The Refugee

by C. A. Hartman

  “You still doubt him.”

  “Not as much as I did. But just because he chose to give up his citizenship doesn’t mean he isn’t still Korvali. He’s just as much a liability as he is an asset.”

  Yamamoto nodded, standing up. “I agree. I will continue to keep my eye on him.” He paused, looking at her. “By the way, Janice, I believe you owe me a bottle of red tefuna.”

  Ferguson eyed him. “How’s that?”

  “Nearly eighteen months ago, after the Korvali visited the ship, you bet me Eshel wouldn’t last with us. Under my calculation, you lost.”

  Ferguson gave a half smile, a twinkle in her blue eyes. “You got me there. One bottle of red tefuna, coming up.”

  “Make it a bottle from five sun cycles ago,” he said. “It’s a better vintage.”

  And he left.

  Catherine headed to one of the private ready rooms on the fifth deck. Who was this other person, the one who would train her? Would it be someone she knew? Would it be a man or a woman? Yamamoto would consider this person carefully. It would be someone experienced, and someone the brass trusted. It would most certainly be a soldier, and someone Yamamoto believed would be a good influence on her.

  Just before 1300, Catherine buzzed the door. When the door opened, she walked in. And there, in the middle of the room, a grin on his face, stood Tom.

  29

  Saturday, Catherine finished her morning training class. Still a bit tired, she holed up in her quarters for the day to get some rest. She read, slept, and even turned down Tom’s invitation to play poker. But at almost 2330 hours, her door sounded.

  Eshel. He walked in, out of uniform, holding only his canteen. “Is it too late to speak?

  She shook her head, turning off her reader and joining Eshel at her small table. “Did you come from Tom’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good game?”

  Eshel cocked his head slightly. “I won a good sum; although I no longer need it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I was saving for a transport to Korvalis. To perform the sher keltar.”

  “So your abduction saved you a lot of money.” She grinned.

  Eshel smiled, sitting in his usual still way, patiently waiting for their small talk to complete so he could proceed. Once it did, he began. “Catherine,” he said. His tone sounded cold and formal, but belied some emotion underneath. “I wanted to express my gratitude for your execution of my rescue plan. I know I already did so, but I wanted to again… ” He paused, as if considering his words carefully. “I doubted that you would come for me, that the brass would allow it… that such an endeavor would be worth the risks.”

  She looked at him with a softened expression. “You have a lot to learn about us.”

  “Yes,” Eshel said. “Tom also said that.” Eshel composed himself and switched to a less personal tone. “I informed the Captain and XO that your handling of my retrieval was superior. I doubt they appreciate the difficulty of the task.” He paused. “It occurred to me, during the debriefings, that we have shared our experiences on my homeworld with the Captain and the XO, but not with one another.”

  Catherine hesitated, wondering if such a discussion would violate her promise to Yamamoto. But it wouldn’t. The mission—and what they shared during it—had occurred before agreeing to her new role. So they swapped stories.

  “I have questions,” she said afterward.

  “Ask me anything.”

  She smiled at his answer. “What’s the history behind that silver-leafed tree in the foyer at Fallal Hall?”

  “The tree is an ancient koshac tree, and one of only a few left of its kind. The Osecal erected Fallal Hall around it, when they ruled. The malkaris allows no one to grow more of them. The branched marking on the hand of the Osecal… it is a symbol of this tree.”

  “That’s why it looked familiar,” she said, nodding. She grew more serious. “When you took me to the fourth floor of Fallal Hall… the one throwing that rice-like stuff, that was Ivar, wasn’t it? You thought he was the murderer… but his DNA didn’t match. And that ruled out everyone… except Elan.”

  Eshel nodded, almost imperceptibly, his face growing pale. “You shouldn’t know that. No one should. I did not believe Elisan would publicize the murder, as it meant revealing that Korvali borders can be breached.” He shook his head. “I would call him stupid… but to underestimate him would be even more foolish than underestimating Elan.”

  Catherine nodded. To fool Eshel was no easy task, and Elan had done so for years.

  Eshel went on. “I do not know if Elan deceived me because he was skilled at deception, or because I was blinded by our bond.”

  “But wasn’t Ivar the bad seed among them?”

  “Yes. Elan admired my father’s work, was always a trustworthy person. He had much to lose—his work, his mate, his daughter. Ivar had none of that. Ivar is like Elisan—he is merciless, and lacks good understanding of our science. Elan—and others—believed that Ivar conspired to murder him, so Ivar would be malkaris when their mother died.” He paused. “Now, I do not know what is truth, and what is deception.”

  “You looked so pale afterward. Did your father warn you that it would be so difficult?”

  “Performing the sher keltar is necessary. What is difficult, as you say, is severing the bond we shared.”

  “How?”

  “It is as I explained on Korvalis, under the tree. The Korvali form bonds with… with what you would call loved ones. To sever that bond results in significant… difficulty.”

  “What kind of difficulty?”

  “Nausea. Difficulty eating. And strong visions of that person that recur, often for many months.”

  “How strong?”

