Caretaker Read online

  “I’ll be fine. I sprain it pretty often. It’s weak from an old virtual gaming injury.” As she glanced up at him, he saw her wince as she stepped, and in one fluid motion, he leaned down and scooped her into his arms.

  In spite of the day’s tensions, she laughed in surprise. “Ethan! Put me down.”

  “No.” She fit in his arms nicely, but he had to adjust his balance. “Quit squirming or I’m gonna drop you,” he said.

  She settled down grudgingly.Her arm around his neck, she stroked his hair. “You’d never get away with this sloppy of a haircut in the military.”

  He felt a little self-conscious and growled, “Give me a break. I do it myself.”

  “What?”

  “Sure. Who else is going to cut my hair?”

  “Ummm. The computer.”

  “Oh, no. We tried that. Lasers shot out at random angles. I stopped it before it vaporized my brain. I shave with an old-fashioned razor and I cut my own hair.”

  Kaia was giggling. “Vaporized your brain?”

  Ethan walked faster, a little embarrassed. “It’s certainly a possibility.”

  “A grooming laser is an attenuated laser. It couldn’t even singe you. It’s calibrated to only affect hair. Five years you’ve been living in the dark ages? Using a straightedge? Where did you even find such an antique?”

  “I brought it along. It was my grandfather’s. Eversharp, clean cutting, works great.”

  Kaia shook her head. “You’re an interesting man, Ethan Bryant.”

  They’d reached the elevator, and he asked for her help. “Wanna push the buttons?”

  She reached out, poking the key sequence for the caretaker’s hold. Ethan felt the muscles in her back twist as she reached. He liked the feeling of her in his arms. As she settled back, he couldn’t help but hold her a little tighter. Her arms tightened around his neck, too. As he felt it, his eyes darted down to hers. She was looking up at him with a new light in her eyes. He looked away hurriedly.

  When they reached the hold, Kaia did something unexpected. As Ethan set her down on the couch, she reached up and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Thank you, Ethan. That would have been a painful trip back here on my own.”

  He straightened and then smiled down at her. “You’re welcome. Let’s see what we can do with that ankle. Computer, assess this injury.”

  It is a musculoskeletal injury commonly known as an ankle sprain,” said the computer.

  “Get the AutoMed, please, computer.”

  “Repair of the ligaments is possible using the Automatic Medical Assistant, however, it cannot be used on a patient until fourteen days after awakening from stasis. You will need to use the manual medical kit provided in cabinet B25.”

  Ethan looked up as one of the small doors on the back wall slid open. He crossed to it and retrieved a white steel case that was heavier than it looked. Ethan opened it and took out a polymer wrap and a cold pack.

  “Okay. Let’s take a look at that ankle.” Ethan sat on the chest and lifted Kaia’s calf, placing the ankle in his lap. He saw her wince as he moved it. It was swollen and bruised. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to hurt it too much.”

  He slipped her stasis shoe off and ran his fingers over the swollen ankle, positioning it on the wrap and gently pulling the soft, stretchy material around it. He hated hurting her but was impressed by how she gritted her teeth and let him work.

  “Don’t look so grim,” she said teasingly.

  He noticed that he was gritting his own teeth, his empathy for her pain transferring to his jaw. He consciously relaxed, shot her a weak smile, and then looked back down at the wrap. When he was done, he put the cold pack around her ankle and eased her leg back onto the couch.

  “Okay,” she said once it was settled. “Your turn.”

  Ethan looked at her quizzically.

  “Go get your old-fashioned razor. I’m going to give you a decent haircut.”

  “No way. You’ve got to rest.”

  “You can sit right here, and I’ll be able to reach.” She pointed to the floor in front of the couch. “I need something to do, and I have to pay you back for all this medical care.”

  Ethan saw in her eyes that there would be no argument. He stood and went to the bathroom, where he found his razor and a comb. He brought them back to her.

