First thing in the morning, Catherine arrived at Steele’s office to deliver her apology to Steele. The apology was brief but very formal, and would’ve made any old school brass proud. But everyone knew, perhaps Steele most of all, that she wasn’t the least bit sorry for what she’d said. Steele listened to her apology with the same expression he always had when dealing with her; once she finished, he responded only by saying, “Get out.”
At the lab, Catherine sat at her desk and looked over the results of some analyses that Varan had conducted. One of them didn’t make sense. When she emerged from her office to ask Varan about it, he was talking animatedly with two other Derovians. She realized they were Coran and Dorel, two of Eshel’s bunkmates. Upon seeing her, they ceased talking and stood straighter.
“Lieutenant Finnegan!” Coran said. “Hello to you!”
“Yes, Lieutenant!” Dorel chimed in. “Most excellent to see you!”
She smiled at the sight of them, reminded of Eshel’s bafflement at their sweet natures. “Hi guys. It’s good to see you, too. I just have a quick question for Varan.” She showed Varan the problem. It turned out the report was missing a page, so he resent it to her. As she returned to her office, she heard shuffling footsteps approaching; when she turned, Coran and Dorel stood before her.
“Lieutenant Finnegan,” Coran began, appearing unsure of himself. “We have a… special concern.”
“About Eshel,” Dorel said.
“Yes,” Coran went on. “When Eshel first came aboard, he would… sometimes… make noise in the night—”
“Like Suzuki does when he has a nightmare,” Dorel added.
“Yes,” Coran said. “And, now, since Eshel has… has stopped visiting you… it is happening again—”
“But it is worse!” Dorel said. “We try to help him, but he will not let us!”
Catherine listened to the men, recalling Eshel’s occasional nocturnal episodes. “He does that sometimes,” Catherine replied quietly. “I don’t know why. But I wouldn’t worry… if he needed help, he would ask for it.”
The brothers glanced at one another, appearing relieved. “Thank you, Lieutenant Finnegan,” Coran said, waving goodbye as they left.
Catherine sat there for a few minutes, pondering yet another thing she hadn’t understood about Eshel. A chirp snapped her out of her reverie. It was probably a message from Tom about her coming to the next poker game. It would be her first in a long time.
But the message wasn’t from Tom. The message was encrypted, and it didn’t indicate who’d sent it. Puzzled, Catherine began to attach her contactor to her network. Then she stopped herself. Not here.
Back in her quarters, she downloaded the message to her personal network, waited for it to pass scans, and began the decryption process. The message’s encryption method was intricate, each step leading to another and another. It took her a significant amount of time to wade through the numerous, maze-like steps. She’d never seen anything like it.
Once decrypted, she saw that the message included a large compressed file. When she decompressed it, she found a long list of files, enough to fill her entire viewer. A quick glance at the file suffixes indicated that the files were emails, with the exception of two very large image files.
She opened the most recent email file: it was a message from Commander Steele, written to a Dr. Albert Vanyukov. Catherine thought she recognized that name, but couldn’t recall why. A quick search on her viewer answered her question; Vanyukov was a professor and geneticist at Stanford University. A further search revealed that Vanyukov and Steele had done their graduate training in genetics together and were coauthors on several papers from decades ago.
December 2
Albert,
I have the files we need to move forward with this project. Let us speak more on the topic when I arrive on the eighth.
James
When Catherine checked the dates of all the emails, she saw that they spanned more than a year, the first one dating back to two Octobers ago. Just after Eshel boarded Cornelia. Catherine read the next email, and the next, until she’d read them all. By the time she finished reading them, she knew exactly what was in those two image files. And opening them only confirmed her suspicions.
CHAPTER 17
Catherine projected the first image, zooming in, then zooming out, rotating it in one direction, and then the other. She ran the usual scans and found DNA alterations on chromosomes six, seven, and eighteen. There was a familiar pattern of changes to the epigenome. She called up the files from her previous scans; the results were identical. Just as she’d suspected, it was Eshel’s genetic material, the same image from when Eshel had arrived on the ship.
The image contained unfamiliar black dots throughout. As she ran the remote over one of them, a small white shape popped up and disappeared. Confused, she moved her remote more slowly, stopping once the white shape reappeared. It was a note that briefly described the locus, with the letters AV. Albert Vanyukov. She realized the messages were annotations, and the image had more of them than she could easily count.
Steele and Vanyukov had been studying Eshel’s genetic material since he’d arrived well over a year ago.
The second large file also contained an image of Eshel’s genetic material, but the epigenomic changes were different. She examined the file date: it was more recent. They too must have figured out that they needed a second sample from Eshel to investigate the epigenomic alterations. But how did they get it? There was no way to know for sure… but Catherine would bet all the money she had that Eshel hadn’t given Steele that file. But then again, she didn’t know Eshel as well as she thought she had.
She put such thoughts aside to focus on a more pressing question: who would send her such incriminating information?
