Ghost Planet (3 page)

“Do you mind me asking who she is?”

Before he could answer, the waitress reappeared with our check. Murphy turned on his portable and aimed it at the payment scanner until it beeped acceptance.

“Not at all. My Aunt Maeve. She died when I was a boy, and I honestly don’t remember her very well.” As he tucked his phone away he seemed to reconsider, and added, “I remember she smelled like roses.”

A fond, very human detail. I couldn’t help asking, “Does
she
?”

He looked to the window and back again, seeming startled. “You know, she
does
. I never thought of it until now. How strange.”

Spooky
, I would have said.

Murphy picked up his sweater. “If you’re ready, I thought I’d take you to the counseling center so you can see where you’ll be working.”

“I’d like that.”

“We’ll also meet up with my colleague, Alexis Meng. It’s standard procedure for new arrivals to stay with someone until the ghost situation sorts out. It’s a buddy system we’ve worked out, and it does seem to help people adjust. No one expects you to work today, of course. Lex will take you to your flat and you can pick up some of your things.”

As I was rising from the table, he came over to pull out my chair. I wondered how he’d come by such polite, antiquated manners.

We made our way to the door, emerging from the sunny café into the drizzly gray reality of New Seattle.

“It’s about five blocks,” he said. “Do you want to take the tram?”

I cast a dubious glance at the nearest tram platform. “I’m fine walking if you are. To be honest, I’m easily motion sick.” Losing my lunch in my new supervisor’s lap was high on my list of the most horrifying things I could imagine happening at this point.

“I prefer to walk, myself,” he agreed. “Not very gentlemanly to insist on it, though, is it?”

We started together down the street. “Well, you
are
the boss.”

Murphy groaned. “Let’s put a stop to that kind of thing right now. All of us at the center consider each other colleagues. We’re very informal here—you’ll see.”

Though I appreciated the sentiment, I knew the reality. There was a pecking order in facilities like these, and as the new resident I was decidedly at the bottom.

“One thing I’m curious about, Elizabeth. I read your profile. With your academic accomplishments you could have gone just about anywhere. What made you decide to come to Ardagh 1?”

All of my family and friends had asked me this same question. Peter had asked me repeatedly—assuming, perhaps, that if he stuck with it I’d eventually give an answer he could understand.

“Would you buy that I was trying to escape from my doctoral thesis?”

Murphy laughed. “I would. Unfortunately for you I’m going to be hounding you about that.”

“Terrific.” I cut my eyes at him. “Seriously, though—all of this is in my fitness evaluation. I assumed you would have read that too.”

He shook his head. “I don’t consider that my business. Your relocation counselor will have access to that information, of course.”

The knowledge that he wasn’t going to be counseling me came as a huge relief. He was too close to my own age. Too charming. Too good looking. And already reading me far too accurately as it was.

“All right,” I said, with a sigh. “You know they send recruiters around to all the campuses.”

“Yes.”

“Well, they give it the hard sell, and they play the ghost thing down as much as possible because they know people are freaked out by it. It’s like army recruiters focusing on exotic travel, or money for school, and glossing over the fact people may be shooting at you. I was really curious though, and I kept interrupting with questions.”

“Oh?” Blushing at the mock surprise in his voice, I whacked his arm lightly with the back of my hand. Realizing he might interpret this as flirting, I blushed even deeper.

“Anyway, I think the guy smelled blood in the water, and once he got me away from the others he was happy enough to talk to me. He shot a bunch of forms and brochures to my portable, and I applied to the academy that same day.”

“You’re saying you came here
because
of the ghosts, not in spite of them.”

I nodded. “They’re the first aliens we’ve ever encountered. I’m fascinated by the way they cling to us. The problems they’ve caused without even seeming to be aware of it. I want to understand why they do what they do.” I paused a moment, and when he didn’t reply right away, I added, “I know that’s not my purpose here—I have a job to do, and I assure you I’m committed to doing it. But I’m hoping to get approval to write my dissertation on your aliens.”

