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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/sjanevardsson on 2024-11-24 03:26:05+00:00.

“Allow me to make the facts of the case clear.” The newly elected prosecutor, Hiratha of clan Ororos, stood at her designated spot, addressing the panel of judges. Like her, they were covered in a fine layer of fur, wearing stylish sashes. Hiratha extended one of her six upper tentacles, spreading the six small, grasper tentacles at the end, pointing in the manner of her people at the dock.

Maxwell sat in a cage in the dock. He was meant to be standing, but it wasn’t built for someone as tall as him. He was the only human in the chamber, surrounded by the fluffy oraxans. Max was made uncomfortable by the confines of the dock, the chilly temperature of the room, and the prospect of being found a criminal without being told what he was suspected of.

Hiratha swayed all six of her upper tentacles. “Maxwell of clan Martinez, did the Department of Genetics provide you with a suitable match?”

“Who … what?!” Max looked at Hiratha, smaller than her campaign ads made her seem, trying to determine if this was all an elaborate prank or she was serious and insane.

“Answer the question.” Hiratha’s tentacles stiffened at her sides, pointing straight down. “Did the Department of Genetics provide you with a suitable match?”

Max wanted to stand, but the cage was too small. “I don’t understand what you are asking.”

Hiratha extended a tentacle behind herself without looking and picked up the sheet of processed cellulose on the table behind her. She held it out where it could be seen by the judges and the accused. “Did you receive this notice of genetic suitability?”

Max looked at the paper she held. “Yes, but—”

“A simple yes or no will suffice.” She put the paper back on the desk behind her.

“But I’m—”

“Hold your comments while I am questioning you.” Hiratha gestured at the judges. “Please forgive me, honorable judges, but his continued outbursts point to his disrespect and disdain for cultural norms.”

Max groaned. This was ridiculous.

“Maxwell of clan Martinez—”

“My name is Maxwell Luis Martinez-Orwell,” Max cut her off. “No clans, just family names. But please, just call me Max.”

A shudder ran down all Hiratha’s tentacles, the oraxan equivalent of a sigh. “Very well. Max, when did you become of citizen of the Slimark Republic of Planets?”

“Day 382 of period 854. It was my seventeenth birthday in Earth years, and I’m thirty-four now.”

“You have had more than nine periods since then.” Hiratha waved her tentacles in an inquisitive gesture that Max was certain was acting and not sincere. “Would you consider nine periods a reasonable amount of time to acclimate to a culture and its laws? That is, after passing the citizenship tests and proving your knowledge of that culture and those laws, is nine periods long enough to acclimate?”

“I grew up here,” he said. “I was born here, since my folks were ambassadors.”

“Answer the question, Maxwell Luis Martinez-Orwell. Is nine periods long enough to acclimate?”

“Sure. I guess.” Max sighed.

“When did you learn about reproduction — specifically oraxan reproductive cycles and customs?” she asked.

“I guess I was still a young kid,” he said. “I was a bit precocious in my curiosity about where babies come from, whether it was humans, puppies, or oraxans.”

“So that was before you became a citizen?”

“Yes.” Max leaned against the side of the cage. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m asking the questions here.” She snapped her tentacles as his teachers had done, creating the sound of six whips simultaneously cracking.

Max sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap. He chuckled at himself internally for becoming a schoolboy at the sound.

“What,” she asked, “happens during the thirteen days beginning on day 211 of the period?”

“Life festival,” Max answered.

“And what does the Festival of Life celebrate?”

“When oraxans enter their fertile cycle.” Max leaned back. “This is youngling school stuff.”

“Exactly.” Hiratha paused a moment before continuing. “Do you know what the Department of Genetics does?”

“I guess they find suitable matches for reproduction?” Max cocked his head. “I know oraxans don’t do the whole family for love thing.”

“Your guess is good, but it goes further. The Department of Genetics finds the matches in a given geographical area with the most diverse genetics; those who are most dissimilar and most distantly related.” She extended a tentacle with spread graspers toward him. “Do you know why they do that?”

“Oh, I remember this from school,” he said. “During the era of the First Republic, people didn’t travel very far, and the unmanaged fertility cycles led to in-breeding and the propagation of genetic illnesses.”