Catherine examined the message more closely, trying to ascertain the encryption method and where it came from. Was it someone on the ship, or an outsider? Was it an individual, or an individual within a larger organization? Whoever sent it had scrambled the message’s origin. And, unfortunately, she’d reached the end of her technical abilities. She knew a small handful of people who possessed the necessary skill to potentially solve this mystery. But there was only one she could trust.
“Catherine,” said Patrick Holloway’s voice.
“You busy?”
“Busy drinking,” he quipped. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah. Come to my quarters whenever you’re done. And keep it quiet.”
She knew he wouldn’t be long. Her secrecy would intrigue him. She closed all of her files and saved them to a portable drive. Ten minutes later, Holloway rang.
“I have a dilemma I can’t solve,” she said, motioning for him to pull up a chair.
“Oh, yeah?” he replied. His dark, curly hair was messy and his face a bit flushed from the alcohol, but he seemed coherent.
She pulled up the message. “I received a message that had the most complicated encryption I’ve ever seen. It took me almost two hours to get through it. Can you help me figure out who or where it came from?”
Holloway, now appearing more alert, took a look at her viewer. “I probably can. Or I can narrow it down to a list of suspects.”
She turned off her viewer. “Before you look, you have to promise to keep your mouth shut about whatever you find. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Why? Is it sensitive information?”
“It could be.”
She turned the viewer back on and Holloway studied the message. “Was the message sent to your main network or to your contactor?” he said.
“My contactor.”
He put his hand out.
Catherine handed him her contactor and he synced it with her computer. He voiced a series of commands as the viewer filled with page after page of data that made little sense to her. He got a quizzical look on his face, and then chuckled. “Well, will you look at that…” He examined the output and called out a few more commands. “Normally I
’d assume it came from someone on the ship, since it went to your contactor… but anyone who could do this could also make it took internal when it’s not.” After several minutes elapsed, he turned to her. “It definitely came from someone on this ship,” he told her, rubbing his eyes. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell who. They covered their tracks in a very obvious way, but it worked. My guess is someone with good programming skills, but not intel.” He paused. “What is this message?”
Catherine pushed her hair out of her face and sat back. “I can’t give you details. But it’s a definitive sign our commanding officer is doing the very thing he ordered us not to.”
Holloway knit his eyebrows, as if trying to recall the order she referred to. Then a look of recognition crossed his face and his eyes widened. “Something to do with Eshel? Is Steele working with Eshel?”
“I doubt it. Eshel never trusted him. But you’re half right. Steele is working.”
“Is he trying to reproduce Eshel’s work?”
“I think so.”
He scowled. “That old bastard! After the way he’s blocked us from doing so?”
“You haven’t even seen how he’s threatened me about never touching those data, and how concerned he acts in front of everyone else about preserving Eshel’s knowledge.”
Holloway shook his head, running his hand through his messy hair again. “Balls to him! If he can do it, then why can’t we?” he exclaimed, his cheeks red and his accent even more pronounced.
Catherine smiled.
“I’m serious,” he went on. “Why can’t we?” Then he stopped himself. “Did that message have any data?”
“No,” she lied. She couldn’t tell him what she had. It was the one thing that could cause Eshel to lose his asylum, and she couldn’t risk that.
“Too bad.” He paused. “Who could’ve sent this?”
She shook her head. “There are too many possibilities, really, especially after what happened with Steele and me.” She stood up. “Listen, keep this quiet. If I find we have something to work with, I’ll let you know.”
Holloway nodded, a yawn escaping from him. “See you tomorrow.”
Who sent it?
Her first thought was Eshel. Eshel would understand the significance of the project Steele was embarking upon in secret, and why it would be so important to her.
But Eshel couldn’t be the source of the information, for many reasons. For one, Eshel had no way of knowing what Steele was up to. Steele was a jerk, but he wasn’t stupid, and would know better than to let any clue of his intentions slip out to Eshel during their meetings. And while it was possible that Eshel had formed a trustworthy relationship with Steele, like he had with her, Steele and Vanyukov’s email trail made it clear that the two scientists meant to keep their plans secret from all but one another.
Just as importantly, even if Eshel did somehow gain access to such information, why would he give it to her? Eshel no longer spoke to her, much less shared secrets with her. The rare times they crossed paths in the hallway near the mess or near the training studio, Eshel refused to acknowledge or even make eye contact with her. Eshel always remembered those who slighted him, and wouldn’t forgive her hitting him.
But even if she ignored those arguments, which were adequate in and of themselves, there was one reason Eshel couldn’t have sent her those files, one that trumped the others: for all his brilliance, Eshel lacked anything close to the knowledge or training to undergo such a task. Only those who’d worked in intel or those with highly developed technical skills had the know-how to hack into a highly protected research network, to use such advanced encryption techniques, to hide a message’s origin from someone like Holloway…
Holloway. Catherine recalled their conversation long ago, when he’d first brought up their working together in secret. He shared the same frustration Catherine did with their work. He had the know-how to send her that information anonymously… with reasonable hope that she’d ask for his help. She shook her head, laughing. He probably also knew she’d be so grateful for the information that she couldn’t hold it against him if he admitted the truth. If it were Holloway, perhaps he would confess at some point.
