Caretaker Read online

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  Caretaker

  by Richard A. Lovett

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  Science Fiction

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  Fictionwise, Inc.

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©2004 by Richard A. Lovett

  First published in Analog, June 2004

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  The robot's soundless entrance into his field of vision brought Loren Zarken back to reality with a start.

  “What is it?” he demanded. His robots had been programmed not to let anything short of a true emergency interrupt his meditation. “It better be important."

  “A space vessel is approaching, master. The scanners located it just ten minutes ago. It appears to be on course for this planet."

  That might not actually qualify as an emergency, but it was important, and the central computer's programming was flexible enough to allow it to override the robots’ specific commands. “Where is it coming from?"

  “The direction of the globular cluster."

  “I see.” Zarken pondered for a moment. “Have they contacted us yet?"

  “No. They seem to be unaware of our probes."

  “Then we will be the ones to speak first. Give them permission to land. In fact, issue an invitation. I must learn more.” He returned to his interrupted meditation, but somehow found it difficult to concentrate. Visitors, he thought. It's happening all too quickly.

  * * * *

  Loren Zarken was absolute ruler of an entire solar system. He was also its sole occupant. His domain included one star, seven planets, and an indeterminate number of lesser bodies. He spent most of his time on the fourth planet from his sun, the only one that could easily support life.

  For years he'd dwelt there in solitude, attended by automatons, isolated from civilization. At first, he'd found it difficult, for he was not a hermit by nature. But as the months melded into years and the years to decades, he'd fallen into a routine, with each day divided into carefully determined segments for manual labor, reading, recreation, and contemplation. It was a routine which, until today, hadn't been broken since the time—more than five years before—when an electrical fault had caused a fire in the robots’ workshop.

  The planet was perfect for Zarken's lifestyle. His garden grew rapidly, and native fruits and vegetable were plentiful. The world abounded with streams, lakes, snow-capped mountains, and wildlife. Zarken had visited hundreds of other planets throughout the Galaxy, and he knew his was unique. Never before had he encountered such serenity or beauty. He sincerely doubted it could be found elsewhere.

  * * * *

  The visiting spaceship touched down on a pillar of fire, turning the lush meadow grasses to ash and singeing the leaves of the nearest trees. Before the blackened meadow ceased smoking, the main airlock opened, a landing escalator slid outward, and a small group of men and women disembarked. Zarken strode forward to shake hands with a tall, blond man who appeared to be the leader.

  “Welcome to my planet,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay. Are you in charge of this expedition?"

  “I am."

  Zarken bowed formally. “Loren Zarken at your service."

  The other looked startled. “No relation to the Loren Zarken, I suppose?"

  “The inventor of the hyperdrive? We had our differences, but I still claim him as my grandfather."

  The visitor's surprise became more pronounced. “Umm, excuse the bluntness, Mr. Zarken, but how can that be? You'd have to be—well, I'm not sure how old...” His voice trailed off in uncertainty.

  Zarken smiled. “Five hundred twenty-nine standards, to be exact. It is amazing what money, medical science, and a disciplined daily routine can do for the body. Good cosmic ray shielding helps, too. And now, who might you be?"

  “William Smith of Malor II, captain of the HV Starbird.” HV was an old-fashioned designation for hypervessels—old enough that Zarken was surprised it was still in use. What other type of vessel could have made it all the way out here, to the farthest fringes of human expansion?

  “Ah. Well, Mr. Smith, I again welcome you and your people to my planet. Make yourselves at home for the duration of your visit.” Zarken stressed the last word ever so slightly, watching Smith's reaction. Smith's face, however, betrayed nothing, so Zarken continued his welcoming speech. He knew that he spoke as stiffly as one of his robots, but there is an art to communicating with real people, and the proper tone was eluding him.

  Nevertheless, he continued as smoothly as he could manage. “If you and your crew would like to join me in my humble dwelling, I have prepared a feast to celebrate your arrival. It is not often that I have company. Unfortunately, you may find the facilities somewhat cramped. How many are in your party?"

  “A hundred and two."

  Zarken's felt dismay rise within him, but stuffed it into a mental compartment where it would not be apparent to his visitors, but where he could draw on it later, if needed. Only a colonizing vessel or a military craft would carry such a large crew, and this clearly wasn't a military expedition. Maybe they were merely stopping for a rest on their way somewhere else. He could always hope.

  Trying to focus on that relatively agreeable thought, Zarken forced what he hoped would be interpreted as a gracious smile and continued his invitation. “I am afraid that all of you cannot join me for dinner. I am not really sure how many I can accommodate, but I know that I do not have room for anywhere nearly that many."

  “That's alright, Mr. Zarken. I and my division chiefs—these people with me now—will gladly accept your invitation. The rest of my people can dine aboard ship.” His lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “After such a long voyage, I'm not sure any of us really remember what it's like to spend time outside of our own little hive, anyway."