As the creator of the Ghost Protocol, I knew I was taking a risk in telling him this. I worried he would view my curiosity as disrespectful to the hardships the colonists had suffered since the ghosts’ arrival.

After chewing on my answer for a minute, he said, “I appreciate your candor, Elizabeth, and I admire your enthusiasm. If you do get approval for your thesis topic, I hope you’ll consider including me on your committee.”

I beamed at him. Sometimes risks paid off. “I’d be thrilled to have you on my committee.”

“You say so now. Wait until I start nagging you.” He winked at me, and my heart flopped over. A man that good looking, who also happened to be my supervisor, had no business doing such a thing.

“Can I ask how
you
ended up here?”

Murphy exchanged a nod and hello with a man who passed us, and I realized my attention had been so absorbed by our conversation I’d noticed little else around me.

“Same as most people,” he replied. “I came here because I wanted something from the planet. The scientists see resources we need back on Earth. The contractors see money to be made. I thought that as a young postdoc I’d have an easier time making a name for myself where there was less competition.”

His explanation was like me saying I came here to avoid writing my thesis. “Interesting. Now tell me the real reason.”

He laughed. “I suppose I’m not as mercenary as that—yet. I met John Ardagh when he visited Trinity College. I found him incredibly bright and persuasive. He believes completely in Ecosystem Recovery, and he made me believe in it. I thought what a terrible waste it would be for the project to fail because of the psychological suffering caused by the ghosts, and John felt it was an area where I could make a contribution.”

I stared at him. “You’re telling me John Ardagh personally recruited you.”

Murphy stopped suddenly, and I drew up short too. He turned to glance behind him. I remembered that my ghost would be materializing any moment, and my gut tightened.

“What is it?” I asked, scanning the people who passed us.

Then I realized—no Aunt Maeve. Murphy’s ghost was nowhere in sight. I wondered about the fact he’d seemed to know she was missing before he turned to look.

We both stood dumbly, continuing to scan the others around us.

“Does this happen often?”

Murphy shook his head. “Let’s go on. We’re almost to the counseling center.” We started walking again, but I couldn’t help peeking a couple more times over my shoulder.

The New Seattle Counseling Center was several times the size of the modular, nearly identical structures lining the streets. These uniform buildings were what had earned the Ardagh 1 colonies the nickname “cities in a box”—the materials arrived on huge container transports, ready for assembly, and they went up almost overnight. The counseling center was the first building I’d seen constructed of what looked like local materials: massive wood beams still fragrant from cutting, and rounded river stones in every imaginable shade of gray and brown.

We trotted up half a dozen steps and were passing through the glass doors when Murphy said, “We’ll be scanned by security just inside. I hate them being here, raising people’s anxiety level in a place where we want them to feel safe. But all new arrivals pass through here, and someone decided it was a good idea.”

Thinking about the illicit-substance and weapons scans in all the airports and public buildings back home, I raised my eyebrows. “What’s it for?”

“To get a sort of fingerprint on everyone,” he explained, walking through the doorframe-shaped scanner. “Just to make sure we know who’s who. They can’t do it at the transport terminal because no one has ghosts when they first arrive.”

I followed him through the scanner, and a long beep sounded somewhere off to my left as I joined him inside. Murphy’s head jerked toward the sound. His eyes moved to the glass doors we’d just come through, and slowly back to me. He glanced at the security desk on our right.

“Where is it?” Murphy called to the guard, whose fingers were flying over his keyboard. The guard’s ghost leaned against the wall behind him, little more than a shadow.

The man stopped typing and looked up. “I’m sorry, Dr. Murphy?”

“I heard the alert go off, but I don’t see her. My ghost, Simon,” Murphy added, growing impatient. “Do you see her?”

The guard blinked at him a couple times. Then he cleared his throat. “She’s standing right next to you, Dr. Murphy.”

A Dangerous Error

Murphy looked at me, startled. He shook his head and walked over to the security desk.

I turned halfway around, searching for the missing Aunt Maeve.

