The Imprint of Stars

2. Early Spring

"What is your grandmother's return date?"

Caretaker 9034's voice was deep but warped as if it were submerged just under water. Which made me think of the cool waters of the nearby lake.

He had arrived unexpectedly on the hottest day so far of our early Spring, and I had spent most of it attempting to turn the newly thawed earth in Gram's garden.

If he had come an hour later he would have found no one at home. And I shuddered to think of what might have happened if he had done an inspection while I was away.

I had intended to go into Fairaday to give the news of Gram's death to the elders. I needed their help to bury her according to the traditions of their people.

I had been so caught up in mulling over the unpleasantness of the task that I had missed the sky spirits' signs of the Caretaker's arrival.

It seemed the squirrels hadn't even had the chance to chatter their warnings in time. Certainly, no ravens had called out.

I would never have missed how they bring their warnings; a dissonant cry with the promise of talons.

The Caretaker questioned me in the shade of the small tool shed several feet from the garden.

I stood before him sweating in the heavy material of clothes I'd regrettably chosen to wear in the chill of a morning that had given no indication of how hot the day would become.

The image of the Caretaker falling in the lake on his way here and stumbling around with his circuits waterlogged was an image that made a smile tug at my lips.

The Caretaker raised his eyebrows in question, and I shivered at how unnerving the imitation of a human gesture was on his plastic face.

His makers had created him to look human – bipedal with a head and body like ours right down to his wiggling fingers.

But his face would never pass for human. His features were disproportionate, and facial expressions stilted and awkward.

One Caretaker looked the same as another.

Except for the clothing they wore, the identification number that was their designation and the differences in their voices, all were identical humanoid machines assigned by the governing State to monitor the villages of all five Stations in the November Hills range.

Once, Gram had laughed at something that passed between them in conversation. But to my child's perspective the Caretaker's imitation of a smile looked like a grimace, baring silver teeth that glinted menacingly in the sun.

"She'll return in two months," was my matter of fact response to his question.

The shaking in my hands that had started when the Caretaker stepped out of the woods and approached me was finally subsiding. I was grateful for the strength I heard in my voice.

"She received word from the elders in Fairaday that there would be a twin birth on one of the Isles next month. She left a week ago, ahead of the Spring gusts."

"The passes have only just opened to travelers."

Was that suspicion in the Caretaker's tone of voice?

I made a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder, while focusing on carefully removing my dirt encrusted gardening gloves one finger at a time. 

It helped to quell the unease I always felt when standing so close to his towering metallic frame.

"You know my grandmother's dedication to the people of the November Hills. No one thinks of her as a traveler. She's birthed children that are now old enough to have their own. Their houses will always be open to her along the way," I said, adding "if it's her safety you're worried about."