"That's something I could explain better if I could show you."
"Oh no,” Chloe said. “I won't leave the ship that easily."
"Please, Ms. Roberts. I don't want this playing out like a hostage situation."
"You're the ones who grabbed Pascal, after welcoming him to land."
The two men looked at Zhang, as if that rebuke might be enough to move Zhang to order Pascal released. She did turn his way, frowning in thought, then reviving her smile. “We can show you, Mr. Mesereau. You may understand better.” She looked closer at him. “Unless you want to rest first. It looks like you had a difficult flight in."
Pascal thought a moment. “I ... think I want to see a little of the place first."
Zhang nodded. “Orson, come along with us. Andrei, stay and keep an eye on the ship. Notify me if—"
Chloe seized their moment of distraction. She opened the hatch and bolted out. “Close!” she shouted back to the computer, which obeyed, sealing the ship. She ended up right in front of all of them, who stared at her.
"The ship's locked up tight,” she told Zhang. “You won't get inside without Pascal and me."
Zhang's shock wore off quickly. “All right. But you won't get inside without our permission, either. Andrei.” The stockier man moved to the bottom of the ramp, taking an alert, forbidding pose. “I take it,” Zhang continued, “you'll be accompanying our tour."
"I wouldn't miss it. Now, as I already asked, what is this place?"
Zhang sighed. “Well, let me take—"
"You don't know?"
Pascal's question left Chloe baffled. “No,” she said, noticing the looks Pascal and Zhang traded.
Pascal told her. “It's a retirement home."
* * * *
The planet had no name, other than Zeta Doradus III. Rather, it had several names, but none had become fixed with its inhabitants.
"El Dorado was an obvious one, but it doesn't mesh with the purpose of the place.” Zhang was in the front seat of an open car, with Orson driving and her guests sitting in the back. “Some call it Shangri-La, but we don't have any secrets of immortality here. One person called it the Secret Garden. I confess I like that one. Sentimentalism aside, it fits."
They were driving, not into town, but toward the fields Chloe and Pascal had overflown. Plots of several grains passed by, early in their growing seasons, just tall enough to sway in the breeze rather than bend. Chloe recognized wheat and corn, but couldn't place those stalks of a clayey red that reminded her of buttes in the Mojave. Beyond lay vegetable plots and a small orchard. Several residents were tending them with small farm machines, or by hand.
"It's a pretty active retirement for these people,” Chloe noted.
"Farming's always been work,” said Zhang. “We've got some good equipment, so it's not too much work. We've never lacked volunteers yet."
"Volunteers?” Chloe said. “For outdoor manual labor?"
Zhang chuckled. “If for forty or fifty years, your version of work was sitting motionless, plugged into a ship's computer, some healthy outdoor activity would be just the thing."
"She's got a point, Chloe.” Pascal wore a big smile as he looked at the fields and the outskirts of the forest beyond. The nailhead trees were even more impressive from below, where one could see the branches rising level on level, buttressing the ones above. Their trunks were smooth, almost glossy, like something on Leviathan or New Chiron.
Chloe appreciated the beauty, but Pascal seemed mesmerized. She fought the urge to slap him and snap him out of it. “What told you this was a retirement community?” she asked instead.
"It seemed obvious, finally. Older navigators gathering together, no stations, no military bases. And Zhang said she was retired. What, you didn't believe her?"
Chloe didn't answer, instead aiming a barb at Zhang. “So you hid a whole habitable planet, perfect for colonization, from all of humanity, to form a farming commune?"
Zhang gave her a patient look. “We have more than agriculture here, plenty of necessary specialties. We aren't self-sufficient, but we're working toward it. As for being a commune ... there was never a conscious decision about that, but perhaps we are. Maybe we're still small enough that we can function like one. Small enough for pure democracy to work, too."
"Not pure democracy,” Chloe said. “You told me you run this place."
"To an extent. I'm just someone to handle day-to-day matters, or to act in emergencies, when something needs a quick decision."
