Ghost Planet (26 page)

“You were tossing and turning, and sounded frightened. I was worried. I called to you, but I couldn’t get you to answer, so I came to the bed. I took hold of your hand, and that’s when it happened. Something
opened
. Like a channel. A connection between us. It felt like open space, and light, and, I don’t know … possibility.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not making any sense. I can’t think how to describe it.”

I stared at him, scarcely breathing. “How did you see my dream?”

“At first I just felt this flow between us, like a current of warm water. But then somehow I was in the transport. I was disoriented at first, and terrified. It felt very real. I saw you, and I could see you didn’t know it was a dream. I don’t think you even recognized me.” His fingers slipped into my hair, rubbing my neck. “You were so frightened. I think you were in pain—there was blood running down your face. I knew I had to wake you. I couldn’t stand to watch you die.”

I struggled to draw breath past the tightness in my throat. Murphy pressed my cheek against his neck, and his hand slipped down to rub my back. I closed my eyes, trying to dispel the lingering impressions of the nightmare. Letting him work the tension from my body.

“Every day we spend together we learn something new about the bond between us,” Murphy said. He eased back a little and held his hand up to me. “Let’s see if we can do it again.”

Uncertainty gripped me. I stared at his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently. “Where’s the girl who plunges in with a thousand questions?”

I gave him a weak smile. “I do have a thousand questions. But it seems … I guess I’m worried that maybe it’s going the wrong direction. We’re trying to dissolve our bond, not deepen it.”

I’d believed this was something he understood—something he wanted too—so the change in his expression surprised me.

“Yesterday you thought interaction was the key to detachment,” he said. “Has something changed your mind?”

“I believe it more than ever. This just seems…”
What? What are you afraid of?

He kissed my forehead, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice as he said, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Murphy—”

“There’s something I want to try, if you’ll let me. There’s something I’d like you to see. After that I won’t ask you to do it again.”

My heart ached. This new level of intimacy frightened me, made me want to yank on the emergency brake. But I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

Nodding, I raised my hand and pressed my palm to his. We threaded our fingers together and I closed my eyes.

“Breathe, Elizabeth. Try to relax.”

There was a rushing sound and I felt my body drawn into a current, warm and silky like Murphy had described, but less substantial than water. It felt like the air before a storm—humid and heavy, charged with electricity. But I didn’t feel afraid. I saw what he had described, and understood his uncertainty in describing it. The channel was vast, like staring into deepest space. But rather than cold and distant, it felt inviting and intimate. As I allowed myself to drift into it, the bleakness of space collapsed, shrinking and enfolding me in light. I couldn’t see Murphy, but I felt him, very close, wrapped in the same sheltering light. An indistinct cord, a ribbon of iridescence, anchored us to each other, vibrating gently with his presence.

*   *   *

I was torn from the protective cocoon.

A prisoner again at the institute. I recognized the cell. I recognized the warden.

I froze in his arms. I couldn’t breathe.

Only memory,
whispered a familiar voice in my ear.
She can’t hurt you.

No, you’re wrong!
I warned.

“Did you hear me, Dr. Murphy?” I cringed at the sound of the woman’s voice.

“I think I must have misunderstood you, Dr. Mitchell,” replied Murphy, his voice ringing in my own head. This was different from the transport dream. I felt I was inside Murphy looking out.

“I doubt that,” replied Mitchell. “You’re a scientist. I’m sure you’ll acknowledge we could learn a lot from studying a hybrid. I have to admit it wouldn’t be my own highest priority. I think the project’s resources could be put to much better use.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But it’s a lucrative contract for my employer, and I’m under pressure to produce results. Months of trials in the lab have yielded nothing, so here you are—my last resort.”

I could feel Murphy’s disbelief. His shock. His disgust.

“Are you honestly asking me to force a child on Elizabeth?”

“Force will hardly be necessary, Dr. Murphy. We’ve probed into her feelings about you. I think you’ll find her receptive.”
Oh God. Why was he showing me this?
“She’s lonely. She misses you. I told her she couldn’t conceive, so there’s no obstacle there. I’m sure you can be—persuasive—as you need to be. Am I mistaken in assuming that you’re attracted to her?”

