The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) Page 18

  “How’d you get here?” he inquired, looking around as if searching for her means of transportation.

  “Walked.”

  He nodded in approval. Jimmy Finnegan was an outdoorsman and preferred walking to transports.

  “The press found me at the airport,” she said. “They’ll probably come here, too.”

  “So give ‘em a little something. Then they’ll leave you alone.”

  Catherine took a good look around the cabin that had been in their family for so many generations. It smelled like home, a faint woody smell that pleased her.

  “You hungry?”

  She nodded. “Starving.”

  They walked to the Little Bear, a historic local tavern and a favorite of Jimmy’s. They ordered two cheeseburgers and a couple of beers. Finally, Catherine broached the topic that weighed on her.

  “Dad, don’t you want to lecture me about leaving the mission?”

  Jimmy finished chewing his food, set his burger down, and wiped his hands on his napkin. He took a sip of his beer. “Yamamoto’s a smart guy, C. Take his advice and don’t make any decisions until it’s necessary.”

  “I don’t want to go back. I know it will get me in trouble, but I don’t care anymore—”

  “Tom told me what happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “With the Korvali.”

  She sighed. Damn Tom’s big mouth.

  “He called me today. He’s worried about you. Said you wouldn’t talk to him.” Catherine remained silent. “Why are you mad at Tom?”

  “He pissed me off. He… he doesn’t understand. He thinks Eshel and I were just having fun, goofing off… like he does.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “No.”

  Jimmy looked at her. She could tell he wanted to give her a stern lecture, but chose not to. “Ship romances are risky, C. Triple that when it’s with an otherworlder. I’ve been on enough missions to know.”

  “I know. It was stupid.” She paused, setting her burger down. “It’s not just that. It’s all of it, Dad. I feel useless on that ship. And bored. I’m doing stupid work no decent journal would publish and I’m making no progress.”

  “Then do something more interesting, something people do care about.”

  “Such as?”

  “Cross training.”

  “You sound like Tom.”

  He shrugged. “You committed to a three-year mission. You’ve completed half that. Instead of throwing it all away, why not make the most of the remaining time you have? Learn something new, seek a new challenge. We always let the whitecoats try out the life of a soldier and they get a lot out of it… the few that try.”

  She picked up her burger. “That’s not what I want.”

  “Not what you want? Refusing to complete a mission won’t earn you a dishonorable discharge, but your career with the Corps will be over. Is that what you want?”

  Catherine said nothing. There was no point in arguing when neither of them would give up their position.

  Jimmy changed the subject. “So who’s Tom with these days? Anyone special?”

  “Nah. You know Tom.”

  “How about a little skiing tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to, but my gear’s in storage, down in Denver,” she said. “Day after?”

  “Done.”

  After finishing their beers, they walked back home. Sure enough, a small band of warmly dressed, camera-laden people waited at the bottom of her father’s driveway. So Catherine did as her father suggested and stood with them for a few minutes, answering the questions she could answer and not answering those she couldn’t. When they asked her about her relationship with Eshel, she said they were friends. It wasn’t a true statement—they’d been more than friends, and now they were less—but it was the only reply she could manage. Once back inside, Catherine fell asleep on the thick leather couch, a blanket wrapped around her.

  The next day, first thing, Catherine took the train back to Denver and visited her storage unit. She intended only to grab her backcountry ski gear and cold weather clothing, but found herself distracted by all her other belongings. She looked through her clothing; it had a vaguely dusty smell from being cooped up so long. She peeked at some of the framed photos and art she’d had on the wall at her old place. In another container, she found storage drives with files of books, music, and research. It was strange to see it all packed up, without a home of its own. Suddenly, she recalled talking with Eshel about visiting her hometown, how she’d imagined showing him all this and introducing him to her father. A tear escaped her eye; but she pushed it, and its accompanying thoughts, aside.

  After a few days of backcountry skiing with her dad, Catherine began looking for a job and a place to live. She considered contacting the Peloni Institute. But she decided to hold off until she figured out how she would explain why she’d abandoned the mission.

  On Day 10, her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. She thought about ignoring it, but something made her remove the earpiece and put it in her ear.

  “Hey. It’s Snow.”

  She smiled. “Hey! Where are you?”

  “Some island. It’s hot here and I’m already sunburned. How are you?”

  “Not bad. Been skiing mostly…”

  “Listen, a few of us are making a New Year’s run to London. Care to join us? We leave the day after Christmas, back by the second or third.”

  Catherine’s smile faded. “Snow, I’m not returning to duty.”

  “Yeah, Tom told me. Don’t worry about that. Just come have fun. It may be the last we see you for a long time.”

  She hadn’t yet decided what to do with the remainder of her leave. London was never high on her list, but the prospect of going with Tom and Snow sounded fun. She agreed to it.

  On the 26th, Catherine packed a few things for her trip. Four hours later she was on the Tube in London, heading to the hotel. Screens blared annoying ads for New Years costumes and cheap whiskey. Once reaching her stop, she emerged from underground into the chilly, damp London air. The entire city seemed to twinkle red, green, and gold with holiday lights, as bundled up people shopped and toured historic London.

  She walked a relatively short distance to the hotel, a beautiful building restored in the old style, with a stone façade and paned windows. She entered the cozy lobby filled with the din of conversation, its guests lounging on couches or in chairs by the warm fireplace. A large Christmas tree stood in one corner, its bright silver decorations gleaming and its lights sparkling. As she looked around for the front desk, she heard her name.

