Selway’s face turned red, his jowls shaking. “You’re out of line, Private!” He ordered Eshel out of his office.
Just as Eshel arrived at his quarters, Ov’Raa contacted him. “Eshel,” said Ov’Raa’s high, melodious voice. “You are needed in sick bay immediately for examination! Do you remember where sick bay is?”
“Of course, Commander.” Selway had shown him a schematic of the entire ship. He knew exactly where to go.
Once at sick bay, Eshel felt a sense of dread at the sight of Dr. Vargas.
“Have a seat,” Vargas ordered.
Eshel sat on the medical bed. When Vargas reached up and touched his forehead, Eshel felt fury spread through him as he withdrew from the offending contact. “Do not touch me.”
Vargas’s face showed exasperation. “I have to examine you. Captain’s orders.”
“Then do so without touching me. Did you not learn the first time?”
“You’d better watch that mouth, kid,” Vargas threatened in a loud voice. “Touching people is part of my job. I don’t do it because I like it, believe me. Why does it bother you so damn much?”
“Why do you not have webbed hands?”
Vargas held up the scanner. “Shut your mouth and let me do my goddamn job. I won’t touch you, for Christ’s sake.”
Eshel did as he was told but refused to make eye contact as Vargas scanned him several times. When finished, Vargas said, “You’re fine. Get out of my sick bay.”
Yamamoto, having just finished teaching his intermediate self-defense course, received a meeting request from Ov’Raa. We must speak about Eshel. Yamamoto smiled. He’d been expecting this. He changed into his uniform and made his way to Ov’Raa’s office.
Ov’Raa smiled with chagrin, clasping his thick hands together. “There’s been an… incident… between Eshel and Chief Selway.”
“Yes, I heard. Are you surprised?”
Ov’Raa twittered a little. “Perhaps not. Dr. Vargas reports that Eshel does indeed have true difficulty tolerating warm environmental conditions. Chief Selway has been informed of this. I issued Eshel a formal warning and explained that such disrespectful behavior is not tolerated. I suggested that Eshel offer apology to Chief Selway, and Eshel did so once I taught him what an apology was!” He paused. “However, Eshel still has difficulty addressing his superiors properly and with other social… niceties.”
Yamamoto nodded. “Dr. Vargas said Eshel was very impatient with him during the medical exam.”
“Is that so? Shall I call Eshel in again?”
Yamamoto shook his head dismissively. “The doctor knew to avoid touching him and still chose to. Make sure Eshel gets one of the cold-water canteens to keep with him at all times.” He paused. “Is he getting along with his bunkmates?”
“I’ve heard no complaints yet, Commander. However, I’ve had numerous complaints from others, particularly his superiors. Eshel has insulted his commanding officer, spoken insubordinately to many others, and can be very rude! Eshel does not seem to be integrating well and seems quite unhappy!” Ov’Raa clasped his hands tighter.
“This is the first time he’s interacted with those who are different from him, Niri. He will learn.”
“Many enlisted crewmembers have begun making jokes at Eshel’s expense. They call Eshel ‘Mutant.’ Eshel does not react, which seems only to anger them! I fear he may be harmed.” Ov’Raa’s skin flushed a dark bluish color, and then faded.
Yamamoto hadn’t seen Ov’Raa turn that dark in a long time. Ov’Raa disliked when crewmembers fought with one another, particularly if from different species. “Do not worry yourself, Niri. These problems should abate with time.” He paused. “I’d like one of your people to administer the Corps test battery to Eshel.”
“Yes, of course. Yes. What idea have you developed, Commander?”
“Humor me.”
Yamamoto sat down with Commander Ov’Raa. A minute later, Captain Ferguson joined them and Ov’Raa briefed the Captain on Eshel’s conduct.
“How did the test results turn out?” Yamamoto asked, before the Captain could respond.
“Eshel’s scores ranged from the ninety-fifth to the ninety-ninth percentile in most of the sciences,” Ov’Raa said. “Many of our science officers don’t score that high! Eshel also scored above the seventy-fifth percentile in many of the technical subjects, which is most impressive considering that Eshel comes from a technologically modest homeworld. There were large deficits in other areas… however, Eshel’s general intelligence scores were extremely high.”
