The file contained the results of a genome scan, including a list of genetic loci. Confused, she examined the list and realized she recognized it; it was from her scan of Eshel’s genome, while he was in stasis. She examined the next file, then the next. The files contained the results of every scan she’d conducted when Eshel arrived. And, finally, she opened the last one: a large, multi-terabyte file. There, staring at her from her viewer, was Eshel’s genetic material.
Catherine’s face grew hot. How did this happen? Then she recalled accessing her network to cross-reference the four genes that Dr. Vargas’s initial scan had identified. She’d conducted every scan on her network; the software must have automatically saved each result. All the information Steele accused her of having, the information Holloway wished she’d had, she’d actually had all along.
She immediately pulled the files from her network and saved them on a portable drive. If Steele knew she had them, he would’ve spoken up by now. And he wouldn’t find them now unless he had Technology search the VirNet… the VirNet! She logged in and checked everything she’d backed up last time they were in range. And there they were, the incriminating files. She deleted them all.
Once off the networks, she opened the files again. How did Eshel conceive of such a design? How did he test it to make sure it would work? On Earth, doctors used gene therapy for single gene disorders like hemophilia and Huntington’s disease, and for treatment of certain cancers. But epigenetic therapy? They’d had partial success with one type of breast cancer and a few other rare conditions, but that’s it. To accomplish what Eshel had, to engineer the epigenome for preventative purposes, to ensure survival in extreme circumstances… no one, no one, had done anything like it.
“Open EpiGenomix,” she said. Her computer did as she asked. “Load file Finnegan Two.” Finnegan 2 was her new name for the file with Eshel’s genetic data. “Run methylation analysis.”
When the analysis completed, Catherine examined the results. She sat back in her chair; sure enough, the results showed numerous signs of hypermethylation, a clear sign of intentional alteration. She made a list of the other analyses she would conduct. She knew Eshel had altered his epigenome; he’d told her so. Now she sought to discover what he wasn’t free to tell her: how he’d done it.
Countless hours later and long after she should’ve gone to bed, Catherine had conducted every scan and analysis she could think of. What she needed now was to analyze a current copy of Eshel’s genetic material, for comparison. Eshel had created some of the epigenomic changes she saw… but so would the drug Eshel took to initiate his stasis. Now, the drug was out of his system. With a fresh sample from Eshel, she could clearly see the effects of the changes he’d made and begin to work backward.
Could she obtain such crucial information?
Asking Eshel for a sample, assuming he would even allow it, was too risky. If they were found out, Eshel would lose his asylum and she would be discharged. Even if Eshel were willing to maintain secrecy, she couldn’t put him in such a position.
She could obtain the sample without Eshel’s knowledge—an accidently pulled hair or some scratched skin cells under her nail from training, or perhaps a quick onceover with a medical scanner for other reasons…. No. She couldn’t do that. The Korvali were extremely guarded with their genetic code and took careful measures to prevent others from obtaining it. Some scientists even speculated that the Korvali robe, which almost completely covered the wearer when the hood was pulled up, was designed not to prevent outsiders from touching them, but to prevent others from obtaining their DNA. To go behind Eshel’s back would be far worse than collaborating with him secretly.
Catherine sighed, shut everything down, and put away her portable drive.
December 25th
Hi Dad,
Merry Christmas! Thanks for the old Christmas tunes—I haven’t heard those since Mom used to play them. Growing up, they always seemed kind of silly; now I cherish them.
Is the snow good enough for skiing yet? What I wouldn’t give to be off this ship and out there in the backcountry with you right now.
At Yamamoto’s request, I’ve been training Eshel in self-defense. It’s gone well so far—he’s still uncomfortable with the physical contact, but he handles it well. Because he didn’t grow up fighting or wrestling like most human boys, he’s pretty awkward. But he’s very hard-working and has surprisingly little difficulty handling the ineptness of learning a new skill. He makes no excuses and expresses no frustration. His height is an obstacle at times; but I assured him that once his training advances, his height, and the long reach that comes with it, will eventually become an asset to him. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how good he’d be at taking instruction from me (he doesn’t have much respect for authority), but it hasn’t been a problem.
Once Tom found out that Eshel eats second meal with me after training, he insisted that Eshel also eat second meal with us once in a while during the week. Eshel finds the idea of socializing over a meal odd, and he doesn’t need to eat more than once a day, but he was willing to rearrange his schedule to accommodate Tom, probably because he knew Tom would keep bugging him if he didn’t.
Oh, Dad, you missed a great poker tournament, one of the most exciting I’ve played in a long time. Ten of us started the game (including Eshel, who reluctantly decided to give poker a try). After seven players got eliminated, it came down to Tom, Eshel, and me. Between his expressionless face and his ability to calculate probabilities quickly, Eshel has become a formidable poker player. The others groan when he shows up to play. But most of them seem to have accepted him, although they’re still baffled by the fact that he refuses to answer certain kinds of questions and that he has, on one or two occasions, gotten up and left without a word. Tom gave him a hard time about that latter thing; apparently Eshel didn’t know that it’s customary to announce one’s exit from a social gathering. I still laugh when I think about it. The only one who seems to genuinely dislike Eshel is Mackey Middleton—Eshel and Middleton have exchanged tense words on several occasions, at least until Tom intervened. From what I can tell, Middleton is what Holloway would call a “twat.”