  Zarken smiled politely at the obvious lie: the crew would undoubtedly be chafing for the opportunity to explore. Then, turning crisply on the balls of his feet in a style he'd learned during a long-ago stint in the military, he led his guests up the steep, dirt path to his residence, a laser-hewn cavern at the base of a cliff. “I hope,” he said as they entered the dining room, “that my servants have been able to find enough chairs. The last time I entertained was twenty years ago, for a scouting party out of Dennif."

  “A scouting party?” Smith was perplexed. “The records didn't show that anyone had come here in the last hundred years."

  “What records?"

  “At the Bureau of Colonial Affairs."

  “I see. You probably would have found the departure listed at the Bureau of Exploration, but that would have been all. The ship never returned.” Zarken lowered his voice. “A few days after it left here, it had a ... “—he groped for the right word—” ... a mishap, out in one of this system's asteroid belts. I received the distress signal, but by the time I got there it was too late."

  “Oh...” Smith paused uncomfortably. “But that doesn't explain another thing that's been bothering me. There were no references to your presence."

  “Strange. The records of my emigration must have been—ah—misplaced.” Money, Zarken thought, can buy more than long life. But he didn't appear to have gotten everything he'd paid for. Apparently, not all references to his solar system had been removed from the Colonial Bureau's files. Zarken probed further. “Why are you so well informed about this planet's records?"


  “Well, I see no reason to delay telling you. We've filed a claim for this world. We're here to start a colony."

  Zarken had suspected as much, and initially, he was able to treat the confirmation of his fears as merely another piece of information to be filed for later analysis. But he had staked more than he'd realized on the long-shot possibility that this was merely a social call, and as the reality began to penetrate, his heart cried in anguish. Simultaneously, a detached corner of his intellect calmly cataloged the fact that even after so many centuries, he still had both the capacity for emotion and the ability to deceive himself. It was so rare that he had reason for either.

  Smith jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Don't worry,” he said, “our claim needn't conflict with yours. The anti-monopoly laws are still in force—none of our families can claim more than a hundred square kilometers. Since this area is much too mountainous for large-scale farming, we'll be settling elsewhere, probably on the other side of the planet."

  With effort, Zarken willed himself back into the role of smiling host. After all, he'd feared for years that some shipload of colonists would stray into the system and settle, despite their lack of a legal claim. The arrival of a group expressly planning to colonize his world was a possibility he'd not considered, but the result was the same.

  “We can talk more about these matters later,” he said. “First, let's have dinner.” Zarken clapped his hands, and the room was filled with robots carrying trays of steaming food.

  * * * *

  “Amazing,” Smith said as the robots removed the last of the dessert dishes. Zarken was seated at the head of the main table, with Smith immediately to his right. “You appear to rely almost entirely on robots."

  “I must. One man could not do the work necessary to keep this place running. By the way, you haven't told me where your companions are from. Are you all from Malor?"

  “No. We come from every part of the Cluster. I don't believe any two families are from the same world."

  “But you are all from the Cluster. How times change. When I left, the Cluster wasn't sending out colonizing missions."

  “We're one of the first. When did you leave?"

  “About thirty years ago."

  “The Cluster's grown a lot since then. Getting too civilized for us. We're on the move to greener pastures, to use an old expression."

  “Have you ever considered what will happen when there are no more greener pastures?"

  “Not really. It's not going to happen in my time, or my children's. It's been estimated that there are enough habitable planets to last another 1,200 years."

  “And what happens after that?"

  “Population control is already in effect on some of the older planets. We'll manage."

  “But what about people like you? People who like the wilds?"

  “I don't know. Intergalactic exploration?"

  “Bah! Don't count on it. Trips would take too long. Do you know what the Galaxy will be like? It'll be tame! No virgin planets! Think about it. No unexplored places. No wilderness, only a few small parks. All other land will be needed for farming. Do you want your descendents to inherit a Galaxy like that?

  “Have you ever seen Earth—or at least pictures of it? I left three hundred, maybe four hundred years ago, but even then it was almost half city. All the rest was under cultivation—all of it! Soon after your 1,200 years, the entire Galaxy will be similar. Save this planet and the rest of this system. The Mittzer system is only a couple hundred parsecs away, and it's supposed to be nice. Go back to Mittzer. There's plenty of room there. This world is one in a thousand. If you spare it, future generations will thank you. This world could someday become a park, the first and greatest in a series of Galactic parks."

  “We have filed a claim for this planet,” Smith said quietly. “We did not file for Mittzer—"

  “A technicality!” Zarken exploded. “Out here there are no patrols. No one would notice for years, much less care. By the time it mattered, you'd be firmly established. You'd have no trouble getting the Bureau to shift your claim."

  “No.” Smith shook his head firmly. “We've spent a lot of time and money coming here. We aren't going to change our plans."

  “I'd be glad to reimburse you."

  Smith snorted. “That would do a whole lot of good way out here in the middle of nowhere."

  “Please don't close your mind. Think of posterity."

  Smith didn't respond.

  “Sleep on it, then. For your children's sake. For your own sake."

