The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

Catherine felt her face grow hot. “We… I haven’t been to Suna yet. I’m sorry.”

“Have a seat, man,” Tom said. “I’ll tell you all about Suna.”
 

And they sat, sipping their sake, as Tom regaled the steward with stories of Suna, including the time he’d “barely said two words” to a Sunai female before he was surrounded by four angry males. “It took some time, but promises of boxing lessons and some of my darkest beer calmed them down.” He shook his head. “They got the last of my good stuff, too. I had to go without for the rest of the mission!”

Snow nodded with a wry smile, and the others laughed.
 

Finally, when the steward rose to resume his work, he seemed to realize something. “Was your ship the one that rescued the refugee? The one from planet Korvalis?”

“You mean Eshel,” Tom said. “He’s our friend. You want to see a photo of him?” When the steward’s eyes grew wide, Tom looked around until he spotted one of the viewers used for business meetings. Snow stood up to help and, after a minute, a large image appeared on the viewer.
 

It was from Tom’s birthday party: all of Tom’s friends sitting at dinner while the Derovian host took their picture. Catherine felt a small fragment of sadness as she saw herself seated next to Eshel, a smile on her face.
 

The steward studied the image with great interest. “He does not smile. I am told the Korvali do not smile.”

“True story,” Snow said. “He isn’t much for humor in general.”

“He tried, a few times,” Catherine said.
 

“How’s he doing at boot camp?” Rory asked Tom.

“I don’t know,” Tom said, shaking his head. “He hasn’t replied to my messages, which means they’ve restricted his privileges. Which isn’t a good sign.”

“It is very generous that you would trust this refugee,” the steward said. “You call him ‘friend’ despite how many feel about his people. My family… we were refugees. Some did not like us. But others like yourselves… they showed us generosity.” He turned to Tom. “Thank you for sharing your stories.”

“Why don’t you come have a drink with us?” Tom said. “My treat. We’ll make sure you get home safely.”

The steward smiled. “I know a place you will like. And please, call me Chima.”

A couple of hours and many drinks later, they stood counting in an underground pub, surrounded by a horde of people with shades of skin and hair that ran the spectrum of the color wheel. The crowd shouted as a shirtless Miguel got up to 57 pull-ups before dangling from the bar, unable to manage another or to beat Tom’s 64.

“Yeah!” Tom slapped hands with those around him.

A skinny, tattooed guy with hair in peacock spikes stepped forward. “Let me show ‘ya how it’s done, you bunch of pussies,” he said in a twangy American accent. He jumped up to the bar and knocked out a nearly effortless 75.

Tom nodded, acknowledging his defeat with equanimity. “Not bad for a guy your size.” He grinned.

Peacock gave Tom a look. “Size has nothing to do with it, you service kid dumbass,” he said glancing at Tom’s shoulder tattoo.
 

Chima spoke up. “Do not insult his service to his people. It is disrespectful.”

Peacock scoffed. “Hey, fugee, I serve my people too. Without some bullshit tattoo about how I was raised all underprivileged and shit.”

“Let’s see how important size is now, you little fuck,” Tom said, moving closer to Peacock. Before Snow, Rory, or Miguel could step in, Chima did.
 

“It is the New Year, my friends,” he said. “Let us toast and enjoy the celebration.”

Catherine, who stood aside, found her way through the tight crowd and put her hand on Chima’s shoulder. “Let me talk to him, Chima,” she slurred, gently nudging him aside. She turned to Peacock, whose aggression cooled slightly upon seeing her. “Hi,” she said, giving him a smile. “You’re kind of cute. And I love your hair,” she said, gesturing to it. He looked at her, appearing unsure of what to say. And then she delivered a one-two punch to his face, knocking him sideways as a trickle of blood came from his nose.
 

Mayhem ensued. And she recalled nothing after that.
 

Catherine awoke to a sound and an irritatingly bright light that caused her to squint. Her back hurt. Her head hurt, too. Once she gained her focus, she sat up from her hard polymer bench and saw a very large woman with ratty hair sitting across from her, her head lolling forward as she slept. A uniformed man stood in the doorway.