"Like our arrival."
"Exactly.” She tapped Orson's shoulder. “Get us back to town.” He turned them around at a wide spot on the road.
Pascal was now looking past Chloe to watch the fields pass. “Ms. Zhang, how do navigators get to come here? Who tells them this place is here, and they're welcome?"
Zhang's smile receded. “We can't welcome all navigators, or people would know something funny was happening. We have to choose our candidates carefully, for how long they've worked as navigators, how much the work has worn them down, and how reliable they are, especially in keeping secrets."
"You can keep tabs on all that from here?” Pascal wondered.
"No. Navigators who are already in line to come here do the choosing. I won't tell you who they are. That's something you'd only learn if you found yourself tapped, since you'd be joining them in making those decisions."
"You mean they don't come here right away?” The idea apparently shocked him.
"A few do, if they can pay in immediately.” That turned two heads. “We aren't Paradise here. You have to provide enough supplies and materials to support you however long you live here, and to maintain and improve the colony. It's a tidy sum: seven hundred thousand solars."
"That much?” Chloe gasped. “And people can still pay it?"
Pascal turned to her. “Experienced navigators can net that in eight years or so. And lots of navigators don't spend very much—though now I see why some of them don't."
He looked off into the distance. Chloe thought he was admiring the countryside again, but Zhang saw something else. “We can find you lodgings as soon as we're in town. We have empty houses awaiting permanent residents.” She looked from Pascal to Chloe. “Where are you in your diurnal cycle?"
"Early afternoon."
"We're a little later. You'll have some time for rest, Pascal—and you, Ms. Roberts—before dinner."
Chloe heard a quiet emphasis there. “What happens at dinner?"
"You two will meet some more of our residents, and we'll have a discussion.” She said no more.
* * * *
Chloe was washed and ready by the time her escort knocked. Pascal and another escort were waiting with him. Together, they headed down a radial street from the town's edge toward the hub of the wheel.
They passed other houses, a general store, and the colony clinic. This acted as both a hospital and a home for the chronically infirm. Zhang was right, sadly: this was no Shangri-La. Age still took its toll.
Opposite the clinic, they passed a wedge of space given over to garden plots, sporting what had to be local flora. Chloe had never seen a bush with such parti-colored blossoms, or flowers with those helical stalks, anywhere else. She saw a set of small plaques at one corner, but passed too fast to read what they said. She didn't think it wise to hold up the procession to go back for a look.
They went to one wing of the small administration building and found the dining hall, or at least a room fitted out for dinner. The table seated ten, with six chairs already filled. The chairs and table had a familiar gloss to their wood. Zhang was seated, as were a few people Chloe had met or seen during her tour of the town. She sat at Zhang's left hand, near the head of the table, with Pascal taking the opposite seat.
"Glad you could make it,” Zhang said. “The first courses should be out any moment."
Someone came through a side door with a trolley. She passed out salad bowls, put breadbaskets at each end of the table, and poured out wate
r. She then took a seat and started eating with everyone else.
Chloe tried the salad, which had nothing she didn't recognize and was reasonably good. The bread was different, with a reddish color she remembered from the fields. She took one roll, broke off a small piece, and sampled it. It was malty, with a subtle smoky undertone. She tried more, and more, until she caught herself starting to bolt the bread.
"It is good, isn't it?” Oscar Menendez, the colony's carpenter, said to her left. He passed over a small jam pot. “Try the pryorberry preserves with it."
She did, and their extra-tangy plum taste won her over fast. “It's a shame you can't sell these,” she said once her mouth wasn't quite full. “You'd make out very well."
"We actually considered it once,” Zhang said, “but it's too risky. Besides, redgrass doesn't yield well enough for us to have surplus. We're improving it with good selective breeding, but that takes time."
"No recombination?” Pascal wondered.
"We're small. We have to pick what technology we can utilize. Our agriculture supports us well, so improving it is low priority."
