Page 39 of Border Control
“Law-rah. Yes.” He keeps his eyes on the dough he's kneading, but takes his time over the syllables of my name like he's tasting them.
I resist the urge to nudge his hip with mine. Not in public. “As for what I do, I'm a corporate lawyer.”
“Law… sayer? Is that a law maker?” He stares at me, jaw slack with awe. “You make the laws here, Law-rah?”
A chuckle escapes me. “I don't make the laws, lawyers weave a way through them for their client and their goals. The only thing I make are arguments, and sometimes contracts.”
“What are contracts?” He eases the dough out into a pretty good round for his first try.
“They're binding conventions between two or more parties. Like, rules laid out for everyone to agree beforehand, so there’s… no surprises…” I trail off as I realize how much this chimes for what I'd been thinking about my sex life earlier.
Urgh. I hate deep self-reflection.
I inform him, “I think that pizza base’s done, so set it to one side and we'll work on the next.” He does so, responding to my orders easily. “So, what about you?”
“As I described, I am a Base for Nevare, the foundation for him to soar from. Parthiastocks are enforcers, able to work together seamlessly with our thoughts tied to seek out dissenters and law-breakers through their own mental admissions.”
“So, the mind police?” Cold creeps over me.
He inclines his head. “We enforce the laws of females.”
Despite the dystopian vibes, I'm curious. “And what are those laws like?”
His jaw tightens. “Rigid. Inflexible. Built as a tight confinement around the clones, to keep them in check.”
“But due process is followed, right?”
“Yes,” he says slowly. “Due process for a clone suspected of a crime is arrest, and most arrests end in summary execution.”
Shit. “Don't they get a trial? A fair hearing?”
“A trial, yes.” He goes quiet for a moment. “I've only seen one so far that didn't end in execution, however.”
Fuck. “Ellen said the women were in charge and treated the clones like shit, but this sounds like a totalitarian, autocraticregime writing rules that suppress and oppress!” I wish I had dough to pummel now. “Which females make the laws? All of them?”
His brows dip further. “I don't know. All I know is they're branded into me.”
I'm almost afraid to ask this. “Literally?”
“In my genetic coding, yes. Obeying laws handed down by those higher than me and a need for orders threads through me. Without orders, a Parthiastock will go mad, and I could sooner fly than disobey them.”
I've seen that for myself, of course, but while Arik and Nevare relax when given instructions, Dom nearly swoons. He loves being told what to do.
I squint at the glint of silver on the horizon. “How do new laws get made, out of interest?”
“I've only seen punitive laws developed and passed, and those happen during trials.”
I’m fuming. “Is it the burden of the prosecutor to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt? Is there a jury?”
I suspect there isn't, and the way he's giving me confused puppy eyes confirms my theory.
I continue, “You said you'd seen trials. What are they like?”
“For a new type of transgression, the male is brought before a panel. Females judge what the law should be, led by the Voice, the one who speaks for them all.”
“Is that the leader?”
“No. The Prif is the leader,” he says patiently. “Once females decide the punishment for the new transgression, it is carried out.”