“You’re free to go,” he said in a deep voice.

Catherine stood up slowly, her head pounding and her body stiff, and left the cell. She followed the guard until she saw the guys, who smiled at the sight of her. The area under Tom’s eye had a purplish hue.
 

“You’re lucky you’re with the Space Corps,” the guard said to them. “My son enlisted last year. This is your one and only free pass, mates. Happy New Year.”

“Thank you. Sir,” she managed to reply in a raspy, dry voice. The other men muttered their thanks as well.

As they left the station, Tom put his arm around her and laughed.
 

She smiled.
 

When Catherine arrived at the airport in Washington DC, her father stood waiting for her. He accompanied her on the train ride back to the shipyards.

“What happened to you?” Jimmy asked, peering closely at her fading black eye.

“Nothing. Just a minor skirmish on New Years Eve...”

He sat back in his seat. “You’re doing the right thing.”
 

“I hope so, Dad.”

“Be sure to visit the Fires of Tonaili when you get to Suna. It’s a long hike, but it’s worth every step.”

She nodded.
 

When the train stopped at Headquarters, they hugged. As Catherine waited for her stop, her mind turned unexpectedly to Eshel. It was the first time she’d let herself think about all that had happened between them. She remembered their meeting for the first time, their training together, her drug-addled chat with him after the CCFs, their intimate encounters, their conversations, the sher mishtar, and the secrets they shared. Had she loved him? Of course. Had he loved her? Perhaps not. And what did it matter? Theirs was something without a future. They’d had a temporary alignment of interests, of needs, of curiosity, of willingness. Once fulfilled, such a thing would end.

Perhaps she was a fool for allowing herself to become emotionally entangled with him without having considered the ramifications of doing so. She didn’t regret making that mistake. But she would never make it again.

Virginia was dreary, rainy, and cold. Catherine always preferred the more extreme but drier cold of Colorado to the wet and drippy coast. She made her way through security, recognizing other crewmembers lining up to gain entry. The guards scrutinized her and checked her identification far more carefully than usual. She began to wonder what was wrong, until she realized she looked like a civilian, like she didn’t belong. Crewmembers were typically expected to be in uniform when boarding the ship; Catherine still wore her civies.

Once aboard, Cornelia’s familiar odor of re-circulated air flooded Catherine with memories. It was a good feeling, which surprised her. After dropping her bag at her quarters and putting on her uniform, she walked to the starboard bar. Packed with officers, the place had the pleasantly noisy sound of vibrant conversation. She scanned the room for Tom’s blonde curls. She didn’t see him, but instead spotted Commander Yamamoto standing aside, as if watching over his crew. He looked right at her. She smiled a little, and gave him a salute. He nodded in return. She wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like a nod of approval.

She found Snow’s dark hair. Tom’s head peeked out from behind Snow’s, and both smiled at the sight of her. Despite having seen them just a few days ago, she walked over and hugged them. They slapped her on the back, made jokes about her putting her tail between her legs, and resumed swapping Thirty stories to see who’d had the wildest time. When anyone new entered the bar, everyone looked, as it wasn’t unusual for crewmembers to return from the Thirty with one of three things: a new haircut or color, a bad sunburn, or an injury.
 

“Catherine!” she heard a feminine voice call out. She followed the voice and spotted a tanned Anka pushing through the crowd to get to her.
 

“How was Japan?” Catherine asked.
 

“Ehhh… we wound up in New Zealand,” Anka replied with a grin. “Long story. What happened to your face?”
 

“Let me get a drink first,” Catherine said, laughing.
 

Catherine and Anka fought their way to the bar and Catherine ordered a beer. The storytelling and festivities went on for the remainder of the evening. And, at 0400 the next morning, the entire crew back in their quarters or on duty,
Cornelia
left Earth.
 

Eight days later, Snow remarked during their poker game that the ship had dropped out of FTL. This time, however, they all knew why. Eshel would be returning from boot camp.
 