Yamamoto gave Ferguson a slight smile.
The Captain leaned back in her chair. “So Eshel’s abilities are going to waste working in maintenance.”
“Perhaps so… ” Ov’Raa said.
“Why was he assigned there?” she demanded. “Just because he can’t work in genetics doesn’t mean he can’t be of some use to us.”
Ov’Raa briefly flushed a pale blue. “Many new crewpersons work in maintenance, Captain. It’s an excellent way to learn how the ship operates. Also, Eshel is a new enlistee, so it is most unfair to place Eshel in coveted positions. Eshel must earn such a privilege, as the other crew have.”
“Fine,” Ferguson relented. “But there must be a more appropriate choice for him.”
“Perhaps with a more challenging station, he’ll integrate better,” Yamamoto said. “In my experience, a soldier working too far below his ability is the most difficult to deal with.
“Where shall I place Eshel?” Ov’Raa said. “Let us avoid Engineering, given Eshel’s sensitivity to heat. One of the science labs, perhaps?”
“No,” Ferguson said. “Steele is already managing this genetics mess. I want someone I can trust looking over Eshel’s shoulder.”
“How about Weapons?” Yamamoto suggested.
Ferguson gave him an amused look. “You want to put a security risk in Weapons?”
“With Tom Kingston to look after him, yes.”
Ov’Raa looked uncomfortable. “Commander, I would reconsider such a choice. Tom can be quite—”
But Ferguson nodded. “Yes. Tom’s perfect. And we need to get Eshel integrated socially. Find someone to help him, someone he won’t offend.” She pushed her chair back and stood up.
After Ferguson left, Ov’Raa sat for a moment, until his face lit up. “When Eshel first came aboard, Dr. Vargas said Eshel enjoyed speaking with Lieutenant Finnegan!” His face fell. “But Lieutenant Finnegan is a geneticist, and not a good choice.”
Yamamoto shook his head. “As long as they avoid the topic of genetics, it should be fine. Yes, excellent idea, Niri. I will speak to Catherine about it.”
Eshel’s contactor chirped. The display showed Catherine Finnegan’s name and a message. Are you free to eat third meal with me tonight?
His contactor offered him a yes or no. Yes.
Meet me at the mess. 1830.
Despite arriving three minutes early, Eshel found that Catherine was waiting for him outside the mess. He felt relief at the sight of her, and the feeling surprised him. She smiled at him and they exchanged nods. Instead of her uniform, she wore garments he did not recognize.
Eshel followed Catherine through the line and retrieved the one option he was willing to eat, one his father had told him about: Derovian ornon and sea vegetables. As they headed to the dining area for enlisted crew, they chose two empty seats at the far end of a long table filled with people. Many turned to look at them as they sat.
“I see you like ornon,” Catherine commented as she sat down. She’d chosen the same dish as he.
“Yes. I find Derovian food palatable. I cannot digest your terrestrial animals.” He picked up his fork, awkwardly wrapping his hand around it.
“You aren’t used to using utensils.”
He looked down at his fork. “I am not.” Coran and Dorel warned him that they’d been severely chastised for not using utensils when they joined the Corps. He ignored their warning, seeing utensils as pointle
ss, only to be chastised himself.
“Do you know why I requested we meet?”
“Yes,” he replied. “The XO asked you to.”
“He did. But I was hoping to talk to you anyway. I haven’t seen you since your arrival.”
“It is unfortunate we did not speak more at that time. We had much to discuss about our work, and now we cannot.”
She looked down, appearing angry. She tucked her long hair behind her ear.
Eshel was still struck by the strangeness of her hair—the length of it, and the color… unusual even for humans.
“Have you talked with Commander Steele?” she asked him. A strange expression crossed her face, one he didn’t understand.
