Jailmates

by Lesli Richardson

“That is me.”

  Okay, then. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say hello. Mohrn spoke very highly of you, Geelahm, and Ayyalhm. Considers you extended family. I wanted to thank you for helping them through everything. With the negotiations and stuff.”

  I’m glad I’m looking the dude in the face. I see them catch themselves as they start to make a face, and not a pleasant one. But then they smile, and it’s as fake as the one I’m wearing.

  “Is Mohrn well, then?”

  “The prison sentence started yesterday. I spent the night here at Dohrn’s last night.”

  “Ah. I see. Are you settled in at Dohrn’s, then?”

  “For now, yeah. Listen, can I talk to you?”

  “About what?”

  “I want to learn about Mohrn as much as I can, and they were pretty closed-mouthed about what happened. The accident, I mean. I didn’t want to force them to talk about it. Can you tell me more about it? The circumstances?”

  “There was an accident. Wrohlyyn died, and Mohrn has accepted responsibility.”

  Duuuuuude.

  I literally fucking shiver, my bullshit meter is going off so hard. “Didn’t Geelahm and Ayyalhm witness it, though?”

  “Wrohlyyn contributed to the accident, which is why there was no criminal charge, just a contractual claim by the family. If there’s nothing else, I apologize, but I have a lot of work to do today.”

  I know a fucking cover-up when I see it. But the other problem is my own body is so messed up right now that, honestly?

  How do I know if I’m even seeing things clearly anymore?

  “Thanks,” I say. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Please give Mohrn our regards when you see phem.”

  “Sure.”

  Dude walks away.

  I take my time heading back to Dohrn’s. This isn’t just me not understanding some sort of cultural norm. When I looked up other news items in my research, I found plenty of descriptions of accidents, the rare crime—this closed-mouth treatment is fucking bullshit.

  Nothing’s adding up to me.

  And I don’t like it when things don’t add up.

  * * * *

  When I signed the contract, I thought this was going to be a breeze. That sleeping my mornings away and having my days to myself would be fan-fucking-tastic.

  By the end of day four I’m climbing the walls, and I’m not talking about masturbating until my wrist feels like it’s going to fall off and my cock’s nearly numb.

  Which I’ve also done, in between bouts of crying over how much I miss Mohrn and trying to find out more about the accident.

  I’m talking about the sheer unadulterated boredom, for starters.

  Yes, I’m studying languages, and yes, I’m studying Pfahrn history. I’ve finally read through all the information in the packet, thank you very fucking much.

  Yes, I’ve developed the ability to successfully masturbate with my left hand, too, not just my right.

  But I’m not…doing anything.

  When I visited my family, I helped out with chores. I don’t even feel like I can do that here, because if I do, Cloohdlin scurries along behind me a few minutes later and basically redoes everything I did, as if I didn’t do it right.

  Doesn’t matter that I did it right—Cloohdlin’s employment contract specifies everything that they are supposed to do. So they do it, even if it’s already done.

  I give up.

  I mean, even having kids is strictly regimented and contracted. There’s no such thing as accidental births. If Pfahrn are mated, their future children are covered by contract. If it’s a mating of choice, there’s a contract.

  If someone wants to walk away, well, there’s a contract clause in place to handle that, too.

  I wonder if, because Mohrn was the youngest, that was why Dohrn’s mate left after his birth? I mean, I don’t know why Dohrn doesn’t have a mate. Maybe the dude never had one. I need to research it.

  I’ve learned ishblane are very uncommon and considered extremely unlucky. Until a few generations ago, they were still frequently murdered.

  I know that also probably formed part of Mohrn’s reasoning for wanting to get off this planet. I get it—I would want off of it, too.

  But when I think about the beauty in that notebook…

  It brings me to tears. Partially because I’m emotional and hormonal right now.

  Partially because I’m lonely as fucking hell. Cloohdlin is the only one of them who’ll have conversations with me. Meals are the only time I see all three of my housemates together, and they rarely speak to me.