“Maxwell Luis Martinez-Orwell, you have admitted to knowing oraxan culture, the reasons for the Festival of Life, and the importance of the work of the Department of Genetics. Despite knowing all that, though, you failed to follow the instructions given to you for the most recent Festival of Life. I hereby request that the judges find you culpable and award punitive damages in the amount of 190,000 regals.” Hiratha whipped her tentacles again and moved behind the table to sit.

The lead judge said, “The accused may now speak on their own behalf.”

Max heaved a sigh. “Okay, first of all, I’m not a suitable genetic match for anyone on this planet. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m human, not oraxan, and the other humans in the embassy are all related to me.”

He gestured toward the prosecutor’s table where the decree still sat. “Yeah, I got that. I figured it had to be a clerical error. One thing the Republic is very good at is bureaucracy. I figured it would get straightened around, no problem, once they figured out they matched a human for breeding.”

Max looked around the chamber. “I still don’t know what law I’ve been charged with breaking, and I have no representation, nor was I asked if I wanted any. I can afford an attorney, so please, can we put this trial on hold long enough that I can hire one?”

When no answer was forthcoming, he continued. “Look, I’m not sure what the crime is, but the guilty party is the Department of Genetics, or whoever in that department made the error. Why the prosecutor is coming after me so hard makes no sense.”

One of the judge panel members spoke up. “This is not a criminal court, this is a civil matter, and there is no prosecutor here, just the aggrieved, and you, the accused.”

Max closed his eyes and shook his head. “Wait, wait wait wait. I got bundled into a van, stashed in a cell, then locked into a literal cage in the courtroom for a civil case?!” He took a deep breath and did his best not to scream.

“Okay, if this is civil court, why all that and why am I locked in this cage?” he asked.

“This is standard procedure for any case which could lead to the aggrieved being injured by the accused or vice versa.” The lead judge swayed his tentacles in an apologetic manner. “Seeing that this case does not include any sort of violence, you may exit the protective chamber, assuming you and the aggrieved both promise not to injure each other?”

“Of course, your honors,” Max said.

Hiratha agreed with a gesture and the door to the cage opened.

“May I speak directly to the prosec—the aggrieved?” he asked the judges after exiting the cage and stretching.

“You may speak to and question the aggrieved. This is your time to do so.”

“Hiratha of clan Ororos, can you admit this isn’t about me? You’ve never seen me before today. It’s not even about the fact I didn’t show up to meet you. You’re upset that you missed a chance to breed, because the Department of Genetics assigned you to someone that shouldn’t even be in consideration due to being a different species.” Max let his shoulders droop and softened his gaze.

“I’m very sorry you missed out on a chance to reproduce this cycle. You seem like a driven woman … uh, oraxan, and there’s bound to be a good choice for you on the next go-round. I wish you all the luck in that, and if you choose to bring a case against the Department of Genetics, I will back you all the way. What they did by matching you with me wasn’t right at all.”

Hiratha pulled her tentacles in tight. “When you didn’t show up at the appointed time to the coupling center, I thought maybe my match had seen me and run away. I know I’m not the most attractive. It wasn’t until I dug into it that I found out I’d been matched to the only human citizen of the Republic in thirty light years distance.”

“But you still chose to take me to court, to hold someone accountable for your hurt.” Max smiled at her with a sad smile. “I understand. You’re a prosecutor, so that’s what you know. We have a saying, ‘When all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.’ You just did what you know how to do.”

He straightened up. “That said, I can now see that I’ve caused you pain, though it was never my intention. Hiratha, I beg your forgiveness for my insensitivity. I’m not sure how money will heal the hurt, but 190,000 regals is far more than I make in an entire period.”

Max looked at Hiratha. “If it is amenable to you, I would like to offer my sincerest apologies in the form of a dinner at my home. Any human or oraxan dish you would like, to be prepared and served by me, using the skills I’ve acquired working in the embassy kitchen.”

The judges conferred for a moment, before the lead judge said, “We have a counteroffer of a meal. As the harm inflicted was not physical in nature, and was not inten...

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