“Only once. His knowledge of genetics is… disappointing.” Eshel immediately wished he’d refrained from such a comment. Commander Steele was Catherine’s CO and research collaborator. If what Ov’Raa had taught him was correct, the comment could offend her. However, to his surprise, his comment seemed to have the opposite effect; she appeared pleased.
“Are you familiar with the Nystrom incident?” she asked.
“The Nystrom incident?”
Catherine told him about the 92 human deaths resulting from a gene therapy designed to increase stature, and that the therapy was believed to be Korvali. “The Nystrom incident was the argument that convinced the Captain to bar you from sharing your knowledge.”
Eshel felt himself grow angry. “That is ridiculous. We would never waste resources developing something that does not benefit us. And if we did, we would not share it with… with humans.”
“I thought as much. But if you want to overturn that decision, you must find a way to convince them that your knowledge won’t be exploited in a similar fashion. They must see that the benefits of allowing you to work as a geneticist outweigh the costs.”
“What costs, other than protecting the information from exploitation?”
“The costs of angering your people,” she said.
“It is my own work. They have no claim on it.”
“Perhaps not. But you trained with them; you’d be sharing their way of thinking.”
Eshel realized she was correct. “I will consider what you’ve said. The XO has informed me that I must meet with this… Alliance… very soon.”
“When we’re in satellite range?”
“No. They will come here.”
Catherine stared at him in surprise. “They’re coming here?”
“Yes.”
They ate in silence for a bit longer. Finally, Catherine spoke again. “Has being here, with us, been more difficult than you anticipated?”
“Yes,” Eshel admitted. “My father attempted to prepare me for what I would encounter among the outsiders. But perhaps his training was incomplete.”
“Your father was permitted to leave Korvalis, then.”
“Yes.”
She paused again, as if considering what to say. “I’m told you’re transferring to Weapons.”
He nodded.
“Tom talks a lot. And he’s loud. But he’s smart… and the kind of person you want on your side.” She put her napkin down. “It will take time to grow accustomed to life here. It could take a year. Be patient. And, with some persuasion, the Alliance should loosen up their rule and allow you to do what you do best.”
Eshel, not entirely convinced, said only, “I am glad we spoke.”
“Me, too. Drop by the lab sometime and I’ll give you a tour.”
“I will.”
5
Eshel arrived at Weapons three minutes before he was to report to duty. A human male with well-developed musculature and curly fair hair immediately spotted him. “You must be Eshel,” he called out in a loud voice, striding over to him.
Based on Ov’Raa’s description, and the ship’s roster, Eshel guessed the man was Lieutenant Commander Tom Kingston, his new CO. When Eshel started to salute, Tom shook his head.
“No saluting allowed. Unless the brass is here.” He offered his hand instead.
Eshel hesitated, then slowly produced his hand. The handshake seemed a small price to pay for not having to salute.
Tom, seeing his reaction, withdrew his hand and put both hands up. “Ahhh, forgot about that. I heard you don’t like being touched. It’s good that you wound up with us and not the Sunai. They’re the touchy ones. I’m fine with people touching me, but that took some getting used to.”
Eshel kept watching Tom, waiting to see if he had more to say.
“Welcome to Weapons,” Tom said, gesturing around him. “This is where the magic happens. I’m Tom Kingston… you can call me Tom. I’ll be training you.”
Eshel, who stood nearly a full head taller than Tom, remained still as Tom looked him over.
“Jesus,” Tom remarked. “You Korvali are tall, aren’t you?” He pointed at Eshel’s webbed hand. “May I?”
Eshel, confused, produced his hand again.
Tom leaned in to get a closer look. “Webbed hands.” He studied them with some fascination. “Pretty interesting, man. You swim well?”
“Of course.”
“How many kilometers can you swim, at one time?”
“It depends on the conditions. Many.”
“How many? Five? Fifty? Five hundred?”
Eshel made a few mental calculations. “Fifty without problem. Five hundred is more difficult, but possible.”
“No shit,” Tom said, impressed. He looked down at Eshel’s shoes. “Webbed feet, too?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else webbed?” Tom asked with a grin.
“Not to my knowledge.”