  If they do, they don’t use my name. The closest they’ve ever come is referring to me as Mohrn-mohr.

  Which…I’m starting to think that maybe they consider that an insult.

  Did I mention they’re assholes?

  At least, that’s my opinion.

  By day six, I can’t take it anymore. I contact H’looder and ask them to send a skiff for me. I grab my shit—and the sweater, the little notepad, Mohrn’s rock, and his tablet, where I find another copy of the contract, among other things—and head to the transport station on foot after telling Cloohdlin I’m leaving.

  I lie and tell him H’looder wants to run some tests on me. Fuck these assholes, I don’t owe them any honesty.

  No contract clause in my contract that says I have to tell the truth to any of them once the contract starts.

  When I hit the outskirts of town, I feel the stares start, see people whispering to each other behind hands.

  Who I am is well-known, no doubt about it.

  I ignore all the assholes and head inside the transport station to await the skiff. When it arrives, I’m already walking out the glass door and up the gangway for it before they’ve even fully opened the hatch.

  “Jeez, it’s good to see you guys,” I tell the crew as I strap in.

  “You all right?” the co-pilot asks.

  “Yeah. Just want to go home.”

  * * * *

  H’looder meets me when I debark from the skiff. He’s not wearing a mech suit but he does look a little worried. “Are you all right, Simon?”

  “I’m tired and lonely and sick of those assholes. I needed a break from them.”

  He falls in with me. “What did they do?”

  “They were phemselves, that’s what.”

  H’looder follows me back to my stateroom, and as soon as the door opens, I wonder if this was a mistake. I can smell Mohrn here, heavy and strong, and I’m already crying.

  I drop my bags and climb onto the bed, grab Mohrn’s pillow, and sob into it while H’looder quietly settles on the hassock and watches me.

  Once I’ve gotten that out of my system, H’looder gently speaks. “Would you like me to order you a sedative?”

  I shake my head. I’m here, and I want to think about Mohrn. “Is he okay?”

  I know the prison is in contact with H’looder about Mohrn’s medical status, in case they have to bring me over sooner.

  “They are…safe and medically stable at this time.”

  I roll over to look at him. “Why’d you say it like that? Is he doing okay?”

  “They are sad. The medical team there uses a monitor several times a day, and I can see from the readings that they are…grieving your separation.”

  “Is there any way I can buy out his contract or something? Get his sentence commuted?”

  “That is not how laws on Pfahrn work. The only way to terminate the contract Mohrn signed early is by proving fraud, or by Mohrn’s death. The other family will not terminate it because there are no other termination clauses within it.”

  I stare up at the ceiling with Mohrn’s pillow clutched in my arms. “Am I so fucked up right now because of what you did to me for this, or because I’m genuinely hurting and missing him?”

  “I can’t answer that, Simon. I’m sorry. I wish I could. Will you allow me to run some tests so we can check your systems?”

  “Yea
h. And load me up with the next batch of augmentation, please.”

  “Very well. We can start that today, if you wish. When would you like to begin?”

  “Right now.” I sit up and replace Mohrn’s pillow, giving it a gentle pat as I do. “Because if I sit around much longer, I’m going to cry myself dead.”

  * * * *

  H’looder runs tests on me and tweaks things for me with more DNA infusions that actually help chill me out.

  Doesn’t make me miss Mohrn any less, but it does make it less likely I’ll burst into tears just because I think about Mohrn.

  It also cast doubt into my mind. How much of what I’m feeling for Mohrn is “real,” and how much is induced by the medical technology?

  How much of what Mohrn appeared to feel for me is real?

  By the morning of the day of my first conjugal visit with Mohrn, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m not allowed to take anything to him yet.

  Anything.

  Just me. Well, and the protective shirt, which has been pre-approved as a medically necessary device.