I felt the explosion building in him with every word she uttered. “All of this is irrelevant!” he shouted. There was a motion behind Mitchell, and I saw Vasco standing in the door to his cell. “Setting aside, for the moment, the inhumanity of what you’d have me do to Elizabeth, have you considered the fact you’re asking me to offer up my own child for research purposes? You—you’re completely cracked, doctor! You can’t possibly expect to get away with this!”

This is personal,
echoed through Murphy’s mind, and I had to agree. Professional jealousy, or perhaps punishment for his lapse. Impregnating his ghost would cement the end of his career on Ardagh 1.

She’s trying to punish Elizabeth
. This follow-up thought from Murphy astonished me—the idea I mattered enough that Mitchell would have an interest in punishing
me
. Maybe we were both right.

Mitchell’s expression hardened into a mask of disdain. “You’ve been admitted here, Dr. Murphy, for violation of the protocol. I have proof that you colluded with a species that threatens our very critical interests on this planet. Your fate is
very much
in my hands. I can keep you here as long as I feel is necessary. And I can see to it that you never work again.”

Murphy gave an angry rumble of laughter. “Now you’re threatening me.”

“So it would seem.”

“Threaten away, doctor. I won’t do it.”

Mitchell gave him an icy smile. “In that case, I’ll start Elizabeth on detachment trials tomorrow. She’ll most likely be dead within the week.”

Rage arced out of Murphy. He bolted up from the bed and made a grab for Mitchell’s throat. I saw the flash of the guard coming for him. Felt the jolt of the stun stick, and his head knocking against the floor. The guard’s boot slamming down on his chest.

“Delusional,” clucked Mitchell, rising from her chair, “with violent impulses.”

Murphy struggled to breathe with the boot grinding down on him. I felt the boot, and the panic of insufficient oxygen. I felt the knot forming on his head.

“Wait,” Murphy croaked.

Mitchell leaned over him. “Did you have something else to say to me, Dr. Murphy?”

“I’ll do what you want. Just—please don’t hurt her.”

*   *   *

Murphy’s arm shifted as he untangled his fingers from mine. The memory faded and we returned to the present. My eyes opened, locking with his.

“I know it was wrong not to let you make the decision, and I hope someday you’ll forgive me. But you’re here, alive, lying next to me, and I’m not sorry, Elizabeth.”

What he’d shown me had changed nothing—it had only confirmed what he’d told me on the transport yesterday. Yet seeing it through his eyes had changed
everything
.

I slid my head forward on the pillow until our lips were almost touching. “I forgive you,” I whispered, giving him a careful kiss. I felt his chest swell as he took a deep breath. He rubbed his nose against my cheek.

“I understand this is a complication we’re not well equipped to deal with right now. I know you’re frightened, and I know you feel unsure about us.” He hesitated, and I swallowed, waiting for the rest. But the rest turned out not to be what I was expecting. “I shouldn’t have pressured you yesterday—I think I was feeling threatened by Ian. I’m ready to accept whatever decision you make.”

“Murphy…” My heart drummed an unsteady rhythm. “I keep getting the feeling that you … that you want this baby, and I can’t understand it. You have choices too. You have a home and a family on another world. I’m sure you can find a way to get back to them. Why would you choose running and hiding? An alien child? An uncertain future?”

Murphy pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “Elizabeth, there’s so much I want to say to you. But every other word out of your mouth convinces me you’re not ready to hear it. I won’t take any more choices away from you. But I want you to know … I will do everything in my power to protect you both,
always
.”

I stared at him, stunned, and half-afraid of the things he was saying. He reached out his arm and pulled me close, giving me time to absorb what he’d said. With my ear against his chest, I listened to the rhythms of his body.

I had begun to doze in his arms when he stiffened and murmured, “Jesus and Mary.”

I felt his hands fidgeting behind me, and then he drew his arm around and held something under my nose.