  “It is as if the person is really there.”

  “What happens if you’re at work and you get one of these… visions?”

  “I ignore them. But they generally occur during sleep.”

  A look of recognition crossed Catherine’s face. “Is that why you’d wake up at night, breathing funny?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long do the visions last?”

  “It depends on the strength of the bond. Because my bond with Elan had diminished after my leaving Korvalis, those visions have already begun subsiding. But I still see my father.” He paused, gazing at her. “And until you found me, I still had visions of you.”

  Catherine’s face fell. She blinked a few times before shifting in her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I should never have hit you.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Catherine. The visions were due to our broken bond, not your striking me.”

  “But still. If I’d known—”

  “You could not know. I am at fault, for involving myself with an outsider without fully considering the consequences.”

  Catherine nodded faintly. “Eshel, I hope we can put all of that behind us, and be friends again. Like we used to be.”

  Eshel’s eyes studied her. “That is your preference… friendship.”

  She nodded. “I think you’d agree it’s the best way, for us.”

  Eshel was silent for a minute. Finally, he said, “I would agree.”

  He stood up to leave, pushing in his chair. Catherine stood up as well. As Eshel headed toward the door, she realized one could easily see her photos, mounted on the bulkhead. And that meant one could easily see the open spot, once filled with the art Eshel had given her. She cringed, holding her breath, resolving then and there to find out who had it and get it back. Fortunately, Eshel didn’t appear to notice the missing painting.

  Just as he was to leave, he turned to her. “There is something you should know. It is important, but you cannot repeat it.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she said suddenly. Eshel raised his eyebrows. “I was warned about sharing more information with you.”

  Eshel’s eyes narrowed. “Warned by whom?”

  “By those in charge.”

 
“This is not a new secret. It is something you already know, and the piece I will share is one you must know, for your benefit.”

  Catherine relented, offering her consent.

  “I sent you the encrypted files regarding Steele’s activities with Dr. Vanyukov,” Eshel said.

  Catherine gasped in surprise. “So that was you!”

  “I advised you not to trust him. Now you know why.”

  She shook her head, unsure what shocked her more: that Eshel pulled off such a stunt without anyone knowing, or the reminder that Steele had clamped down on her and thwarted her progress so he could exploit the information for his own gain.

  “He greatly disliked our being involved,” Eshel went on. “And he seems to dislike you for other reasons, similar to the way that Middleton dislikes me.”

  Catherine had another thought. “Wait. There was a second image file among the stuff you sent me. Did you give him an updated copy of your genetic material?”

  Eshel raised his eyebrows again. “Do you believe I would do that?”

  She shook her head. “That worthless asshole. Taking a sample from you without your permission… that in itself is a huge violation! We need to report him!”

  “No,” Eshel said.

  “No? Why not?”

  “His deceptions offer us useful leverage, allowing you to continue making progress in secret without complaint from him.” He gave her his hardest look. “I cannot have my work exploited by inferior scientists, Catherine. You must prevail. And you must do so without my assistance.”

  “I’m on it, Esh. I’ve already made quite a bit of progress. But you should know that I brought Holloway on to help.” She felt a pang of guilt as Eshel’s expression turned colder. “Are you angry?”

  “Of course I am angry.”

  “He’s very smart. And trustworthy. With him, we can work twice as fast.”

  “I know. It is only that you should be working with me, not him.”

  “That’s my preference, too, Esh.” She cocked her head in curiosity. “How the hell did you do that, anyway? Where did you learn such skills?”

  “My sources,” he replied. And he turned and left.

  April 3

  Hi Dad,

  I just started my training in the ETP. So far, so good. I’m as surprised as you are that I report to Yamamoto. After 22 months on this ship, I admit he still intimidates me. I’ve learned a few things from Tom about our weapons systems, including all the bioweapons, which has been really interesting. And if Steele’s angry about the decision to release me from some of my duties, I haven’t heard about it. Which is fine with me.

  I just received a formal challenge for a rematch with the Calyyt I competed against in the CCFs. Eshel had warned me that my opponent would offer the challenge; it looks like he was right. The match, if I accept, will be several months from now. That gives me plenty of time to train, but we don’t know if we’ll still be encamped on Suna by then. If we are… I may take the challenge. I’ll let you know what I decide.

  Get in some more skiing before the snow melts.

  Love,

  C

  30

  Catherine’s contactor chirped. Poker. Tonight. 2100. Bring kala. Catherine smiled. Tom’s request for kala—instead of beer—meant he was feeling festive and wanted to make it a long evening.

  At 2100, Catherine arrived at Tom’s quarters. It was the usual suspects: Eshel, Snow, Middleton, Zander, and Shanti, each carrying enough kala for him- or herself, plus a little extra. They sat down and played, their pot of money spread among them and shifting from person to person over the evening, but never really settling upon one clear winner.

  And after many hours, multiple games, and a several cups of kala, Tom stood up. “I want to make a toast,” he announced. Everyone quieted down. “You know the old saying in the Corps: choose carefully who you associate with during the first six months of a long-term space mission, as those people will become your closest friends for the next three years, if not for the rest of your life.” He looked around him. “For better or for worse,” he grinned, “I consider you people my closest friends, and I’m glad to know you.” He held out his metal cup. “To friendship.”