  When I arrive, I’m taken through a different entry door than Mohrn was led through, into a changing room, where I’m issued scrubs to wear, as well as a photo ID. My clothes go in a locker that’s locked with my thumbprint, and then one of the Guyardiens leads me down a dizzying maze of corridors until we reach the conjugal wing.

  He keys in a code and the door opens. “We will bring them shortly. Your time begins once they have arrived.”

  “Thanks.” I step inside and shiver when I hear the door lock behind me.

  There’s a tiny window port looking out on Pfahrn below. It’s nighttime below, so no reflection to bounce a semblance of sunlight into the room.

  The room itself is very sparsely furnished—a large bed with a bottom sheet and a thin blanket, a hard chair, and a hard hassock. A small curtained area in one corner holds a sink, toilet, and shower.

  It feels like forever until I hear the door unlock and open.

  The Guyardien removes Mohrn’s wrist and ankle shackles and points up to a small display screen over the door, which I hadn’t noticed before. “Remaining time.”

  He closes the door and the display reads 02:00 and starts ticking backward.

  Mohrn looks horrible. There’s a faint bruise on their right cheek, and they’re now wearing what looks like a solid metal ID bracelet locked on their left wrist. I don’t know if he bursts into tears first, or I do, but I race to him, both of us tightly clinging to each other as he buries his face in my hair.

  I get us over to the bed, where we sit, and I get a better look at his cheek. “Who did this to you?” I demand.

  “It is nothing, Simon. Please, I do not wish to talk about it.”

  Anger swells inside me, but I struggle to tamp it back. This visit is about Mohrn, not me.

  “Come here, buddy.” I pull him in for a long, deep kiss, my body immediately craving him.

  He smells…

  Sooo fucking good.

  I worried after H’looder tweaked me the other day that I might not feel like this for Mohrn.

  Wroooong. I want him as badly as ever.

  By the end of the visit we’ve both come several times, and we even had time for cuddling. Mohrn lies with his head in my lap and staring up into my eyes as I nuzzle my nose against his and whisper to him all the things I want to show him after he’s out of this fucking place.

  In two weeks, I’ll be back. The next two visits after that will be two-week intervals. Then they’re bumping it up to three weeks for a couple of months, and then four weeks.

  Once a month. At least our time together will be increased to four hours soon Then to six after the first year, if Mohrn continues his good behavior.

  But once a month? That’s going to fucking kill me, man. Not because I’ll be horny.

  Because it’s going to rip my heart out more every time I have to say goodbye to him and know it’s going to be a whole goddamned month before I get to hold him again.

  * * * *

  I opt to return to Dohrn’s and try again.

  I make it a whopping five days this time.

  I use the following nine days up on H’looder’s ship ahead of my next visit with Mohrn to get the next batch of augmentation I’ve requested. The easiest ones I’ve already received—hearing, vision, things like that—make an immediate impact.

  I want more, though.

  I need to be able to take care of Mohrn once he’s free. Protect him. I want to buff myself in strength, reflexes, but not to the extent I totally change how I look.

  H’looder has a relatively new batch of bionanotech that is targeted to be a kind of fast-response augmentation. They give you immediate results as you need them, but remain inert when you don’t. The drawback is they take a lot of energy to activate and use on short notice like that. If I don’t kick ass in under a few minutes, I will get my ass kicked because I’ll wear myself out.

  I figure as long as I can get in a good punch or two, that’ll be enough to get Mohrn to safety. Let’s face it—he’s eight feet tall and pink. I’m going to have to punch a motherfucker on a regular basis.

  Mohrn, bless his heart, is calm almost to a fault. I’m not even sure he knows how to defend himself. One of the things I want to teach him is how to express his emotions. He spends so much time trying to keep his under tight lock and key.

  Around me, he doesn’t need to, never needs to.

  All I have to do now is prove that to him.

  Helleia, at least, sends news that helps cheer me up. She’s finished her first semester in law school, and she got straight A’s. Mom’s also doing well in school, and they’re both happy.

