Ghost Species

by James Bradley

  She is not surprised the work is good: there is a rigour to her mind, a desire for perfection that demands she exceed expectation on everything she does, and although her months with Eve have altered its focus they have not blunted it. But still, she is surprised when, a few days later, she receives an email asking her to perform the same service for another student, and then a few days after that, another.

  Within a few weeks they are coming regularly, and from all over the world, and while the money they bring is not vast, it is something. Yet each new request provokes a flicker of unease, a fear she is making herself too obvious, that somebody will question her credentials, or discover the name she has assumed is fictitious. Davis and the Foundation have too much money, too much intellectual capital invested in Eve to let her out of their sight forever. They must be looking for her, and with each transaction the risk of discovery moves closer.

  There are good days and bad days, and on the bad she has to struggle to control the panic that rises in her, the certainty they are coming and that when they do, Eve will be taken from her. She has contingencies in place: a small amount of cash, a bug-out bag, a memorised escape route, and when she feels the terror creeping in she forces herself to think through her plan, its clarity something solid she can hold onto. Rarely a night goes by when she does not wake to a sound outside, her body immediately tense; while during the day even when she knows she should be calm, or fully present with Eve, her mind is elsewhere, circling the inescapable reality of what she has done.

  For the week after Eve’s illness she stops going to the park in the afternoons, preferring to remain indoors, or in the small yard, secluded. She tells herself it is for Eve’s sake, a way of ensuring the child is not unnecessarily exposed to new infections when she is already weak, but the truth is, she is wary of encountering Yassamin again.

  By Friday, though, she has no choice. They are almost out of food and she needs to use the cafe’s wi-fi, so she straps Eve to her chest and ventures out to the supermarket. Overnight the heat has broken, and it is a cool, windy morning, clouds blowing raggedly overhead. As the seasons have wheeled across she has found herself more and more aware of the island’s geography, the way the wind blows cold from the south, a constant, restless reminder of the breadth of ocean beneath. Once, in her first weeks at the facility, she and Jay travelled to the coast, walked along a beach by one of the bays. It was a day like today, the wind scudding across grey water, breaking its surface into whitecaps, the beach bleached white, dry as bone, the black volcanic stone tumbled at its end. Just offshore a whale surfaced, expelling the air from its blowhole with an explosive sound, its dark bulk briefly visible before it slid back into the water, and in that moment Kate had felt something of the immensity of the ocean, its wind-scoured emptiness. Where is Jay now, she wonders, does he miss her?

  She emerges to find Yassamin outside the shop next door, her stroller in front of her. She stops dead, about to dart back inside, but it is too late: Yassamin has seen her.

  ‘Yassamin! Hello,’ Kate says, aware of the false brightness in her tone.

  Yassamin returns her greeting with a smile, seemingly unfazed by Kate’s brittleness.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to come over to say thank you,’ Kate says. ‘But I haven’t had a chance.’

  Yassamin nods. ‘I understand.’ She steps forward to look at Eve. ‘She is better?’

  Kate nods. ‘Yes.’ She laughs in a way that sounds fake even to her. ‘It’s like it never happened.’

  ‘They become so sick so fast. It can be very frightening,’ Yassamin says, and for a moment Kate is aware of the keen intelligence and dignity in the other woman’s eyes, the sense she is registering Kate’s prevarications and silences yet simultaneously withholding judgement, and she relaxes.

  ‘It was.’ She looks at Sami, who is staring at her from his stroller.

  ‘And Sami? Is he well?’

  ‘He is,’ Yassamin says. She looks past Kate and across the car park to the road. ‘You are walking back?’

  Kate hesitates and then, surprising herself, nods.

  As they make their way back up the road they talk, carefully, circuitously. Kate tells Yassamin she is a scientist but she has taken time off. Yassamin glances at her, her assessing gaze lingering just long enough for Kate to be aware she is having trouble matching Kate’s version of herself with her circumstances.

  ‘And you?’ Kate asks.

  Yassamin hesitates. ‘I was a lawyer.’

  ‘And you stopped when Sami was born?’

  Yassamin looks at her, considering her reply. ‘I stopped before we left Iran. Five years ago now.’