  “To friendship,” everyone said, as they drank to the toast.

  “And,” Tom went on, “To poker… the only game worth playing.”

  “To poker!” they cried, putting up their cups.

  He looked at Middleton. “I want to toast Middleton, who loves the Ace rag and gives me his money more often than he wants to.”

  “Bullshit!” Middleton cried, but smiled and said “here, here” along with everyone else, and took a sip of his drink.

  “Third—or is that fourth?” Tom shrugged. “To Zander, who managed to master the Sunai hand greeting and, recently, won enough money from me to buy himself a new girlfriend.”

  Everybody laughed as Zander gave a sheepish grin. “Here, here!”

  “And to Shanti,” he said, looking at her with a smile, “who finally learned to bluff an occasional hand without the entire table knowing it.”

  There was more laughter, and Shanti, a grin on her dark face, gave Tom a smack.

  “Here, here!”

  “And to Snow, who managed to go where few human males have gone… with a Sunai woman!”

  Snow shook his head and waved dismissively at them, but still raised his cup.

  “Here, here!”

  “And to Catherine, who’s the best woman I’ve never had sex with, and who’s finally taking my advice and cross-training with the soldiers.” He grinned and pointed at her.

  Catherine shook her head, laughing.

  “Here, here!”

  “And last, but never least,” Tom said, “to Eshel.” He looked at Eshel. “You’re not a goddamn thing like me and I don’t understand you half the time, but I can say with all honesty that life on this ship wouldn’t be the same without you, man.”

  Eshel raised his cup and gave a small smile. “Thank you, Tom.”

  “Here, here!”

  “To another fourteen months!” Tom said.

  “To another fourteen months!” said the others, clinking their cups together one last time.

  And they all sat down, and played another game.

  Thank You!

  Thank you for reading The Refugee! If you want to know what happens next, download The Operative. It’s briskly paced with a lot of twists and turns, as a middle book in a trilogy ought to be.

  What started out as a fun story to escape some difficulties in my life turned into a book, which turned into a trilogy. I’ve spent many a winter day or tired evening watching Star Trek episodes—especially The Next Generation and Voyager—and getting attached to the characters and watching them grow. My parents (both sets) are heavy readers and so I grew up reading, although mostly classics and fantasy (Madeleine L’Engle, anyone?). I first fell in love with sci-fi when I discovered Dune, which is still a favorite of mine.

  Join My Email List and Get a Free Short Story!

  If you’re enjoying the Korvali Chronicles series, I have a sweet deal for you. If you join my email list, you’ll receive a copy of Herr, a short story written in the Korvali Chronicles world. This story is exclusive to my reader community and isn’t available anywhere else, and if you join, you can download it for FREE. Being on my mailing list means that you will receive a monthly newsletter with special deals and science fiction nuggets, and that’s it. Not a bad deal, right? Join up today.

  FYI: Although there are no serious “spoilers” in Herr, it’s a “prequel” for that character, so I think it’s better read when you finish the series.

  Reviews

  I know. You hate writing reviews and have no idea what to say. I hear you. But all I really need is a rating and a couple of words, even if those words are “Great book!” or “C.A. Hartman kicks ass…” No need to get fancy, unless you like fancy. Some people like to get all deep and symbolic, and I dig that too. Reviews are like bread and butt
er to the indie author… we can’t survive without them. If you’re up for it, you’ll help other readers, save me from authorial obscurity, and you’ll be off the hook for good deeds for a while. Here’s a link where you can choose your favorite site to leave a rating. Thanks again!

  Where To Find Me

  Yes, I’m around. I post some decent content and the occasional semi-witty comment, and I actually respond to tweets. You can find me on Twitter, at the occasional event, and on my blog (where I sometimes include Author’s Notes on my books).

  Happy reading,

  Christie

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my friends at LittleSpec (Littleton Area Speculative Fiction Writers) for all their suggestions and encouragement in turning a tentative manuscript into a published novel. Kudos to Jeff Stover for creating such a supportive environment for science fiction and fantasy writers.

  I especially want to thank Nick Stasnopolis and Ken Roberts for their critique and support. In your very different ways, you’ve helped me create a better book… and made me a better writer.

  Finally, I’d like to give a shout-out to David G. and a few of the other retired veterans at the USS Midway museum, who answered my questions about military structure and life on big ships. Thank you for your help and your service, gentlemen!

  About the Author

  C.A. Hartman specializes in writing science fiction. An academic scientist gone rogue, she’s refocused her overactive, analytical mind on creating thought-provoking sci-fi with memorable characters. A graduate of the University of Colorado, Hartman earned her PhD in Behavioral Genetics and worked as a scientist for 11 years. She lives in Denver with her husband and has a special fondness for good TV, the desert, aviator sunglasses, and dark roast coffee (decaf, of course, because you DON’T want to be around her when she’s caffeinated).