"If this planet weren't a secret,” Chloe said, “you wouldn't have to parcel things out."
Zhang inclined her white-topped head toward Chloe. The reporter noticed the red lump at her temple, where one of her jackports must have been before conductance links came into use. “That isn't going to convince anyone here, Ms. Roberts. We need this place to ourselves. I hope we can convince you of that."
Chloe didn't sense a threat in Zhang's voice, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. “I'll be glad to listen,” she said in her best open-minded voice.
Zhang didn't look persuaded of that. “How much do you know about navigators, Ms. Roberts?” she asked. “What they undergo in their work, how it affects them?"
Chloe fought not to glance over to Pascal. “More than the layman, I'd guess, but I'm not an expert."
"You couldn't be. You aren't a navigator. The common impression of the difficulties of a navigator's life is inadequate. There really is no conveying it. It must be like going through extended combat, or having a mental illness."
"The only people who really understand,” Menendez said, “are the ones who experienced the same things. It leaves you lonely in a crowd. There's even a kind of loneliness when you're with fellow navigators. It's a group, but the group itself is isolated."
While Menendez talked, Chloe shot a questioning glance at Pascal. He gave the tiniest nod.
"Of course,” Zhang said, “there's the counter-impression of navigators as this pampered elite, gouging a hundred worlds for a vital service they cannot get any other way. I'll admit there's good pay, and retreats at most ports catering to us. It's an attempt to compensate us. A good attempt, but one that has to fail.
"We can't explain the burdens. It's probably best that we can't. Humanity needs navigators, fresh trainees every year. If people knew, the applicant pool would dry up fast.” Zhang turned to Pascal. “Tell her, Pascal. If you had really known what you were getting into, would you have thought twice?"
Pascal looked flustered at being put on the spot. His eyes met Chloe's, wavered, and sank. “Yes. Don't get me wrong. I'm in now. It's necessary work, and I wouldn't just walk away from it. But if I met the sixteen-year-old Pascal, and I could encourage him or warn him away ... I'm not sure what I'd do."
Zhang patted his shoulder. “We recognize the need for navigators. We appreciate the duty we had. However, over time, other needs overcome that.
"That's why the Original Six—” She pronounced that name with implicit capitals. “—hatched their scheme, and founded this place, as a haven for navigators who had given as much as they could. They gradually let others in on the secret, gave them the chance to join them. Most did. A few have actually declined. None have ever given us away. They understood well enough why we needed this place.
"You understand it, Pascal,” she said. He gave her the same small nod he had given Chloe. “You, Ms. Roberts,” Zhang said, “are another matter. You're the first person to know about this world who doesn't implicitly understand. That makes this a dangerous moment for us."
The server had gone back into the kitchen during Zhang's speeches and was now back with the main course. They apparently had animals at the colony, because Chloe was served chicken with a light sauce, wrapped in what looked like lettuce except for the light bluish tinge. She took a sample and discovered a taste like arugula.
The serving and clearing of plates gave her time to formulate a reply to Zhang. “I don't dispute your desire for a pleasant retirement,” she said. “I think you deserve one. But do you deserve a whole planet?"
"You've seen some of this world,” said somebody down the table whom she didn't recognize. “Can you blame us for wanting this one?"
"I—no, but that isn't my point. All of this, for less than two hundred of you? There are plenty of colonies, Ms. Zhang, many crying out for new settlers."
"But not any new settlers. They want colonists who'll help them catch up to the pace of life on the established worlds. They're not interested in a group that takes it slow, that's old, that's unproductive, or isn't producing what they want produced."
"Not all colonies are like that."
"No,” Zhang said, “but the traditionalist sects don't include others readily."
Chloe almost smiled. “Much like yourselves."
Zhang had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, much like ourselves."
Chloe took a few bites of dinner, to let that discomfort fade. “You say you had six original founders. Really, it had to be one. Prahlad Shastri discovered the system forty-two years back, and logged false scans of this planet. He knew what he was doing from the start."
