The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

“Thank God.” She gave a throaty laugh. “Ov’Raa was so worried when we assigned Eshel to Weapons, expecting he would clash with Tom… and somehow the opposite has happened.” Her smiled faded. “Suko, what if they’re right? What if he’s dangerous?”

“I’ve had Eshel under my personal surveillance since he arrived. I’ve watched his every move and seen no sign of duplicity yet. But I do have several safeguards installed in case I am wrong.”

Ferguson grabbed her water canteen. “Twenty-five years we’ve known each other. What would I do without you?”

“You would succeed, as always,” he replied, rising from his chair to make his exit.
 

“A bottle of Derovian red tefuna says he won’t last with us,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Yamamoto looked at her for a few moments, lightly stroking his chin. “I’ll take that bet.”

Catherine shook her head.
Fifty-four
. Fifty-four messages enquiring about Eshel. Did he speak English? Did he reveal information about Korvalis? Was he working with her? Is it true that the Korvali have gill slits? She laughed at that one. Word had gotten out.

She left her small office and pulled up a chair. Waiting for her were her two crewmen, Ensign Patrick Holloway and Private First Class Varan Mel’Kavi. Holloway, a recent PhD recipient who handled most of the lab’s information processing, often had messy hair and a somewhat wrinkled uniform. Another lab head might have upbraided him for his disheveled appearance, but Catherine didn’t mind. From her standpoint, Holloway could show up in his underwear as long as he performed his duties.
 

Varan kept track of records and supplies, performed any necessary bench work, and generally made sure the lab ran smoothly. Varan, having struggled with sharing his workspace with two quiet humans, eventually found solace working alongside a fellow Derovian from Anka Henriksen’s lab next door. Catherine didn’t mind this arrangement either, as Varan always completed his duties.
 

“Any agenda items?” Catherine asked them.
 

Both shook their heads.
 

“I’ve got a couple,” she said. “The first is that Commander Steele has assigned a new project. We’ll use our current data sources to conduct a comparative analysis of a fifty-thousand kilobase region across chromosome 12… chromosome 14 for Derovian and Sunai data.” She looked at Holloway. “Will you compile the data and send Varan the ID codes?” He nodded. She turned to Varan. “Once Holloway gives you the IDs, I need you to pull their samples. We’re going to be sequencing.”
 

Varan smiled. “Yes, Catherine!” It took a while, but Catherine had finally convinced Varan it was okay to call her by her first name.
 

“That’s it?” Holloway asked.
 

Catherine recognized Holloway’s tone. The project was far from difficult, and anything but innovative, but would still take a significant amount of time. “I’m afraid so.”

“Balls,” Holloway muttered. “What was the second agenda item?”

“Oh, yes… we arrive on Derovia in a few weeks. And,” she smiled, “I’m told we’ll collect new samples there.”

Both crewmen perked up at this—Varan at the prospect of spending several months on his homeworld, and Holloway at the prospect of collecting new data.
 

“Helloooo…” a female voice rang out.
 

The three of them turned toward the door. Lieutenant Anka Henriksen stood there, her grinning blonde self appearing a bit embarrassed. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said in a Germanic accent.
   

“Come on in, Anka,” Catherine said.
 

Anka, a molecular biologist from the neighboring lab, waved to Holloway and Varan. “Do you have a pipette I can borrow?” she asked Catherine. “The robot’s down and I’m in the middle of an assay.”

Before Catherine could respond, Varan jumped up. “I’ll get the pipette for you, Lieutenant Henriksen!” He scurried off and returned quickly, pipette in hand.
 

She gave him a big smile. “You’re the best, Varan.” She looked Holloway up and down. “Did you sleep in your uniform, Ensign?”
 

Holloway only laughed, his complexion reddening.
 

She held the pipette up to Catherine. “Thanks. Let’s catch up later.”
 

Catherine nodded. “That’s it… meeting adjourned,” she said to her crewmen.” She glanced at Holloway. “Good effort the other night. I had to work harder to submit you this time.”