Anyway, Tom, as usual, started playing aggressively. I suspected he had a high flush, but he clearly didn’t suspect I was holding a full house. I pushed him all in and next thing you know, Eshel pushed his entire stack in and showed us four of a kind! Tom and I never saw it coming.
That’s not all. Tom had talked us into betting sick bay duty, and now I have to serve two of Eshel’s! You know I hate sick bay, Dad! What’s worse is they’re redeye shifts (didn’t you tell me that Vargas assigns redeye duty to people he doesn’t like?). Eshel doesn’t mind the shifts, as he dislikes Vargas as much as Vargas dislikes him. Anyway, I was the big stack at the table; instead of beating a drunken Tom and an otherworld newb, I wind up working redeye! To his credit, Eshel tried to take one of the shifts back, but I wouldn’t let him. He’s got studying to do and, well, I agreed to the stakes. It serves me right for letting Tom rope me into a high risk game.
We had another exciting poker game as well, although this time the excitement wasn’t due to the game itself. A couple of officers showed up to play, both new to Tom’s game but both experienced players. They were pretty aggressive players, especially a Lieutenant Haus, who I’d never met before. Turned out he’s a sore loser—Private Zander (who’s smarter than he seems) bluffed Haus out of a big pot with a lousy hand. Haus wouldn’t let it go and resorted to calling Zander a “service kid.” Needless to say, Tom lost his temper and he and Haus came to blows. Snow stepped in and they tossed Haus and his buddy out.
The irony is that Zander isn’t even a service kid like Tom and Snow are; he didn’t grow up on the base and he isn’t adopted. Tom has no problem admitting he grew up in military social services, but he’s still pretty sensitive about the service kid stereotypes and the common belief that they get preference when it comes to promotions. I don’t blame him. Tom has earned ever
y promotion he’s gotten, and I’d bet more redeye sick bay duty that he’ll be Captain Kingston before he turns 40.
I’m counting the hours until we reach Derovia.
Love,
C
CHAPTER 8
As the number of days spent in space travel increases, the morale of one’s crew shall proportionately decrease.
– Commander Retan Ov’Raa, Space Corps, retired
When Cornelia set down on the surface of Derovia, Catherine felt palpable relief. At six months, this was their mission’s longest period of travel. Catherine read through the brief document Ov’Raa had sent, reminding them of the rules of conduct when on Derovia, none of which were remotely unreasonable. The document offered a few facts about Derovia:
Derovia is one of 19 moons that orbit Suna, the ringed third planet of the Katara solar system.
Derovia is the only moon of the 19 that sustains an atmosphere.
Derovia’s population resides on its two continents: the northern, Ovlon, and the southern, Mellon. Due to its more favorable climate, Ovlon is the most densely populated.
Those from Ovlon have the “Ov” prefix in their family names. Likewise, those from Mellon have the “Mel” prefix.
The western coast of Ovlon, at the capital city of Ronia, will be the location of Cornelia’s arrival and encampment.
Gaining entry to Derovia and landing at Ronia’s spaceport was an uncomplicated affair, as Derovian security measures were the most relaxed of the Alliance worlds. It didn’t hurt that a significant proportion of Cornelia’s crew was Derovian. In a matter of what seemed like minutes, the Captain had ordered them to recalibrate their contactors for a 25.6-hour day and cleared them to debark the ship. With permission to take three days leave, all but essential crew deserted the ship and scurried in various directions.
Catherine, Tom, and Snow couldn’t manage to agree on where to go first and ended up heading three different ways: Snow to Ronia to see live music, Tom (and a date) to hike up one of Ronia’s cliffs and enjoy libations at the summit, and Catherine to the beach with Anka.
Eshel would spend the morning aiding Dr. Vargas in the burial of his homeworlders, stored all those months in the ship’s cold chamber. Eshel had told Catherine about the sher memeshar, or rite of death, which required that they release the dead into the ocean. The bodies could not be released until showing early signs of decay; thus, a grumbling Vargas removed the bodies from the cold chamber several days before arrival at Derovia.
When Catherine debarked the ship with Anka, she was struck by two things: how bright the Katara sun seemed after living in artificial light conditions for so long, and how dense and humid the air was.
They boarded the crowded train heading north to the closest beach. The train, filled with din of chatty Derovians in brightly colored clothing, felt remarkably slow compared to those she was used to. They peered out the window at the stucco-like, multi-unit Ronian homes and the sunny, grassy hills in the distance. When they arrived at the beach, it was filled with people, most of whom were tourists. There were many humans, especially couples and families with young children.
“My God,” Anka commented in surprise. “Such wealth they must have to afford a family vacation on Derovia!”
Catherine nodded.
Catherine took off her shoes and felt the warm, pinkish sand on her feet as she looked out at the tranquil ocean, its blue so blue that it appeared almost surreal. The beach was peppered with odd looking trees: short and stout, with white-flowered foliage on branches that splayed out, providing the shade that Derovians enjoyed but someone as fair as Catherine required.
