
“No, we don’t have cloning laws.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t do it,” she snapped. “The idea never occurred to us. You know why? Because unlike you people, we think nature works fine on its own without tweaking it and hacking it and — and — oh, this is ridiculous.”
“Sissix — ” Ashby said.
“Don’t say anything. I’ll do it. It’s not even a question. I’m not going to leave him to rot in some teracite mine.” She drummed her claws on the table. “So. Fine. What do I have to do? Sign some formwork, go to a few hearings with him?”
“Yes,” Rosemary said. She licked her lips, speaking more quickly. “And you have to be within the same system as him at all times during the duration of the application process.”
Sissix’s feathers puffed. “How long is that?”
Rosemary shrank into herself. Her whole body was one big apology. “Up to a standard. Maybe more.”
Sissix swore in Reskitkish and walked away from
the table. She turned back toward Rosemary. “I’m not mad at you about this,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” Rosemary said, looking into Sissix’s eyes. Ashby watched an unspoken conversation pass between them. He studied them with interest. He had a suspicion, but now wasn’t the time to ponder it. There were more important things to think of.
Sissix sighed again, and tried to smooth her feathers down with her hand. “Well, come on,” she said. “Let’s go save the bastard.”
●
Sissix had only been aboard the enforcement orbiter for a few minutes, but already, she loathed it. No windows. No colors. Silent hallways. Humorless, angular design. Everywhere she turned, a sense of disapproving sterility. She understood that prisons weren’t meant to be cheerful, but this was worse than she’d imagined. It was the sort of place that inspired you to never do anything bad ever again. The only good thing was the warmth, but even then, the heat was thick, heavy. It felt like something you could chew on.
They entered a holding room, which contained nothing but several wall-mounted scanners and an imposing set of doors. “Wait here,” said her escort. The Quelin punched a code into a wall panel. The doors fell open, and Sissix nearly gagged on the air that drifted out, a miasma of unwashed skin and bodily waste. She pressed her palm against her nostrils and took a step back. How did the Quelin stand it? Did they even have a sense of smell?
She fought down her growing sense of nausea and tried to see inside the detention area. The light was too dim to make out much of anything, but she could see body heat rising from pits in the floor. Pits. Did the rest of the GC know about this? Surely someone in Parliament did. Did they care? Did it make them lose sleep at night, knowing that they shared council sessions with sapients who treated other species this way? Or was easy access to teracite enough to remove those qualms? The sick feeling within her grew, but now it had nothing to do with the smell.
And I’m here for Corbin, she thought, the notion refusing to sink in. She was in this hollow corpse of a place, after filing some seriously binding formwork that would leash her for a standard — a fucking standard — and all for Corbin. That biting, ugly waste. Why him? Why her? She could accept him being on the ship, she could deal with having to share the same food and air, but this — this was absurd. And unfair. And unearned.
After a few moments, she could see the Enforcer heading back to the doors, walking behind a Human man. There was something wrong with him. Sissix could see it in the way he moved. What had they done to him? She sucked air between her teeth as he came closer. A dark spray of bruises covered his torso, purple ringed with yellow. His face was a mess, and his nose hung at the wrong angle. He moved stiffly, clutching his side with one arm. His other hand was busy trying to shield his genitals. Humans. Honestly, after being beaten and dumped in a pit, that’s what he was worrying about?
But then Sissix saw the look on Corbin’s face. She thought it was anger at first, but no — it was shame. She would never fully understand Human modesty, but she knew how deeply ingrained it was in them. She also knew that every hard feeling she had toward Corbin was returned in kind. For him to be pushed around without clothes on was probably humiliating enough, but to be seen that way by someone he despised was the ultimate insult. Sissix wished that someone else could have been sent for him. She looked away.
“Are you sure you want him?” the Enforcer asked. “He is an abomination.”
Sissix glared. “Go get the abomination’s clothes.”
“They were likely destroyed.”
She took a few steps forward to Corbin, who was having trouble standing. She took his arm and put it around her waist, helping him to stand. Had she ever touched him before? She didn’t think so. There must’ve been a handshake, at least, when he’d been hired. She spoke again to the Quelin. “Do you have anything? A blanket? A towel? Anything?”
The Enforcer hesitated, then opened a wall panel full of medical supplies. Despite his unreadable face, Sissix got the impression that this Quelin was treading lightly around her. She was nobody, but her species was one of the big three in the GC Parliament, and they had far more pull than the Quelin did. Their species’ diplomatic ties were tenuously civil at best, and an Aandrisk treated poorly at the hands of Quelin Enforcers was the sort of thing the news feeds would pounce on.
The Enforcer handed Sissix a small blanket, made of some foil-like synthetic fabric. She helped Corbin wrap it around his waist.
“Thank you,” he said in a thin voice. It was obvious that he was having trouble drawing a full breath. His eyes were fixed on the floor, but Sissix could see him fighting back a small ribbon of tears. Just one more embarrassment he was trying to prevent. Sissix took her eyes off his face. She had no business seeing him like this.
“Let’s get you home,” she said. She led him out of the room, the Enforcer following close behind.
After a moment, Corbin spoke in a whisper. “I wasn’t sure anyone would come for me.”
Sissix said nothing. Nothing she could say would sound right, or honest. They continued down the hallway. Corbin winced with every step. After a while, he said, “Why you?”