  Snow waved at her from a big chair. She spotted Tom, wearing a thick wool sweater like Snow’s, and two men she didn’t recognize. Tom strode toward her and gave her a tight hug. She was surprised at how happy she was to see them.

  “You aren’t pissed at me anymore, are you?” Tom said.

  She shook her head.

  Snow gave her a big hug and they introduced her to Rory and Miguel, childhood friends who now served in the Navy. They ordered her a dark beer, and for some time they sat near the fire and drank their beers.

  “Let’s get some dinner,” Tom suggested. “The Gilded Carrot is the best pub in this city.”

  “I’ll get us a cab,” Rory said.

  Snow shook his head. “No, man. We’ve been cooped up on a starship for eighteen months. We’re walking.” Rory and Miguel groaned but offered no argument.

  Over the next few days they toured London, marveling at how the old world architecture of Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey contrasted with the towering angularity of the rest of modern London. They dropped in and out of pubs with names such as Hobbit’s Nob and The Loathsome Dragon, where they drank beer and ate shepherd’s pie and fish and chips. Then Tom convinced them to take a quick train to Bath, and a short time later they were sitting in Bath’s hot pools.

  Catherine gasped as she entered the hot pool, but found that she acclimated to it quickly. Tom sat down next to
her.

  “Isn’t this awesome?” he said, heaving a happy sigh and resting his head on the edge of the pool. “You can barely smell the sulfur.”

  Tom rested with his eyes closed for a while. Catherine knew the silence was temporary, that Tom had something to say and was gathering his words. She knew Tom would try to talk her into returning to the mission. She dreaded the conversation, knowing Tom’s capacity for persuasion was beyond that of anyone she’d ever met and more powerful than even her father’s sternly rational arguments. However, Tom brought up something entirely unexpected.

  “What the hell happened with Eshel?” he said. “I tried to get him to tell me, but he wasn’t having it.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “He just ended it one day. He refused to give me a reason.”

  “Were you… were you in love with him?”

  She looked down at her pale legs in the hot bath. “I guess I was.”

  “I don’t get it… did you guys really never have sex, or do stuff?”

  She gave him a look.

  “Oh, come on! He dumped you. You can say what you want now.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. He’s cold to me now. He barely nods at me and keeps walking. That’s what hurts.”

  “That’s how he treats everyone, C. That’s Eshel.”

  “That’s not how he was with me.”

  Tom clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back again, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Maybe he just couldn’t handle it… being close to someone, knowing they expect something from you.” He closed his eyes for a time, until he spoke again. “You can’t leave the mission, C. They’ll never take you seriously again.”

  She shrugged. “Who cares? Steele forbids me to conduct side projects, Eshel isn’t allowed to talk about genetics… I have no future with the Corps anyway.”

  “Look, I’m sure you’ve heard all the arguments from Jimmy, what it’s going to cost you if you pull out now. So why not cross train? Why not get out of the labs, away from the whitecoats, away from Steele, and try something new? I’ll put in a good word for you. And what about Suna… and Calyyt-Calloq?” He gestured around him. “These pools are nothing. On CC they have secret cave pools, hidden away from everyone. They’re like nothing you’ve ever seen. You can only go there if you’re invited, but I have a contact who can get us in. If you leave, you’ll never see their deserts, learn more about their primitive culture, or eat moyyt-toq, which I’m told tastes pretty damned good if cooked right. CC restricts who can visit, you know, and they restrict what you do there. But if you’re in the Corps, they’ll let you see everything.”

  Catherine felt a stab of regret, but did her best to avoid showing it, knowing it would only fuel Tom’s persuasive powers. She felt him studying her, looking for signs of weakness on her part.

  “Hell,” Tom went on, “we’ll be stationed at Suna for months. There’s so much to do there. You’ve got the volcanoes, the fires, the rivers of lava… and their kala.” He smiled. “You definitely can’t miss drinking their kala. It’s better than they say. And, we’ll be there during their sun season. It’ll be too damned hot for Esh to handle, so you won’t even have to deal with him.” He had a look of great satisfaction, like he’d offered up a set of arguments that no one could refute.

  Catherine sighed. “I can’t stay on that ship to drink kala, Tom. My work is important to me… not just for me, but for my mom

  Tom nodded. He’d witnessed her mother’s illness, had attended her funeral. He sat back again and closed his eyes, offering no other argument.

  New Year’s Eve, they took an evening sky tour of London on a floater craft. Floater crafts were slow and quiet, with lots of windows… perfect for viewing. As they talked among themselves and looked upon the city lights, their steward brought out a platter with 12 varieties of sashimi for them. Everyone but Snow ate the fish and washed it down with a bit of sake. When clearing away their plates, the steward—a man with ebony skin and lively dark eyes—asked them where they were from. When he learned that three of them were on mid-mission leave from space, he got excited.

  “You are Space Corps?” he said in the thick accent of a non-Londoner. “How very interesting! What an honor! Are you scientists?”

  Tom and Snow protested loudly and pointed to Catherine. “She’s the scientist.”

  The steward turned to her. “What is your field, my dear?”

  “Genetics.”

  “Genetics,” he said in wonder. “How very fascinating. In my youth, when I came to London and began my education, I too wanted to become a space scientist and join the Space Corps. I studied geology. I longed to see the volcanoes of Suna, to study their unique geology. But, alas, I could not attend academy. My parents, my family… they needed me.” He looked at her with wistful eyes. “Tell me… is Suna as beautiful as they say? Are the volcanoes as violent?”

  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.