  Sitting on the floor in front of her, he couldn’t see what she was doing. His only sensory information came from her touch. He felt her fingers in his hair, on his shoulders, and on the back of his neck. Sometimes she laid a hand against his cheek to have him turn a little to the right or left. The feel of her touch overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes and held his breath until the wave of desire subsided. By then she was really cutting, and he focused on watching his dark hair fall around him. It had been longer than he realized since his last haircut. He felt the comb, her fingers, and the cold blade moving over his scalp and found himself again fighting the sensation of her hands sliding over his skin. Too soon it was over.

  “Go check it out,” she said lightly, though he thought he detected a slight breathlessness in her voice, too.

  Ethan avoided her eyes as he took the tools from her and then walked back into the bathroom as the computer disintegrated the cut hairs and swept the particles away for recycling. In the mirror he saw that she’d done an expert job. It was clean and even, a much better look than he’d had for years. He told her so as he walked back to the couch. “It looks fantastic. You’ve got a second career there.” She smiled up at him as he stepped in front of her.

  I used to cut my dad’s hair all the time. He didn’t like paying for a haircut when it would just grow back in a couple weeks.” At the end of her sentence, Kaia’s voice cracked in a yawn.

  “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you take a nap?” he asked. “I’ve got a few things to do, and then I’ll be back to get you some dinner.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “Okay.” He lifted her ankle as she lay back on the couch, and then he turned and strode toward the door. Glancing back, he saw her curled on the wide leather seat. Her eyes were already closed. He walked back toward her, opened the chest in front of the sofa and pulled out the blanket inside. Gently, he spread it over her, tucking it carefully around her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “You really are a Caretaker.”

  He smiled. “Sleep well,” he said, and he left the room.

  Out in the hall, Ethan leaned against the smooth wall. Though she seemed to be doing better and though their last hour had been light, Ethan couldn’t forget the look in Kaia’s eyes as she watched the footage of that first day on the ship, full of the pain of David’s death. Somehow, there had to be a way to help her grieve.

  “Computer,” he asked, “I need a photograph of David McNeal.” The image floated in front of him almost instantaneously. “No, I need a hard copy. A printed version.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bryant. One is printing now in the Primary Navigation Room.”

  Ethan turned and headed there, a plan forming in his mind.

  Chapter 8

  Ethan knew something of the pain that Kaia was going through. He remembered the night he’d sent McNeal’s body into space. He’d stood at the interior airlock door a little longer than was reasonable, staring at the still form. When he had finally pushed the button and opened the airlock, Ethan remembered the hot tears on his face. That almost ethereal moment had stayed with him all the years since. The way McNeal had risen and drifted, spinning gently as space took him, had eased the grief inside Ethan somehow. It had seemed a noble and good way to go.

  He wanted Kaia to experience something like that. Watching the footage of McNeal’s last moments had made Ethan acutely aware that Kaia needed to say goodbye. And so he spent the night scrounging for items to make a frame for David’s picture. When he was done, the framed photograph was rough but adequate. He took the elevator down to the bottom floor and left the photo near the airlock.

  He went back upstairs just as square fa
ces of the clocks above each bulkhead read 0800. The door slid open soundlessly, and he walked into the hold to see Kaia sitting on the couch weeping. She raised her head, startled, and tried to cover her swollen eyes.

  “I didn’t expect you back yet,” she said.

  Ethan sat next to her. “You were supposed to sleep.”

  “I did,” she protested, “for a while. I just—” she had stopped trying to control her sobs and her voice came out strained. “I can’t stop seeing his face at the end. I just can’t get it out of my head.”

  Ethan nodded. “I know. It was hard for me to watch it again, too.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Ethan. I don’t know—” she bent over, her shoulders shaking.

  Ethan began to reconsider his plan. He was no psychologist. What if this just caused her more pain?

  “I just want to see him like I remember him . . .” she trailed off, looking pleadingly up at Ethan.

  “Can I take you somewhere?” Ethan asked, almost before he knew what he was saying.