She sighed. “It’s complicated, and you are not going to like what’s going on any more than I do. But it can wait until Dr. Chef patches you up. For now, let’s just say…it was the right thing to do.”
An awkward silence fell between them. “Thank you,” Corbin said. “I…well. Thank you.”
“Yeah, well,” Sissix said. She cleared her throat. “From now on, though, I get to crank up the temperature as high as I want.”
●
Four days later, Corbin sat at his lab bench, spreading algae on a sample card. The last batch had come out slightly tacky, and he wasn’t sure why. He spread the algae thin, so that he would be able to see the cells clearly once he placed the card into the scanner. A normal task, but it didn’t feel that way. Nothing did, not his lab, not his bed, not his face. But that was exactly why normal tasks needed doing. He would put algae onto the card, and he’d put it into the scanner. He’d do it again and again, until it felt the way it had before.
“Excuse me, Corbin,” Lovey said through the vox.
“Yes?”
The AI paused. “There’s a sib call coming through for you. It’s from Tartarus.”
Corbin looked up from the algae and said nothing. Tartarus. A prison asteroid, out in the Kuiper Belt. There was only one person who would be calling him from there.
Lovey spoke again, her voice awkward. “I can dismiss the call if you like.”
“No,” Corbin said. He wiped the smear of green slime from the end of his sampling tool and set it aside. “Put it through down here.”
“Okay, Corbin. I hope it goes well.”
Corbin gave a curt nod. The vox clicked off. With a sigh, he turned to his desk and gestured at the pixel projector. The pixels scurried into action. A blinking red rectangle in the bottom of the projection indicated that he had a sib call waiting. He watched it blink five times before gesturing to answer it.
His father appeared. Corbin hadn’t spoken to the man in four standards. He had grown old. A little heavy, too, which was surprising. His father had always pushed Corbin to eat healthy. Corbin could see it now, the familiar curves and angles and lines in his father’s face. The features were more pronounced, worn deep with age, but they were the same as his own. It was more than just familial resemblance. Corbin would wear the same face one day.
His father spoke. “They hurt you.”
Corbin leaned back in his chair, making sure that his father could get a good look at the fading bruises on his face. This was exactly why he hadn’t let Dr. Chef fix anything but the bones. He had been hoping for this moment, the moment in which his father would see what his hubris had done. “Hello, Marcus. And yes, I came back from prison with a broken nose and three cracked ribs. One came damn close to puncturing my lung.”
“I’m sorry, Artis. I am so sorry.”
“Sorry,” said Corbin. “I get ripped out of my home, beaten to a pulp, and thrown into some Quelin hellhole, only to be told that my entire life is a lie — and you’re sorry. Well, thanks, but that doesn’t quite cut it.”
Marcus sighed. “This is why I called, you know. I figured you had some questions. If you can stop hating me for a few minutes, I’d be happy to answer them. I can’t make many calls from here. Ansible access is a rare thing.”
Corbin stared at the man in the pixels. He looked so defeated, so tired. Corbin found himself shaken by it, and it made him all the angrier. “All I want to know,” Corbin said, “is where I really came from.”
Marcus nodded and looked down at his lap. “You know all those times you asked about your mother?”
“Of course. All you ever said was that she died in a shuttle crash. You never wanted to talk about her. Which makes sense, since she never existed.”
“Oh, no,” Marcus said. “I did have a wife. She wasn’t your mother, of course, but…” His eyes went somewhere far away. “Artis, I’ve never been good with people. I’ve always preferred my lab. I like data. Data is consistent, it’s steady, it’s easy to understand. With data, you always know what the answer is. If the data doesn’t make sense, you can always puzzle it out. Unlike people.” He shook his head. “I can never puzzle out people. I’m sure you understand.”
Corbin clenched his jaw. Dammit, he thought. How much of me is actually you?
Marcus continued. “When I was a young man, I took a posting down on Overlook.” Corbin knew the place. It was one of the few labs down on the surface of Encaledus. Strictly quarantined, to prevent contamination of the microbial pools below the moon’s icy surface. Only one person manned Overlook at a time, and those who were assigned there were on their own for at least a year. It was rare that people took an Overlook assignment more than once. “I thought it was the perfect place for me. I loved working down there. No people to disturb my work or get in my way. Except for her.” He paused. “Her name was Sita. She flew the supply shuttle that brought me food and lab supplies. She couldn’t come in, of course, but I could watch her through the airlock cameras, and we spoke over the vox.” Marcus smiled, a warm, private smile. Corbin was startled. He’d never seen his father smile like that, not once. “And as you may suspect, she was beautiful. Not beautiful like they do in vids or when they’re trying to sell you something. Real beautiful. The kind of beautiful you could actually touch. And she wasn’t from the orbiter. She was from Mars.” He laughed under his breath. “I thought her accent was so damn cute.” Marcus shook his head, as if clearing it. His voice became more grounded. “I was awful to her, of course. I’d snap at her if she showed up while I was in the middle of testing, and I’ve always hated small talk, so I barely gave her the time of day. I was like that to everyone, but she…she didn’t care. She always put up with me, even when I was an ass to her. She always smiled. She made fun of me, for my bad moods, for my uncombed hair. For whatever reason, it didn’t make me mad. I liked the way she gave me a hard time. I started counting the days between supply drops. At first, I thought I was just lonely, that it was a symptom of living in isolation. It took me a while to realize just how in love with her I was.” He ran his hand back through his thin hair. “And then I got us both fired.”
The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet Page 31