There was a murmur down the table, which Zhang ignored. “That's true. He had help building the colony, but Prahlad conceived it. He is our one true founder.” She pointed down the table. “That's his seat, in fact."
Chloe looked at the foot of the table. The chair there was the only one unoccupied. “A symbolic gesture?” Chloe said. “Present in spirit?"
"A nice sentiment,” Zhang answered, “but no. He just wasn't up to joining—oh, so you were."
Chloe's head was the last to turn to the main door. A brown, slightly stooped man, with the barest fringe of white hair, stood propped against the doorway. A face crowded with wrinkles told of great age, past a hundred and five, if Chloe remembered the records correctly.
"Oh my,” he said in a soft, piping voice. “I'm sorry, Mei-zhi. I seem to have missed everything."
Zhang left her seat to take him by the hand. “Nonsense, Prahlad,” she said, and turned to catch Chloe's eye. “You're right on time."
* * * *
"I don't know how long I had the idea of a navigators’ sanctuary. When I had my first good look at this planet, it seemed to spring from the depths of my mind, fully made from years of imaginings."
Chloe and Pascal were in Prahlad's home, on the invitation he gave before dinner had ended. It was small and cozy, with lived-in wear. They all sat at his small kitchen table, sipping his herbal tea.
"You really knew from the start you could pull this off?” Pascal asked. He had been fascinated by Prahlad's arrival at dinner and peppered him with questions. His animation was fast winding down, but it revived in spurts.
"I knew nothing,” Prahlad said, “except that it was worth the effort. We navigators were giving humanity so many new worlds. I wanted one for us, one for myself. I needed, and I was right in thinking others needed, a place that would fill what the links emptied, to close up what they had laid open."
Chloe reflexively shifted her eyes. It was too easy to look at his jackports, never uninstalled from his skull, open holes in his flesh.
Prahlad saw the aversion. “You are too polite, Ms. Chloe. I'm not ashamed of my ports. They are a part of my being."
"Of your past,” Chloe said.
"Actually, my old scout is still here. I fly it sometimes, when we
need it to bring in a new member.” He thought. “Well, not for seven years now, so yes, it is part of my past. But the past is part of me, as much as the present moment is. For forty years—"
He stopped, looking at Pascal. The young navigator was nodding, the cup tipping in his hand, dribbling tea onto the tabletop. Prahlad gently took the cup from his hand, which roused Pascal.
"I'm sorry, Captain Shastri. I ... uh, I..."
"Have they given you a room, Master Pascal?"
"Huh? Yes. I got some sleep there earlier."
Prahlad was up. “Get some more. Come."
"But I—” Pascal's protest died under Prahlad's gentle eyes. He obeyed Prahlad, following him to the door, his head hung in mortification.
There was a brief exchange with the guard outside the door. Prahlad's “She will be fine with me,” was the only part Chloe made out. He was back a moment later. “He thinks he's weak,” he said, gingerly lowering himself back into his chair. “He will learn. He has time.
"And I was speaking of time. For forty years, I was a navigator. For almost forty years, I have lived in retirement here. I finally feel my life is balanced. Perhaps it will not take as long for young Pascal to reach his balance."
"If he's chosen to come here,” Chloe noted.
"I choose him. The colony will honor that. Whether we will still be here when he is ready to claim the privilege is, naturally, a different matter."
His eyes were soft, but Chloe felt like that showed how trivial it was for them to see right into her. “Would this colony truly be destroyed,” she asked carefully, “if it ceased to be secret? There's no reason why you couldn't live alongside other people, at least with a piece of the world set aside for yourselves."
"No. We would lose control over this place, and that would destroy it. Consider, Ms. Chloe: if all navigators knew this place existed, most of them would want to come here, many as soon as they could manage it. They would be navigators for ten or twenty years, then live here for fifty or sixty. It would overturn the balance. More, it would drain navigators from the starlanes, produce a crisis."
Analog SFF, November 2006 Page 16