  She nodded slightly and he stood and lifted her into his arms. As he carried her to the elevator, Kaia covered her face with her hands and cried.

  Neither of them spoke on the way to the bottom deck. Once there, he carried her out and stood her in front of the interior airlock door. She leaned on the wall for support, and he reached down and picked up the photo, offering it to her as he stood.

  Kaia’s eyes widened. “Where did you get this?” she said softly, running her fingers over the image of McNeal’s broad smile.

  “The—uh, computer called it up. It’s McNeal’s official ID photo.”

  For the first time, she smiled weakly. Her eyes lingered on the picture. “He replaced the official one, then. This is cropped from one of our wedding photos.” She looked up at Ethan. “You made the frame?”

  He nodded. “It’s not much, just what I could find around here—”

  “Actually, it’s really fitting,” she said softly. “He would have liked to be surrounded by the ship.” Her eyes met Ethan’s. “Why didn’t you just bring it to me in the hold?”

  The question took Ethan by surprise, and he felt immediately embarrassed at the morbidity of his earlier plan. Of course he should have just made her a keepsake, not an effigy. His eyes darted involuntarily to the airlock.

  He saw his reflection in the window. His jaw was dark with scruff, and his newly-cut hair was unkempt from the night awake. He pushed the image aside and tried desperately to think of an answer for her.

  But it was too late. She was looking around with understanding dawning in her eyes. “Oh,” she said, very softly.

  Her knuckles had whitened. She was clutching the frame furiously, her eyes taking in the image hungrily.

  Ethan looked down, ashamed to admit what he’d made the photo for.

  After a long time, she spoke again. “You think I should . . .” She glanced at the airlock.

  “I don’t know, Kaia. I wasn’t really thinking. I just—”

  She stopped him, “No, I see what you were trying to do.” She looked again at the photo. “We could have . . . a memorial service, or something.”

  Ethan nodded but still didn’t look at her. “Only if you want to.”

  She stood quietly for a long time, so long that Ethan moved away from her, down the corridor, back toward the elevator. He leaned against the wall and stayed quiet until he heard her voice again.

  “Ethan,” she said, her voice a little stronger, “will you help me?”

  He went back to her, aware of the brightness of the corridor, the darkness of space outside the exterior windows of the airlock. He caught her eye as he stepped up to the interior door. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, swallowing hard and fighting more tears.

  Ethan had to use a manual keypad for the airlock in addition to the verbal code and bioscan required on the rest of the ship. He went through the usual routine and punched the code into the panel. The interior door slid open. Ethan held Kaia’s arm as she limped in, clutching the photograph. She set it on the floor in the back of the airlock.

  Ethan was conscious of the sound of the engines, the hiss of the atmosphere venting in and out of the room, and his own breathing. Then he heard her voice, barely a whisper.

  “I meant what I said in our vows, David. ‘Our love for each other spans earth and beyond, from time to timeless.’ I’ll miss you and all the adventures we were going to have together.” She stood quietly, then reached up to the shoulder of her stasis suit and grasped the patch with the ship’s insignia and her passenger number on it. She tore it from her stasis suit, then bent and slid it under a gap in the frame. “Passenger three six nine two loves you, David McNeal, and wherever you are, a part of her will always be with you.”

  She reached a hand toward him, and he helped her out of the airlock. The door slid closed behind them and she stood at the window of the interior door. She nodded, and Ethan entered the code that opened the exterior vents above the airlock. Slowly, the airlock atmosphere began to be replaced by the great nothingness outside. At first nothing happened, but then the photo rose gently. The exterior door opened, and the photo floated, spinning out into the blackness, propelled the last of the escaping atmosphere in the room.

  Ethan realized she was repeating the same words she’d said before—“earth and beyond, from time to timeless”—over and over again. He saw tears slipping down the cheeks of her reflection in the window and felt his own returning.