  That’s the only thing keeping me going right now, how happy they are. And I make sure to tell Mohrn that every time we’re together, because I want him to remember there is an upside to this that’s bigger than the two of us—Mohrn is a blessing.

  No matter what that asshole family of his thinks.

  Mohrn’s presence in my life is a huge blessing, and this situation has brought about great things.

  Now if I could just shake the nagging certainty that I’m not seeing something big, something that’s really wrong with this whole situation, that’d help even more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I end up feeling like I’m in a weird sort of detente with Mohrn’s family. I force myself to spend more time down there, even though when I am there, I’m usually closed in my room and studying. I’m getting certified for more languages and studying for tests. I’ve familiarized myself with Pfahrn contract law in an attempt to locate some loophole I can use to free Mohrn early, but I haven’t found one yet.

  I’ve also gained more augmentations.

  I don’t do as much stuff outside as I thought I would because every time I try, I think of Mohrn stuck in a damn cell, that they belong there with me, and it makes me cry.

  So I lock myself in my room and study harder, or I go up to H’looder’s ship and follow the ether-tech engineer and work with him.

  On my tenth visit to the prison, now almost seven months after we first met, Mohrn’s brought to me with a healing but nasty-looking bruise on his forehead. Not the first time he’s had an injury, but this is the worst one yet.

  I start to go fucking apeshit but Mohrn’s upset that I’m upset. So I force myself to calm down. Getting upset isn’t good for Mohrn. He’s having a hard enough time getting used to this fucking place. H’looder’s actually a little worried about him. He’s losing weight, barely eating, and apparently scans they’re doing show his brain waves look horrible. They only improve the day before and day after we’re together. He’s still in his probationary period. He’s earned a few small privileges within the prison, like I can buy him snacks from the commissary by sending money to his account—and I pay that out of my own pocket—but he still has three months before the big ones kick in, like weekly com link-ups, or messages, or being able to bring or send him things.

 
I hold him before we do anything. Man it fucking kills me that he’s clinging to me in the bed, latched on to me like he’s drowning and I’m rescuing him.

  He rescued me. He’s helped me take care of my family, and readjust my priorities.

  When this started I didn’t realize how much I would miss him.

  Really fucking miss him.

  And as I hold him, soothing him while trying to calm myself, I realize there’s a righteous level of protective fury coursing through my veins over his injuries.

  Because I love him.

  I try to ignore that thought because of our contract and the fact that logic-brain is trying to remind me it’s due to what H’looder and his team did to me so this works in the first place.

  But I don’t honestly believe that. I think it’s…

  Well, more.

  A lot more.

  I get him out of his jumpsuit and he lies back on the bed so I can straddle him and kiss him. I haven’t even stripped yet. I want his mind focused on nothing but me in this moment.

  Not where he’s stuck, not that this time between us is limited—none of that.

  Once I strip, I wait to put the protective shirt on until I absolutely have to. I hate having anything between me and Mohrn, and I wonder not for the first time what it would feel like to have that venom flowing into me instead of in tiny rivulets down the front or back of the damn shirt, depending on where he’s latched on to my shoulder.

  When we finish that round, I pull the shirt off and lie on my back with Mohrn snuggled in my arms, his head on my chest and my nose buried in his hair. I stroke his back, where my hands are pressed flat against his skin, and my feet are hooked around the backs of his legs.

  “I missed you, buddy,” I whisper into his hair.

  “I missed you, too, Simon.”

  We’ll have a round two soon, where I’ll put him on his back and fuck him, but right now he needs this time with me even more than that.

  Hell, I need it, too.

  But once we’re done here today, I’m going to be having myself an unfriendly little chat with the head guard in this goddamned place.

  * * * *

  At the end of our time together, four hours that pass way too quickly for my tastes, I say goodbye to Mohrn after holding him for several long, sweet minutes. I give him a kiss, nuzzle his nose with mine, and give him a gentle boop that at least wins me a sad smile.