The Refugee (The Korvali Chronicles Book 1) by C. A. Hartman

group of our citizens you reported to have found.” The Captain nodded, and waited for him to continue. “The Korvali appreciate your report of the dead, and also your candor about offering asylum for our surviving citizen. Is he well?”  
    A look of almost pleasant surprise crossed her face. “Yes… yes, he is quite well, thank you.”
    “If you are expecting that we came here to make threats regarding our citizen, or otherwise try to retrieve him by force, that is not our goal.”
    “Then what is?”
    “The Korvali prefer to keep accurate death records, for our government’s purposes, and for those clanspeople with whom the escapees share genetic bonds. We request the identities of the deceased, as well as the survivor.”  
    Ferguson nodded. “I see. Why make the long trip here, rather than simply ask for that information?”
    “We felt a personal meeting was preferable, for many reasons,” the younger Guardsman said, speaking for the first time. “The Korvali devote much time and energy to caring for all of its citizens. We are… concerned… about one of our people wandering the galaxy with none of his own kind to guide him. It is our way.”  
    “I understand. But with all due respect,” Ferguson said, sitting back in her chair, “if that’s the case, why didn’t you pursue and retrieve the escapees after you launched your attack against them? Why did you let them go?”
    The younger Guardsman gazed at her with grayish eyes, the intense stare that was similar to Eshel’s. The room seemed to quiet. Yamamoto watched as Ferguson worked to maintain the Guardsman’s stare. Other than a couple of blinks, she didn’t break eye contact. He finally spoke, his voice a hair colder than before. “We live in a technologically simple society, Captain. We lack the resources to chase a ship across such a distance. As you know, our customs differ from yours. Again, we request the identities of our citizens.”  
    “I will get you the information you request,” Ferguson replied, glancing at Yamamoto. “Give me a moment.” A small viewer arose from the top of her desk. She browsed through several directories and pressed the pads of her fingers to the screen when necessary. The document, written up by Vargas, with Eshel’s input, listed the names of the nine dead, including the clans to which they belonged. “Do you want to see the list here, or shall I send it to you?”
    “We need only to view it,” the elder replied.
    Ferguson’s screen rotated until it faced the two Guardsmen. They peered at it briefly.  
    “And the surviving citizen?”  
    “He is mentioned in the report, below the list.”
    The Guardsmen shifted their gazes down to the report. They glanced at one another, speaking a couple of words in their native language.  
    “We must speak to him,” the younger said.  
    “Unfortunately, I can’t allow that,” Ferguson said. “He’s in the Alliance’s custody, by his own request.” She grabbed her water canteen and took a swig from it. “If you tell me your concerns, perhaps I can help you or find some way to accommodate you.”  
    The elder Guardsman, who sat motionless, spoke up. “The one you hold on your ship, Eshel, is what humans refer to as a scientist. He is expert in our genetic technology.” He paused. “You have your policies, but we have ours. We do not share our technology with outsiders.”
    “I understand. Our policy is that he’s forbidden to share any of his knowledge about genetics, an imperative he has upheld. The Alliance agrees with this policy, and violation of it would violate the terms of his asylum.”
    “Why were we not informed of this information, and of his identity, at an earlier date?” the younger Guardsman asked, his tone still chilly.  
    “He has revealed little about himself. We didn’t know his importance to your people. Our concern was providing him asylum, while still respecting your traditions. It isn’t the Alliance’s intent to