“Thanks,” Holloway said. “I still hate grappling.”

“I don’t like it either, but it’s a crucial skill—” Her contactor chirped. It was a message from Tom:
Poker. Friday. 1900. Newbs bring beer
. Just as she was about to continue, the lab door opened again. She smiled and turned around, ready to offer up more equipment to Anka. But it was Eshel, his strong gaze making eye contact with her.
 

Eshel wore the uniform of a midshipman: it had the gray sleeves that soldiers wore but lacked any banding. It was immaculate.
 

“I do not mean to interrupt your work,” he said. “I came here to ask you about… self-defense.”
 

“What do you want to know?”
 

“I would like to learn the discipline. Is that possible?”
 

“Do you have any self-defense experience?”

“No. Hand-to-hand combat is not permitted on Korvalis.”

“Why not?”

“It is considered… primitive,” Eshel replied. “It is also forbidden to touch another without their permission.”

Catherine hesitated in surprise. “Wait… I thought the Korvali didn’t like being touched by outsiders. You’re saying you don’t even touch each other?”

“Not without permission.”
 

“Huh.” She stepped back slightly. “Eshel, self-defense training means a lot of physical contact with others. Do you think you can handle that?”

“I do not know. I would like to try.”

Catherine walked back to her office, motioning to Eshel to follow her. She ordered the computer to send a document to Eshel’s contactor. “I just sent you a schedule for the basic self-defense course. Start with that. I teach one two Saturdays from now. Anyone can take the basic course, but if you’re interested in formal training, talk to Commander Yamamoto.”
 

Eshel nodded, and turned to leave.
 

“Eshel.” He turned back to face her. “Tom is hosting a poker game in his quarters Friday night. If you’re not on duty, do you want to join us?”

“You play this game?”

She nodded. “You might like it.”
 

When Eshel hesitated, Catherine knew he’d probably say no.

“Yes, I will join you.” He turned away again, but this time stopped and looked around. Her crewmen, no longer pretending they weren’t listening in, watched him as he studied every corner of the lab. “Your lab is small.”

“Space is limited on a starship. The labs at home are much bigger. Do you have time for a quick tour? My crew has wanted to talk to you since you arrived.”

Eshel agreed and Catherine showed him the high-res and 3D viewers as well as the cold storage areas. Eshel looked with great curiosity at everything, asking more questions than usual and taking an interest in all her answers. She introduced him to Holloway and Varan and let each explain his duties.
 

Eshel looked at Holloway. “You competed with Catherine at the fights.”
 

Holloway chuckled. “Thanks for saying I competed with her, rather than lost to her.” Eshel kept his eyes on him, so Holloway took his cue and kept talking. “I heard that you altered your genome somehow to survive the long trip to Suna. How did you do that? Did you alter the epigenome?”

“Holloway.” Catherine shook her head. “No questions.”

A look of annoyance crossed Holloway’s face. “It’s disappointing that you can’t work with us.” He glanced at Catherine. Varan eagerly seconded Holloway’s statement.
 

Eshel took another glance around the lab. “‘Disappointing’ is an inadequate word,” he replied. He checked the time, and left to return to duty.

When Catherine returned to her office, she realized Holloway had followed her. He closed the door.
 

“Why can he talk with Steele about genetics, but not us?” Holloway said. “Doesn’t that seem rather strange to you?”

She shrugged. “Steele’s head of Research and he’s been around a long time. And Ferguson doesn’t care much about science, so she relies on his judgment.”

“He’s an idiot. He doesn’t even know the new analytic techniques.”

Catherine pulled up a batch of data files on her viewer and began sorting them. “This isn’t about techniques, Holloway. It’s about politics. Alliance officials came all the way here to meet him, but they refused to change their minds on this. They don’t want to anger the Korvali.”

“Then what’s to stop us from pursuing the issue on our own?”
 

Catherine stopped sorting and looked at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“You must have some data from when Eshel woke up in sick bay… or something to work with?” Holloway’s face flushed a little.
 