Since deciding to return to duty, Catherine thought a lot about what her father and Tom had said about training with the soldiers. The Corps strongly encouraged their officers to get experience in departments outside their usual areas as part of the Elective Training Program, unofficially known as cross training. The Corps especially liked when science officers chose to get soldier training because it provided a source of backup aid during emergencies or times of war. Those who completed the ETP were often promoted first due their broader skill set. And, ideally, the ETP fostered goodwill and understanding between soldiers and scientists.
 

She set up a meeting with Commander Ov’Raa. When she arrived, Ov’Raa smiled at her and offered her a seat. His office was decorated with numerous images of Ovlon: the ocean, various plants and animals, and many Derovian people, who Catherine assumed were his family members.
 

“So you are interested in the ETP, Lieutenant! Excellent! We always encourage our scientists to learn new things! And what area interests you: Engineering? Operations? Administration?”

“I haven’t decided yet, Sir,” she admitted. “I wanted to learn more about the program first and make sure I’m eligible.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course! You have a clean record, Lieutenant, and are not assigned to a ‘sensitive’ post, so you are quite eligible. The program would benefit greatly from someone with your strong background. The ETP requires a minimum six-month commitment, to be extended if the participant and his or her new CO desires. Participants must commit a minimum of four hours per week, beyond that required by one’s duties. Once you identify where you want to train, you must apply to the program and obtain approval from your CO, the CO you will train under, as well as Commander Yamamoto.”
 

Catherine nodded, thanked Ov’Raa, and left. She spent the next couple of days putting together her application. She ran it by Tom and her father before submitting it to Ov’Raa. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more excited she became. She wondered why she’d resisted the idea for so long, and looked forward to the opportunity to learn something new and make the next 17 months more tolerable.
 

Several days later, Ov’Raa called her in. He smiled at her as he clasped his thick hands together and rested them on his neat, organized desk. “Lieutenant Finnegan, we have reviewed your application to participate in our ETP. You are a most excellent candidate for the program and would be a truly excellent addition to the Operations team. However, unfortunately, Lieutenant, your request has been denied.”

Catherine stared at Ov’Raa, momentarily at a loss for words. “Denied, Sir?”
 

“I’m afraid so, Lieutenant.”
 

“Why?” she asked, feeling disappointment flood her. Had her decision to quit the mission angered Yamamoto? Did Marks dislike her? Did they not trust her because of her relationship with Eshel? It had to be the latter…

“Commander Steele did not offer his approval. The Commander feels that as the head of your genetics lab, your position there is of such importance that you could not spare time for the program.”

Catherine felt herself grow angry. “Sir, he must be joking.”

Ov’Raa offered a consolatory smile. “I’m afraid the Commander makes no joke.” He paused. “I imagine you must be very disappointed.”
 

Although Catherine had never minded the gentle, kind ways of the Derovians, at that moment Ov’Raa’s words, and his look of pity, only made her angrier.
 

“Lieutenant, you are, of course, free to discuss the matter in greater detail with Commander Steele. However, this decision is not likely to change.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Catherine replied. She saluted and left Ov’Raa’s office.
 

When Catherine arrived at Steele’s office the next morning, she saluted and stood waiting, as usual. Steele turned from his viewer, appearing in no mood to talk about anything. But to her surprise, he motioned for her to sit down.

“Sir, I’m here to discuss my application for the ETP,” she began. “I’m told you believe my position in the lab is too important to allow for cross training.”

“That is correct, Lieutenant.”
 

Catherine expected this response, and proceeded. “Sir, I… I take my position in the lab very seriously. However, I believe I can spare the time to cross train, and believe I have a lot to offer the Corps if I complete the program. I’m trained in the martial arts and come from a family with a military history—”

“Yes,” Steele interrupted, waving his hand at her. “I reviewed your application, so there is no need to reiterate your qualifications.”

“What I mean to say, Sir, is that I don’t think my being in the program will impact my work or my duties. We will finish every project you assign us, even if I must work extra days.”

Steele offered no reaction. “Lieutenant, you are the head of your lab. As such, you have extra responsibilities that the others do not, and you do not have the luxury of cross training for your own amusement.”