  Long after the speck of David’s image had disappeared, they were still standing motionless. Kaia’s tears had dried when she held out a hand to him and weakly slumped into his arms. Ethan carried her back to the Caretaker’s hold, again making the journey in silence. He laid her down, covered her with the blanket, and left.

  Just before the door closed, he heard her say, “Thank you.”

  He nodded and made his way to the passenger’s hold. He walked along the first aisle, trailing his fingers along the convex fronts of the chambers. These were the living, and he needed to be with them now. Finally he stopped in front of one of the upright cylindrical chambers and stood face to face with Eli Santos, a middle-aged wood carver. Eli’s family surrounded him as he slept peacefully. Ethan found a spark of hope growing within him. It wouldn’t be long for Eli. None of these horrors existed where he was. Eli would wake up with the same enthusiasm for life on Minea that he had gone to sleep with back on Earth, oblivious to McNeal’s and Kaia’s and even Ethan’s own pain.

  Somehow, that made him feel better. Loss and longing were not all there was to life. There was more, and if Eli could experience all that good, then all these sacrifices would be worth it.

  Ethan walked on through the holds for hours, thoughts tumbling through his mind. Something was still bothering him. Kaia had insisted that McNeal had been murdered. Who would murder a Caretaker? It wasn’t a coveted job. And why? What would one possibly gain by doing away with someone whose life was already, for all practical purposes, done away with? And how? McNeal was on one of the most extensively inaccessible crafts known to man, in part because of its sheer size, in part because of the high security surrounding passenger ships. Ethan found McNeal’s murder unlikely, but something about it nagged at him still.

  He crossed through several of the smaller bulkheads and finally looked up. The clock above him read 15:59. He had spent nearly the whole day here. He needed now to check on Kaia.

  Chapter 9

  Three days later, Ethan carried a tall glass of pomegranate juice to Kaia on the couch. Her grey eyes shone up at him as she took it. She seemed much more at peace with David’s death, and Ethan was relieved that his plan hadn’t backfired as badly as he’d been afraid it would.

  “I love this stuff!” she said, taking a long drink.

  “I’m picking that up. That’s your third glass today.”

  “Well, if you didn’t bring them to me, I wouldn’t drink so many.”

  He nodded. She was right. He fo
und himself constantly on the lookout for things that might make her more comfortable, that she might enjoy. There was something thrilling about being with someone whose every need wasn’t filled by the computer.

  “How’s the ankle?”

  “Still pretty painful.” She tried to flex her foot and winced. “But I think it’s less swollen.”

  He sat beside her on the couch and pulled her feet into his lap, laying a gentle hand over the polymer wrap. “An old injury, you said?”

  “Yeah. I used to be quite the virtual gamer. My mom died when I was young, and my dad was always involved at the base, so I entertained myself a lot. I actually went to the world championship of Drezen’s Colony Wars.”

  “What? You’re a pro athlete, too?”

  “Not really. Have you ever played?”

  “I wasn’t much for any of the virtual games. I couldn’t keep my equilibrium in the sphere. I was always falling down and throwing up when I got out.”

  She made a face. “Not the most popular guy at the parties, then?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, it was a variation on a classic game: capture the flag. You played that, I’ll bet.”

  “Sure. I had lots of cousins. We mostly played that and baseball.”

  “Drezen’s Colony is like that, but it’s much more intense. You’re in the sphere, you start out in the first few rounds with a basic commando model. You have to charge in, avoid capture, and get the Drezen insignia, which is the key to unlock the next level. After the basic rounds, the playing field can be anything: underwater, in space, whatever, and you have a really limited amount of time to find and capture the insignia. I blacked out many a time before I could navigate the first vacuum level.”

  “Woah. Sounds intense.”

  “It is. There’s a lightning level where you get shocked repeatedly throughout the game. There’s a cliff level where you’re essentially falling the entire time and you have to catch onto ledges to look for the insignia.”

  “And I couldn’t even keep my lunch in the virtual racecar games.”