I sniffed it—a bright, herbal smell. Lavender. I took it from his hand. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s coming up beside the bed,” he said with a laugh.

I rolled onto my side to look, and sure enough—spikes of lavender poked up between the bedding and the wall. I ran a hand over the pointy, purple-gray tops.

Our bond had made clover. Now lavender. I wondered—had our bond made our baby, as well? Mitchell said it had never happened before. If the problems between ghosts and colonists had been affecting other life on the planet, why not ghost fertility?

Murphy scooted closer, pressing against my back. He nuzzled through my hair until I could feel his breath on my neck. A shiver of pleasure rippled from the base of my skull to the small of my back. “Um…”

“God knows I’ve been trying to give you space,” he murmured, “but I can’t take it anymore.” His hand slid down my side, coming to rest on my hip. His fingers made subtle, caressing movements into my shirt.

“Murphy,” I breathed, as his fingertips trailed electricity across my skin. I reached for his hand, stilling his fingers against me. “Remember what Julia said.”

“Mmm, thank you for reminding me. She said I have to stay
in bed
.”

“You
are
delusional,” I laughed. “I should let you try it just to teach you a lesson.”

“You have the best ideas, love.” He planted kisses down the back of my neck, and lifted my shirt. I rolled toward him, and as he tried to bend his head to my breasts he gave a deep groan—not of excitement.

“Murphy—”

“Shhh.”
He closed his lips over mine, and after a few of the gentlest possible kisses I tasted blood.

“That’s enough. I’ll have to seal you up again now. If you scar those lips I’ll never forgive you.”

“I thought you hated my lips.”

“True, I do.”

He sighed loudly, rolling onto his back. “You
do
have a hard heart.”

“Go ahead and sulk. It’s not going to work this time.”

But it was working. What he’d shared of his conversation with Mitchell had erased any remaining resentment I’d felt about his decision. After that, he’d made declarations I’d never forget. I wanted to do something for him. And God knows I wanted it for
myself
.

“Give me your hand, Murphy.”

Lacing my fingers with his, I closed my eyes. The connection was almost instantaneous this time. I let my mind travel back to our night together at the institute.

I heard the breath hiss through Murphy’s teeth.

I’d had no idea what to expect, but there would have been no predicting
this
. Memories were not stored with such rich detail; from my neurology courses I knew this. This was more precise and intense than memory. It felt like traveling to the past.

We had no control over what was happening—we were along for the ride. But that had its benefits too. No decisions, no second-guessing, no doubting whether it was the right thing to be doing. I was aware of the thoughts I’d had at the time as we passed through them—and he must have been as well—but they were partly drowned out by the emotions elicited by this second time around. And he opened himself to me, letting me feel what
he
was feeling, both then and now.

It was a complicated, layered, delicious tangle of sensation and desire. We focused on what was pleasurable, sidestepping the fears of the moment. The incredible guilt Murphy had felt at the time, even as he’d sacrificed to protect me.

We came out of it to find our clothes half off and our hands on each other. But nobody was bloodied or (further) maimed—and Murphy had a big smile on his face.

I let my head fall against his chest, holding him close and whispering, “Don’t you ever call me hard-hearted again.”

“Never, love … you’re an angel of mercy.”

*   *   *

We had a skylight and a small window over the sink that were both mostly useless due to the fact we were living in a cave, but they let in enough light for me to see the sun had risen. I carefully extracted myself from Murphy’s arms and went to the bathroom. The apartment was cold, and I tried to hurry so I could crawl back under the covers. But no sooner had I finished than my stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. Stumbling out to the kitchen, I choked down a crust of stale bread from yesterday’s breakfast.

“Come back to bed,” mumbled Murphy. “It’s freezing in here.”

I walked over and stood beside him, and he reached for my hand. “Are you all right? You look … the wrong color.”

“It’s just the light.” I sank down on the edge of the bed and started pulling on my pants.

“Now don’t do that, love.”

“I’m just going out for a bit. It’s like being shut up belowdecks on a ship in here. I even feel seasick.”