Caretakers: Prehistory of the League of Planetary Systems, #1

By Frank Carey

In the early part of the 21st century, Area 51 had an alien problem. Over the years, numerous alien animals were left on Earth's doorstep when they were lost or abandoned by their alien owners. Area 26 was created to give these creatures a home where they could live quietly out of sight of the planet's human population.

After being exposed to an experimental substance during a lab accident, maintenance worker Lee Carstares and his partner, a gray alien from the Zeta Reticuli star system named Clare, are transferred from Area 51 to Area 26 where they find themselves caught between a Storen freighter and a Goranthi warship bent on the freighter's destruction. Lee and Clare must now help the Storens get off the planet before the Goranthi find them. 15,000 words.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Carey
• Release date: Dec 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386854302

Frank Carey

Frank Carey has been formally writing and publishing works of science fiction since late 2013. Over the years prior, he had dabbled in various forms of writing including haiku poetry, but that all changed when he and his wife, Jo, decided to try their hand at writing and self-publishing. Since then, he has written and published a collection of flash fiction and short stories, two anthologies, a pentalogy, and a trilogy. All his work, to date, has been in the science fiction genre. Most of his stories take place about two centuries in the future when Earth joins the League of Planetary Systems. Many of his protagonists are strong females. He is an inveterate pantser who believes the story will go where the story wants to go. Frank’s background includes degrees in physics and extensive work as a scientific programmer and technologist.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I hate this dream. The fact that I have the same dream every night, night after night doesn't help. As usual, I find myself grabbing a woman by the collar of her lab coat, then throwing her through a large, heavy steel door like the one you would find on a submarine. As she clears the frame, I push the hatch shut, turn the wheel, and lock down the dogs, while hitting the large, angry-red emergency button next to the door. As alarms go off, I turn to face a black cloud of death rising out of an oil drum in the center of the room. Stenciled on the side of the drum was the death's head symbol and the word PHILOGISTAN, which I knew was very, very bad. As if sensing me, the cloud moves toward me. Waves of searing pain wash over me as the black mist engulfs me and begins to tear my cells to shreds. I was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Vents open in the floor, ceiling, and walls. From them, gray clouds pour forth and engulf me and the philogistan cloud...

I woke up screaming as I always do.

Having that damn dream again? a female voice came from a robot standing over me.

What makes you think I'm having the same dream, Clare? I asked the bot.

She pulled up a metal chair—my room had three, all rated for at least a ton, and sat down. Screaming, flopping about like a dying mackerel, and your body is soaked in sweat even though the room is kept at exactly 71-degrees Fahrenheit are signs that you're having that dream again. Lee, you need to tell the docs before you burn out.

I am not going to burn out. And it's only happening weekly. Speaking of time, what time is it?

Lee Carstares, you are the most stubborn human being I have ever met. It's 0430-hours on Saturday, 22 September, in the year of our Lord 2035.

Clare Merser, you are the most observant Alue I have ever met.

Guilty as charged, the robot said before hunching over, its glowing eyes going dim as a flash of light signaled Clare's transition to corporeal form. I smiled at the sight of a genuine Roswell, New Mexico, gray alien in an Area 51 standard-issue one-piece uniform. Unlike the pictures you find on countless websites, she had waist-length red hair tied into a pony-tail with a pink-paisley ribbon. That's my Clare, a girlie-girl to the end.

True. Love the ribbon, by the way. It makes your eyes snap.

Right, moron, she commented while retracting her black nictitating membranes to reveal huge green eyes. How about now?

Much better. I don't know why you insist on keeping them covered.

Natural sunglasses.

I got out of bed and walked over to the wall dispenser to grab a cup of coffee. Now, I really feel human. I need a shower, I proclaimed.

Agreed, Clare replied. I'll be down in the kitchen when you get out. How do you feel about a frittata for breakfast?

You read my mind, girlfriend. I headed to the shower while she reentered the bot and headed downstairs.

Another day, another endless list of chores. Nature does not wait for the caretaker.

###

Damn, girl, that was one wonderful breakfast, I said as we got into one of several trucks the caretaker station had on hand. Like the others, this one was equipped to deal with anything that has been encountered to date, and hopefully, anything new we come across. Once we were belted in, we headed out to attend to the first item on our to-do list: checking on a pregnant blade cat.

Clare and I kept watch on a 400-square-mile nature preserve located in the north-west corner of New Mexico known only as Area 26. Run by Area 51, Area 26 was populated by terrestrial species as well as extraterrestrial ones that had been collected from alien encounters since the 1940s. Some of these critters were the source of numerous modern-day cryptid myths while others have thankfully never been seen by humans except for me and my predecessor caretakers. Case in point, the blade cats.

How do you describe a blade cat? How about the love child of a saber tooth tiger and a collection of chef's knives? Blade cats are big, about seven-feet-long and four-feet-high at the shoulder. They're also massive, weighing over 600-pounds. Notable as it is, the size pales in comparison to their defensive/offensive equipment. Growing from their skin are