Though the colonists were far from any real understanding of the aliens, Ardagh 1’s scientists
had
established that they were nearly identical to us physiologically. Only a specialized medical scan could reveal the differences in their insular cortex and limbic structures.

So the security scan was identifying ghosts—creating a record to help keep track of who was and wasn’t human. I joined Murphy at the security desk, and the guard swung the display around so Murphy could see it.

The screen was split into two halves, a picture of me filling one side. Opposite the photo was a crisp 3-D brain scan. Murphy touched the screen to manipulate the image, zooming in on half a dozen small, flashing red patches. He dropped his hand and stood staring at the screen.

“No question, Dr. Murphy,” said the guard. “This has never happened before. I’ll have to file a report, and I’ll need to do a full workup on this new one. My shift is over at three. Do you have time then for me to ask you some questions?”

Wait. One. Minute.
The guard’s face wheeled as the ground lurched under my feet.

My first case of space-voyage induced jet lag had taken a toll on my processing ability, but I was pretty sure all of this was adding up to a dangerous misunderstanding. I fixed my eyes on the man most likely to clear it up.

“Murphy, what’s going on?”

“Come with me,” he said, nodding toward the entrance.

I followed him between the desk and scanning equipment, stopping just inside the doors. He walked slowly back through the scanner, and I did the same—flinching as another beep sounded off to my left.

By the time we got to the security desk I was shaking.

“Same as before, Dr. Murphy.” The guard spun the display around and we were again looking at the split screen. The woman in this new photograph wore a worried expression.

My heart raced. I flashed hot and then cold.
Calm down. Use your head and get to the bottom of it.

“Something’s wrong,” I said firmly. “Let’s do it again.”

I circled back and made a third pass through the scanner, triggering a third beep.

“Now you,” I said to the guard.

The guard shot Murphy an uncertain look. Murphy nodded.

He stepped out from behind the desk and passed through the scanner. No beep. The doors to the center suddenly swished open and a harried-looking man came through, glancing up to acknowledge Murphy with a nod. An older woman with short, silvery hair followed close behind him—and again the beep.

I turned to Murphy, laying a hand on his arm. “This is obviously a mistake. What do we need to do to clear it up?”

The guard settled back into his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “If you’re worried about the equipment, Dr. Murphy, there are a couple ways to be sure.”

“I know, Simon.”

Alarmed by the note of doubt in his voice, I stared hard at his profile. A scientist like Murphy—the planet’s ghost
expert
—couldn’t possibly accept a security scan as verification his new employee was an alien.

“Wait here,” he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he moved away.

My heart accelerated again as he crossed the building’s spacious lobby. He started up a stairway and disappeared from view. I glanced at the guard, who’d gone back to his keyboard. I stood feeling anxious and awkward.

Pain sliced through my abdomen and I staggered forward, arms clenching my middle. My vision flashed red as a second razor-sharp wave tore through me, and I doubled over.

“Murphy!”
I cried. Sweat dripped from my lip, splattering on the flagstone floor.

Even as my stomach churned broken glass, my legs propelled me forward, toward the lobby. The intensity ratcheted down as I walked, and I stopped in front of the stairway, panting and gripping the railing for support.

I heard footsteps descending, and then Murphy reappeared. The relief was a tangible thing in my body.

“Murphy, I think I need a doctor.”

His gaze slid past me as he continued on to the security desk.

“I’ll come down at three to answer your questions,” he said to the guard.

His tone was grave. Resigned. Murphy was
buying it
. How was this possible? My brain flailed for the right thing to say to him. I ticked off the pieces of evidence: disappearance of Aunt Maeve, positive brain scan, and what could be construed as a physical reaction to Murphy walking away from me. I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid to see how damning it all was.

As he headed back toward the lobby, I recalled there was one irrefutable piece of evidence in my favor. I was Elizabeth. I was
alive
. I couldn’t be a ghost because I had come to Ardagh 1 from Earth. I was nobody’s dead sister or aunt or wife. Certainly not Murphy’s.