  * * * *

  An hour later, Sonja Nikolius and several other members of the dinner party were gathered in the Starbird's rec room, which they had commandeered for an informal conference. “I'm glad I wasn't there,” said Ian Goldman, the ship's first mate. “I don't like fanatics, and I'd have probably have told him so to his face.” Goldman's duties had kept him aboard ship, and Sonja and her companions were bringing him up to date on the evening's events. “That last remark certainly sounded like a threat,” he added. “I don't trust him."

  “So what do you think we should do?” asked Sonja. “Charge out there with hunting rifles and gun him down?” Technically, she was the expedition's soil biologist, a role that wouldn't become important until after the Starbird's crew was firmly entrenched dirtside, bioforming the native soils for efficient growth of Earth-normal crops. But she was also the farming crew's consensus pick for Agricultural Chief, in which capacity she'd been one of Zarken's dinner guests.

  “Why not put some distance between us and him—now,” said Kirk Michaels. Michaels’ current role was as ship's engineer, a task that would shift to habitat construction once a colony site was selected. He hadn't liked what he'd seen about Zarken's “humble dwelling,” and had been vocal about it from the moment he and Sonja were back aboard ship. “That guy's got a lot of technology in the hands of those robots,” he said for about the tenth time in as many minutes.

  Smith appeared in the rec room doorway, just in time to hear the last remark. “I've already posted a guard,” he said, sliding into a lounge chair. Sonja watched her companions swivel to face him, their body language converting his chair into the head of an imaginary table. “I told them to warn once, then fire."

  Michaels was anything but mollified. “But sir, we don't know how many of those robots he has. He could have dozens, maybe hundreds. And he's got to have blasting supplies. What if he loads the robots down with explosives and turns them into walking bombs? Even if hunting rifles can stop them—and we have no guarantee they would—he could get creative and hide them behind a bulldozer or something.” He didn't have to add that the Starbird had no hope of stopping even that simple an assault. Colonizing expeditions were lightly armed: capable of defending themselves against predators but not military aggressors. The people of the Cluster had learned the hard way that heavy weapons were dangerous for small, isolated parties. Expeditions were like marriages: occasionally they split up, and when they did, it could get vicious. It didn't pay to have too much firepower lying around. For each legitimate case of self-defense, there'd been a dozen coups, tin-pot dictators, and civil wars.

  “We're definitely vulnerable as long as we're on the ground,” Goldman chimed in. “It would be nice to be able to use the meteor shielding.” That had been Michaels’ second-favorite topic in the past few minutes. Even a small bomb could sufficiently disable the ship to require repair crews to go outside, where the robots could pick them off with Zarken's own hunting rifles. The repulsor shields would prevent this, but Starbird couldn't turn them on while in contact with the ground. If she did, she'd simply blow herself up, along with a sizeable chunk of the surrounding real estate. To bring the shields on line, the ship had to be airborne.

  “I agree,” said Smith. “But there's no sense in lifting off tonight. It would take too long to prep for launch. Zarken couldn't help but notice what we're doing, and it's a pretty significant breach of etiquette to slip away like that, without a good explanat
ion. We'd just be forcing his hand—while we're still on the ground and still vulnerable. Right now, he's either not planning anything or hoping he's talked us into going somewhere else."

  Sonja cleared her throat, and all eyes shifted to her, making her feel like one of her microbes, under a microscope. She wasn't quite sure why she'd accepted the role of Ag Chief, and one thing she was sure of was that she wouldn't seek higher office. “We've not talked about another option,” she forced herself to say into the awkward silence.

  “I'm all ears,” Smith said.

  “What if we just gave him what he wanted?"

  “You mean, turn tail and run home?” Goldberg's shocked tone was worse than the scorn he was too-carefully avoiding.

  “Not all the way, but Zarken's right about Mittzer—or anywhere else in its vicinity, for that matter. Those colonies would probably be happy to see us."

  Michaels made no effort to conceal his disgust. “No way,” he said. “I signed on to help build a new world, not play second fiddle on someone else's. If I'd wanted that, I could have stayed in the Cluster.” He didn't have to add that Mittzer, while indeed close, was back in the direction they'd come from. As long as they were this far out on the frontier, retreating was the last thing he'd want to do.

  “What do you think of his ‘galactic park’ idea?” Smith asked. His voice was modulated to a tone of perfect neutrality, but Sonja had long ago realized that this was a sign that she must proceed with caution. Still, she owed the captain an honest answer. “It's not without merit,” she said after a pause to find exactly the right words. “But it's impractical. Parks are afterthoughts, created from land that was unwanted during the first waves of settlement. Right now, nobody's going to listen to the idea, even if a thousand years from now, our descendents wind up wishing someone had.” She hesitated again. “But I was thinking about something simpler. Do we really want to share a planet with this guy? I don't trust him, either—more, I think, than I hate the thought of spending more time aboard this ship. And I myself don't mind playing ‘second fiddle.’ Wherever we go will have plenty of worthwhile things for everyone to do."