He motioned for Eshel to follow him. “Let’s give you a tour of my domain.” Tom introduced him to the Weapons crew. “No handshakes, guys,” he told them. He toured Eshel around Weapons control and small arms storage, then took him down to the deck below, where the missiles and warheads were stored.
Finally, Tom led him into a small, lab-like cold room. “You aren’t supposed to be in here,” he said in a hushed voice. “But no Weapons tour would be complete without seeing the bioweapons.”
Eshel approached one of the shelves, carefully studying the various vials and canisters.
“Does bioweaponry interest you?” Tom asked.
“Yes.” Eshel examined the items on the adjacent shelf. “It is a Korvali… specialty.” He turned back to Tom.
“Is it, now? We’ll have to talk about that over beers.”
“Beers?”
“Drinks. Leisure time. Fun.” Tom looked around before ushering Eshel out the door, shutting it behind him.
Back in the control room, Tom motioned for Eshel to sit. He excused himself to talk to a human female, one who smiled a lot and who appeared to be called “Greta.” After she left, Tom pulled up a chair next to him, turned it backward, and sat. “I know you can’t work with the whitecoats like you wanted. But you’ll get used to being in our camp.”
“Your camp?”
Tom nodded. “There are two kinds of people in the Corps: soldiers and scientists. You’re either in one camp or the other. And on this ship, with Ferguson running things, you’re better off being a soldier. From my standpoint, Weapons is the place to be,” he added, gesturing around him.
“Catherine Finnegan believes I will find it tolerable here.”
Tom chuckled. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Finnegan knows me better than almost anyone… she’s one of my best friends.” He picked up a remote and turned on a viewer.
“Dr. Finnegan is your friend, and Greta is your girlfriend,” Eshel surmised.
Tom turned toward Eshel again, a stern look on his face. “Greta is not my girlfriend. She’s someone I’m seeing.”
“Seeing?”
“Spending time with. A girlfriend is a woman you’re serious about. You only get involved with her, and no other girls. I like my options.” He grinned. “What about you? Did you have a girlfriend on Korvalis? You do like women…?”
“Why the silence?” Tom pressed, eyeing him. “There are females on your planet, right?”
“Yes. We are dimorphic, like humans.”
Tom’s attention was diverted when Private Zander called out and asked if Tom were going to the fights. “Yup. Let’s get a drink first.” He looked at Eshel. “Come with us. You’ll like it.”
Eshel refilled his cold-water canteen and walked to the ship’s port bar. “Not the starboard bar,” Tom had told him twice. “That’s only for officers.” As he entered the bar, he heard Tom call his name, and he joined the table where Tom sat with Zander, Kovsky, Portino, and another male with a shaved head. Eshel recognized the shaved male; he’d thrown Lieutenant Snow the water canteen that day in Engineering, and had whispered what Eshel learned later was an insult. Middleton. Middleton stared at him with the same strange look as he had that day.
Tom had already ordered Eshel a beer. Eshel picked up the cold cup and took a sip. A disgusting taste spread through his mouth as he felt a wave of nausea come over him. He quickly turned his head and spat the beer on the floor, hoping the feeling would pass. Fortunately, it did.
When he looked up, the men watched him in silence. Tom quickly glanced around, then at the bartender, who chatted animatedly with two females. Once their initial shock wore off, Tom and the other guys erupted into laughter. Except Middleton.
“Man, what’s wrong with you?” Middleton said. “You can’t spit on the floor. You’re gonna get us kicked out of here.”
“Shut it, Middleton,” Tom said. “No one saw.”
Middleton scowled, shaking his head.
Eshel looked at them. “You cannot tell me you enjoy this taste,” he said in wonder, looking inside the cup, the horrible taste still in his mouth. “Repulsive.” He reached for his canteen and took a drink.
“It’s an acquired taste, man,” Tom said. “Just keep sipping it.”
“Not everyone likes beer when they first try it, but I’ve never seen anyone react like that!” Zander said. “Maybe I should drink yours for you.”
The Refugee Page 5