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Being the legal representative of Teniel Cae was, to be frank, a shit position.
Manjeet Jiāng had taken the position out of a combination of sympathy and greed. He’d been following Teniel’s case closely, having at the time been studying law on one of the Levir sub-planets, Jure. He’d seen the speeches. He’d also seen how quickly protests turned to riots with the right push. It was hard not to sympathize, especially when Manjeet thought of his grandparents’ stories of overcrowded cities and not enough food. Manjeet would never admit it out loud, at least not around other people, but the whole exile didn’t sit right with him. He understood it conceptually, as well as any non-Levir could, but he was ultimately still Human, no matter how much time he’d spent in culturally Levir spaces, and the whole thing chafed at him. It was hard to hate someone who was advocating for the little guy, right?
Of course, after meeting Teniel, Manjeet had realized that maybe even his own sympathy was less about what Teniel said and more about how he said it. He radiated good intentions, and for all his approachable and good-natured energy, you could tell he had been raised from birth to be a spiritual leader. Religion oozed off of him, and you’d catch it if you weren’t careful.
Of course, that had been almost two standard years ago now, and secret morality aside, Manjeet had long since regretted taking Teniel on as a client, no matter how well the anonymous donor who’d hired him paid. Fresh out of Levir law school, it had been too good—too much money, too high profile—to turn down, and now he was stuck with an impossible case. You wouldn’t think it’d be that difficult to find sanctuary for a high-profile religious leader from one of the most powerful civilizations in Union space. Particularly not one as charming and charismatic as Teniel Cae. You would be incredibly wrong, as wrong as Manjeet had been when he took on this fucking case.
But now, after almost two goddamn years, he’d had a breakthrough. And now he just needed to find Teniel before someone developed an iota of good sense and backed out of the situation. This was harder than it needed to be, because Teniel wasn’t responding to his messages and he’d had his web augment surgically removed over a year ago. Tracking him the normal way was impossible, so Manjeet had to resort to physically coming to this outsystem slum planet. Fortunately, at that point, Teniel had been easy to find. He was the only living Drakai; it’s not like his presence was subtle. Anyone could tell you where he’d been.
Manjeet had followed a trail of drugs, debauchery, and depression here, to a squatters’ tenement. The inside was disgusting and probably stank, but fortunately, face coverings were necessary basically anywhere on Jandith-3 because of all the sand. Manjeet, who had no desire to get whatever alien diseases were probably running rampant here, had gone for a full-face ventilator. It made him stand out, but he’d rather bring security and risk getting jumped than get an eye-and-lung full of contaminants and sand.
It took a dozen tries and showing a particularly hostile-looking Human man his credentials to figure out which room was Teniel’s. He supposed he couldn’t blame them; Manjeet couldn’t possibly have looked less like he belonged there, with his ventilator and his still-mostly-clean robe he’d very obviously purchased at a shop in the space dock. The idea that maybe these people were looking out for Teniel in some fashion was something of a comfort. More of a comfort, however, would be getting out of here with Teniel in tow.
Teniel did not appreciate the knocking. He never did. No one ever knocked on his doors—on the rare occasions he had them—for any good reasons. And at this particular moment, he had just finished fucking—or being fucked by, maybe, technically—a very powerful, very dangerous Osith’s sexually unsatisfied girlfriend.
Ten rolled out of bed, as quietly as he could, and went to the window. He was four stories up, but that was perfectly survivable, although he didn’t love the idea of trying to land safely while stoned out of his mind. But hey, if he sprained an ankle or broke a toe, at least he wouldn’t be able to feel it until later. He started twisting the knob that would unseal the window; hopefully it wouldn’t storm before someone got back in here to seal it. Before he could get it unsealed and opened, however, he heard something other than the knocking on the door.
“Teniel? Teniel, are you in there? It’s Manjeet Jiāng.”