Catherine glanced at the time. It was late. She made herself a cup of tea and put her feet up on her table.
Perhaps she could work with Holloway. She could do it without him; but with him, they could work much faster. And with Steele and Vanyukov already ahead, working quickly mattered. What Steele and Vanyukov had in experience and access to Stanford’s advanced labs, they lacked in stamina and innovation, two things she and Holloway had plenty of. Yes, it was risky. She’d worked day after day with Holloway for over a year—she knew she could trust him, that he’d bend the rules if it meant doing the science he wanted to do. But adding another person to the mix increased the probability of getting caught.
But what about Eshel? Friend or not, she couldn’t do anything that put Eshel in danger of losing his asylum. And, friend or not, she could never reveal Eshel’s secrets. Then she realized she didn’t have to reveal anything—between the files she’d discovered on her network and the encrypted information she’d received, they had enough data to work with, none of which incriminated Eshel.
She recalled a conversation she’d had with Eshel at that very table. They’d talked of genetic engineering and cloning.
“Your people allow cloning, but not the cloning of humans?” he’d asked.
“Right,” she’d said. “It was allowed once, but only experimentally and only by sanctioned labs. Even then it was a nightmare. The clones rarely survived gestation; the ones who did were usually dead within weeks, if not days. When the biocrackers began trying it, a black market developed for the clones and the technology to create them… it created this big political stink. The feds stepped in to sequester the clones but the human rights groups fought them on it… that ended any experimentation with human cloning on Earth.” She paused. “Is it true that the Korvali don’t clone?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“It is… disgraceful… to attempt to reproduce a sentient being in such a way. It is forbidden on Korvalis.”
Catherine smiled. “No offense, Esh, but that seems a little judgmental coming from a people who engineer their own genomes at will.”
Eshel shook his head. “It is not because we oppose genetic manipulation of that degree. It is because reproduction is highly valued on Korvalis. Due to our infrequent birth rate, a birth is an honored event. A manufactured person is shameful.” He looked down for a moment. “It is difficult to explain. Sentient life has great value on Korvalis. Birth is celebrated. Death is honored. Murder is… very rare. My work… it was not only to survive my escape from Korvalis. It was intended to aid the survival of all those who would escape or who were captured by Elisan, drugged, and left in the remote territories to die.”
“He does that to people, to your people?”
“To those who aren’t Shereb, yes.”
Catherine shook her head. “The work is extraordinary, Eshel. You would win the Nobel Prize for it, easily. It’s already saved one life. Can Elan or the other Shereb scientists say as much?”
“That is another reason I developed it,” he replied. “Shereb scientists spend far too much time and resources on stupid procedures.”
Catherine pushed the memory aside and got ready for bed.
But she couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced with too many thoughts. Finally, she grabbed her contactor and sent Holloway a message.
Meet me at my quarters tomorrow. 1900.
At 1902, Holloway rang.
“Here’s how this will work,” she began in her scientific tone. “You can’t discuss any of this with anyone. Anyone. Do you understand?”
Holloway nodded. “I understand.”
“This is a team effort, which means we share credit if the work produces fruit… and we share blame if we get caught. If we get caught, we’ll be discharged and probably court-martialed. An
d if the brass doesn’t punish us, the Alliance will. And if they don’t, the Korvali will. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“We’ll work in the library, supposedly on a project in which I am mentoring you. Steele doesn’t need to know, since we won’t be using the lab.
“Why not the lab?” Holloway asked.
“I’m not allowed there after hours, remember?”
“Right. Why not one of our quarters, where there’s more privacy?”
She shook her head. “Everyone will assume we’re… involved. You’re under my command, so we can’t have that.” Holloway’s fair complexion blushed and he nodded in understanding. “Later, when it comes time for bench work, we’ll have to get creative. Maybe we can work out a deal with Anka.”
Holloway nodded eagerly. “Yes. Brilliant. But why the sudden change? Did your source send you more data, data we can use?”
She smiled a little. “Not quite. I lied to you. The message did include data. I wasn’t ready to commit to this yet. And… I discovered I have all the files I’d generated when Eshel arrived. They’d saved to my network and I didn’t realize it.”
He grinned.
“Want to see them?”
“Do I want to see them, she asks!” Holloway cried.
She laughed and produced the files, letting Holloway take a good look. After being engrossed in the files for a few minutes, Holloway finally spoke up. “Extraordinary. Twenty-three chromosomes…!” He peered some more. “What the devil happened to his epigenome?” He turned to her. “Did you run a comparative analysis with a human genome?”
She hadn’t. She was more interested in the engineering than in the similarities between human and Korvali genomes. Nonetheless, she produced a copy of her own genome for him to analyze.
The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) Page 20
