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 b
eing 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.
She smiled. “I have my moments.”
He studied her hair once more. “It is not accurate to label red hair as red. There are many versions of this color.”
She shrugged. “Humans like simplicity, not accuracy. And I can’t comment… I can’t see reds.”
It was Eshel’s turn to be surprised. “You are colorblind?”
She nodded.
“I have read about this. It is absurd. A scan of your X chromosomes would identify the nature of the anomaly, and could be easily fixed. Have you surveyed the region around the receptor genes?”
“I have. The problem I ran into…” She stopped herself, glancing around. “We better not talk about this.”
Eshel, a look of recognition on his face, surreptitiously glanced around as well. “Obeying the Alliance’s rule is easy with others. There is no… temptation… as they know nothing of genetics.”
Catherine nodded, but said nothing.
“Why do you appear concerned?” Eshel asked her. “It is I who is sanctioned, not you.”
Catherine hesitated, fiddling with her fork. “It was made clear to me that discussing that, with you, would result in my being discharged and sent back to Earth.”
Eshel raised his eyebrows. “Did the Captain offer this warning?”
Catherine shook her head. “Commander Steele did. That’s why he made such a fuss about us talking in my office that night.”
Eshel did not reply.
After a long silence, Catherine noticed Eshel’s hand. “I have a question, Eshel. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Eshel looked at her, indicating for her to continue. “Your tattoo… the others who escaped with you… they had tattoos as well. Two other kinds. Who were they?”
Eshel looked down for a moment. “Six of them, those with the branches of the tree… they were from the Osecal clan. They were people of science, seeking to associate with outsiders. The others were Moshal, one of whom was a Guardsman.”
“He helped you escape.”
“She,” Eshel corrected. “Yes. One has no chance of escaping Korvalis without the help of the Guard.”
She. “Were there other females in your group?”
“Two others,” Eshel said. “We are not as dimorphic as humans… but you could not tell they were female?”
“They were enshrouded when I saw them. But Vargas didn’t notice it. He didn’t even notice the tattoos until I pointed them out.”
Eshel scowled slightly. “How does such a person become a physician?”
Catherine laughed and moved on to a different topic. “I’ve received a lot of inquiries about you.”
“From whom?”
“Journalists. Scientists. Other people. They’re dying for information about you. Some of them offered me money. A lot of money.”
“Why do they come to you?”
“They know the brass will only give them limited information, so they try to wheedle it out of the rest of us. I guess word got out that I know you.”
Eshel’s expression grew cold. “What did you tell them?”
“Everything I knew,” she replied. “I even made some stuff up.”
Eshel stared at her.
She smiled. “That’s a joke. I didn’t respond to any of them. I wouldn’t share anything about you unless you asked me to.”
Eshel said nothing for a moment. “Perhaps they contacted you because they learned that you are my friend.”
Catherine looked up from her plate, a little taken aback at Eshel’s words. She realized he was right. They were friends, and she felt a sense of honor at having earned the title. “Perhaps you’re right.”
They finished their meals, cleared their trays, and left. Just as they reached the intersection that would send them in separate directions, they came upon a series of shelves built onto the bulkhead. Eshel stopped and examined the shelves, which were filled with a variety of random items, mostly clothing and computer equipment. Next to the shelves was a viewer with digital images of other items.
“What is this?” Eshel asked. “I have wondered since I arrived.”
“This is the Free Box. When you’re on a ship for three years, you tend to acquire things you don’t want, or need things you can’t get, so people dispose of their stuff here and other people take it.”
He peered at the stuff piled on the shelves. “A good idea.”
“Most of the time it’s junk, but once in a while you can score something good.”
“And the images?” he asked, looking at the photo display.
“That’s stuff people don’t want to give away, but want to sell or barter for a trade. Look through it,” she said. “You could probably find some things you need.”
“I will.”
They said their goodbyes, and Catherine left Eshel to the Free Box.
Catherine finished her shower, dressed, and turned on her viewer. An alert told her the ship was back in satellite range, so she sat down to see if her father was available for a holo-chat. She’d found a couple of brief articles on epigenetic therapy, written for a lay audience, that she wanted to show her dad. Since Steele had prevented her from working in the lab, she’d begun doing research in her quarters. She couldn’t accomplish nearly as much there, but she could still make headway by reading. Steele couldn’t prevent her from reading.
When she called up one of her directories to find the two articles, the computer misheard her command and took her to the wrong directory. She shook her head in annoyance. Just as she was about to restate the command, a series of files caught her attention. She didn’t recognize the numeric filenames. She never used numeric filenames. So she opened one of them.
The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) Page 8