Ten paused, confused. Manjeet Jiāng was his lawyer, or what passed for it. What would he be doing here? They hadn’t spoken in three local months, since the last update, which had just been “Yeah, no one wants you, shocker.” Manjeet had certainly never come to Jandith-3, let alone out of the space dock and all the way down here. Could it be a trick? Who would even know that he had a lawyer in order to trick him with it? Who would bother tricking him when it was pretty easy to bust down a door, and also when he was the least able-to-hide person in all of history maybe?
It sounded like Manjeet, too. It had to be at least a recording; where else would you hear someone speaking Mandarin with a Jure accent? Cautiously, Ten stepped away from the window and towards the door. It was at that moment that both Teniel and Manjeet realized the door was not locked, and Manjeet just opened the door.
“Oh good,” Manjeet said. “You’re vertical.”
It took Ten a minute to recognize that it was actually Manjeet. Dark-skinned, Human, and dressed in a robe in the local style, designed to protect the skin and repel sand, he would have passed for anyone else living here if not for the full-face ventilator. His hair was also way too nice, styled and slicked to one side, black and relatively clean. This was not hair that had ridden out a sandstorm or the direct aftermath of one. By the time Ten had caught up with reality, Manjeet was already in the room and had been talking to him, all of which Ten had missed. He was pushing a lightpad into Ten’s hands. Ten glanced down at it, his understanding lagging behind.
“You haven’t forgotten how to operate one, have you?” Manjeet was asking sourly. “It would explain why you haven’t been responding to any messages.”
“Messages?” Ten asked blankly. He hadn’t checked any of his inboxes in weeks… no, maybe months. He didn’t have easy access to a pad since he’d had his implant removed, and also there were never any messages. It was way too much work just to be depressed by the reality of how much no one cared about the universe’s only living Drakai. Or, if Ten was being particularly honest with himself, how much no one cared about him, which hurt worse. Religious and cultural significance aside, you’d think someone would…
But no. It didn’t need to be dwelled on, or even thought about or considered. Manjeet was still talking.
“Damnit, Teniel, are you high?” Manjeet demanded, snapping his fingers in front of Ten’s face. Manjeet did the annoying Human thing where he moved back and forth between Ten’s four eyes, as if they functioned completely separately from each other. Ten didn’t particularly respond to the movement or sound, which probably answered the question. But Ten replied anyway.
“Well, of course,” Ten answered. “Look at where we are. What else would I be doing?”
“For fuck’s sake… On what? When was your last dose?”
“Should I be telling my lawyer that?” The question was sarcastic. Manjeet had more things to worry about than his client’s questionable hobbies. Like being saddled with Teniel Cae to begin with, a fate that Ten personally wouldn’t wish on anyone. Some third party had paid for Manjeet’s services, and seemingly continued to despite the lack of progress. Ten had no idea who; it couldn’t have been a Levir, as aiding or communicating with an exile was a good way to get jailed, if not kicked out yourself, given the exile in question. Whoever it was, they were a genius for finding an alien who was licensed to practice law in not only Union space, but Levir space specifically. Finding one who’d risk their good name exploiting the loophole that would allow an alien to represent an exile was even more miraculous.
“Teniel, please,” Manjeet said with a sigh. “I can’t be handing you off high out of your mind. What is it? Weed?”
“Bliss.”
“Bl… Teniel!” Manjeet exclaimed. “You mean Benespan? Gods above, Teniel, why are you taking Krin painkillers?”
“There is a very significant lack of Levir medication on Jandith-3, for some reason,” Ten replied dryly. “I’m making do.”
“Taking a medication designed to knock out an alien race three times your size and with completely different biology is not making do. Ugh. You know what, it’s fine, it’s fine, we’ve got enough time to sober you up before the transport arrives. I’ve got a room for you up in the spaceport.”
“Before the transport arrives?” Ten asked blearily. “What are you talking about?”
“Please either listen or read,” Manjeet said exasperatedly, pointing at the pad Ten had already forgotten he was holding. “I said, your petition for sanctuary was approved. You’ve been granted refugee status by the Y’tzur.”