She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re going to get us in a lot of trouble, talking like that. Unfortunately, I didn’t save the files I generated. I recall ideas, not specifics. And the specifics are important.”

Holloway sighed. “Let me know if you decide to pursue it. I can keep quiet, you know.”

“Get back to work.”

When Catherine arrived at the studio on Saturday, Commander Yamamoto stood quietly at the front of the room, waiting for the rest of his advanced students. She bowed to him. He would begin promptly at 0900, and not a moment after. In the studio, Yamamoto ceased being the ship’s XO and became its self-defense master. While on the small side, Yamamoto was quite possibly the most physically fit person on the ship. This was no small distinction, as many of their soldiers were fresh out of training and Yamamoto was older than most of the crew.
 

After Yamamoto dismissed class, everyone bowed to him. Catherine went to grab her towel, until she heard her name. “I need to speak with you,” Yamamoto said.
 

Yamamoto encouraged mentoring for all students who trained beyond the basic levels. Because of her advanced skill, Yamamoto was Catherine’s mentor. She wondered if she’d done something wrong, as they were not scheduled to talk that day. With Yamamoto, it was difficult to tell.

Once everyone left the studio, he addressed her. “After taking your course, Eshel has requested to train in our discipline and has recently begun formal instruction. He still shows discomfort with physical contact, but he is determined. Given his limitations, I believe he would benefit greatly from private tutelage. I would like you to take him as a student and provide mentorship to him.” He paused. “He must learn to defend himself, especially once we arrive at Derovia, where looking after him will prove more difficult.”

She hesitated, surprised at the request. “Why me?”

“Eshel seems to feel more at ease with you than he does with others.”

“What if he prefers someone else?”
 

Yamamoto shook his head. “I already asked him. He prefers you.” He paused, studying her. “Does the prospect of working with Eshel make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I’ve just never mentored anyone. It’s… intimidating.”

“You will do fine. I will provide you with guidelines and suggested curricula, should you need them. He will continue class instruction twice per week, and I would like him to meet once per week with you, at a time agreed upon by you both. He preferred a more ambitious schedule, but it is better that he focus on his studies.”
 

Catherine shook her head. “He’s tireless.”

“Consider it your job to tire him out a little.”
 

She smiled. “Consider it done.”
 

Catherine met with Eshel Sunday morning at 1000. When she arrived, Eshel was already in the studio, dressed in training apparel. Upon seeing her, he bowed.
 

“How do you want to handle contact?” she asked him.

“Contact?”

“Touching.”

“You have my permission. I will adapt.”
 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Most of your early training won’t involve a lot of contact anyway.”
 

They spent their time working on self-defense fundamentals: punches, blocks, and kicks. By the end of their session, which ran way over their 90-minute window of time, Catherine was starving and Eshel, to her delight, looked tired. Instead of grabbing a shower, she decided to head straight for the mess. When Eshel learned that was her plan, he asked to join her.
 

Once they got their meals, Eshel walked to the officer’s section of the mess. Catherine halted, confused, until she realized Eshel’s midshipman status allowed him to eat there now. When they sat down, Eshel gazed at her as if looking at something specific.
 

“Your hair color… it is highly valued on Korvalis.”

“Really?” Catherine said, surprised. “Why?”

“Such a pigment is extremely rare among my people, and is considered genetically superior. There is a group among the Osecal that specializes in breeding children with red hair.”

“Are there a bunch of redheaded kids running around Korvalis now?”
 

Eshel finished chewing his food. “No. It is an expensive procedure. Most cannot afford it. And we could not reproduce your color red… what do you call it?”

“Auburn.”

“We can only produce fairer shades.”

“Breeding for physical attributes was banned on Earth years ago,” she told him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “But even before the ban, nobody wanted red hair.”

“Why?”

“A lot of people don’t like it. There’s still a very old prejudice that redheads are temperamental.”

“Temperamental?”

“That they have angry, difficult temperaments.”

“That makes little sense. The genes for hair color show no linkage with those responsible for one’s character. And you do not seem ‘temperamental,’” he added.