Anka pointed to a tree with no inhabitants. “Will that one work for you, whitey?”
Catherine smiled. As they sat down, Catherine spotted a man out in the water. He seemed familiar, until she realized the man was Eshel. He dove into the water and began to swim away. Eshel’s form was smooth and powerful, and his progress swift. She’d never seen anyone swim like that. Before much time passed, she could no longer see him.
Catherine and Anka went for a swim in the cool water. If breathing fresh air and absorbing real sunlight hadn’t felt sublime enough, swimming in the sea did the trick. She forgot any memory of having been ship bound so long.
Back at their tree, they pulled out the sandwiches they’d packed and began comparing notes about their CO.
“You like the weekly progress reports?” Anka said. “Zero eight hundred: centrifuged my samples. Zero nine hundred: took a pee and borrowed more equipment from Catherine.” They erupted in laughter.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks they’re stupid,” Catherine said. “Does he give you boring assignments too?”
“No. That part hasn’t been bad. The old man’s been nice to me.”
“Really? He hates me.”
“Oh, yes! He told me he hates your red hair. And he doesn’t like your small boobs either.”
They laughed again at Anka’s jest.
“Is that Eshel?” Anka asked, squinting as she looked past Catherine.
Catherine turned and saw Eshel walking their way. Not having seen them, he sat down under a nearby tree. “I saw him go for a swim when we first got here.”
“He swam that entire time?” Anka said. She glanced at her contactor. “It’s been two hours! I suppose those webbed hands are good for something.”
“I’ll be back,” Catherine said, getting up. “I need to ask him a quick question.”
She approached Eshel’s tree. “Hey, Esh.”
“Catherine,” he replied.
“Tom told me to ask you if you want to hike up Danal Cliff tomorrow with us. He needs to make a reservation at the restaurant on top, which I’m told offers 360-degree views and good Derovian seafood. If you want to go, we’ll have to skip our training… or start earlier.”
“I will go, but I prefer to train first.”
“Okay. See you at zero eight hundred.”
When Catherine and Eshel boarded the train to Ronia, Eshel hunched over to avoid hitting his head. Too tall to stand fully upright, and with no available seats, Eshel found an unoccupied corner where he seated his lanky body on the floor. Just then, a Derovian man stood up in excitement, speaking spiritedly to them in his native language, and motioned to his seat. Eshel, eyebrows raised, spoke a single word in Derovian and took the seat. Catherine also thanked the man, and gave him a smile.
Other than the filled seats, the train wasn’t as crowded that day. This was fortunate, as Catherine had noticed that Eshel seemed to get uncomfortable when too many people stood near him. When their stop came, they got off and walked along a dirt path to the trailhead, where they would meet Tom and Snow. Both peered at the calm sea to the west, and Catherine could smell the faint sweet scent of the beach tree blooms.
As they neared the trailhead, the shrubs that lined their path grew larger and denser, obscuring their ocean view. Occasionally a small creature with patchy brown and white fur would scurry across the trail, startling Eshel and making Catherine laugh. Further along, Catherine heard rustling in some trees to their left. It sounded like a much larger creature, although she was under the impression that Ronia had no animals to fear. She looked past Eshel, half expecting another animal to emerge, wondering what it would be this time.
Suddenly, a large humanoid male appeared from behind the greenery and rapidly approached them. Before she could react, the man grabbed Eshel, wrapping his large arms around him to constrain him. Catherine went to strike the attacker, but found herself unable to move. Two large, dark arms had encircled her from behind.
They were Sunai.
Trapped by the Sunai’s strong grip, Catherine purposely let her body relax. It had the desired effect—her captor relaxed slightly and she was able to grab his hand and twist the fingers until at least two of them broke. He growled in pain, further loosening his grip. She delivered an elbow to his face and then turned and punched him in the throat. He began to wheeze—a loud rasping
noise that she hadn’t expected—as he backed away from her, his hands on his throat.
Catherine went after Eshel’s assailant, who struggled to keep Eshel in his clutches.
“Stay back, nonaii,” the Sunai said in a thick guttural voice.
Nonaii. Woman.
Catherine rapidly approached him, knowing he must choose between holding on to Eshel or protecting himself from her. He chose to keep Eshel, and Catherine punched him squarely in the eye, cracking his eyeshades and causing him to release Eshel, who broke free and backed away. She went to strike again, this time aiming for his throat. He managed to block part of her punch and then grabbed her ponytail and jerked it down.
Catherine felt a surge of anger spread through her at having her hair pulled. She delivered a kick to his abdominal region, disabling him for the time being. She whipped around to check for the other Sunai. He was gone.
She turned back toward her opponent, ready for any retaliation, until she heard a shout. Another male voice. Catherine hoped Eshel could run. She couldn’t take on more of them.
It was Tom and Snow.
Tom began to run. Catherine watched him run past her, confused, until she realized he was chasing Eshel’s fleeing attacker. After a short time, Tom returned, completely out of breath.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “That Sunai can run. Who knew someone that large could run so fast?”
The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) Page 9