  Kate waits for Yassamin to elaborate, but she does not. ‘And his father?’

  ‘His father has problems he needs to work out.’

  As Yassamin speaks they reach the turn-off to her house. She stops, fixing Kate with a careful look.

  ‘Do not be afraid to ask me again if you need help.’

  Kate smiles. ‘Thank you.’

  As the summer fades into autumn Kate finds herself spending more and more time with Yassamin. Eventually she discovers that Yassamin and her husband separated not long after Sami was born. She has been careful to avoid him, but he does not seem to have sought her out.

  ‘We married young,’ Yassamin says. ‘Over time I realised he was no longer the man I had thought I was marrying, or perhaps never was. If it hadn’t been for the war I don’t think we would have stayed together as long as we did. Coming here was hard for both of us, but particularly for him. He was frightened, I think, of not having control.’

  Kate suspects there is more that Yassamin is not telling her, just as she suspects Yassamin knows there is much Kate is holding back. Yet still, she is grateful for Yassamin’s company. Her dignity and calm manner are reassuring, and to Kate’s surprise Eve sheds some of her customary shyness in the cheerful presence of Sami.

  Despite herself she keeps an eye on stories about Davis and his enterprises. As the questions about Gather’s business practices and connections to oligarchs and authoritarian governments have proliferated Davis himself has come under increasing scrutiny, as have the activities of the Foundation. Yet in the week Eve first stands upright, the first de-extincted animals are released in Siberia, and as she gazes at the images of the auroch and mastodons his teams have created Kate is filled with a dizzying sense of the degree to which the world has spun off its axis.

  Putting her computer aside she turns to Eve, who is standing with her hands wrapped around a leg of the table, flexing her legs as she bobs up and down, the strength in her limbs already obvious. What is she, Kate wonders for the umpteenth time. Human? Not human? And what does that even mean? Realising Kate is watching Eve beams, her delight in her own achievement so palpable Kate cannot help but laugh; at the sound of her laughter Eve drops her eyes bashfully and returns to her bobbing.

  It is difficult not to compare Eve’s progress with Sami’s. He is a few months older but although Eve is bigger, stronger, her grip firmer, she is also shyer and less confident in company. In situations in which Sami will be cooing and playful Eve often seems elusive, preferring to engage in activities that allow her to ignore those around her, avoiding eye contact. This binds Kate to her even more powerfully: there are moments when Eve catches her eye, and smiles or reaches for her, when the child’s trust undoes her.

  But although Eve is difficult to coax into playfulness, there are still moments when she gurgles and laughs – that most human trait – delightedly. Kate does not need to hear it – Eve’s humanness is beyond doubt to her – yet still, it is a thing of wonder, to be reminded of the affinity between their two species, an affinity that spans not just genetics but time.

  And then Eve speaks. For weeks she has been cooing, the sound a little like an asthmatic dove, but one morning as Kate is buttoning her into her onesie Eve looks at her and says, haltingly, ‘Mumma’. Her voice is surprisingly deep, throaty.

  Kate stops and stares at
her.

  ‘What was that?’ she says, happiness welling up inside, but Eve looks away, her eyes focusing on the window.

  ‘Mumma,’ she says again, more quietly this time, less certainly.

  ‘That’s right,’ Kate says, touching her hand and feeling Eve’s fingers close around hers. ‘Mumma. Mumma.’ Leaning down, she presses her face to Eve’s belly and blows, and after a moment’s hesitation Eve laughs her raspy laugh, her face still turned away, so Kate blows again, all of a sudden feeling like the world is speeding away from her.

  Over the next few weeks Eve gradually acquires new words. Each one brings Kate joy, and the scientist in her, the perfectionist, ensures records are kept, and a diary of her more impressionistic responses and questions maintained alongside it. Through this she is calm and, she realises, content.

  It cannot last, though. Just after Christmas that year Yassamin tells her she has found a job in the city, that she will be moving back. Kate does her best to look happy for her friend, but her sense of loss must show, because Yassamin touches her hand and tells her she will not be so far away, that Kate can always visit.

  ‘Of course,’ Kate says, but as she walks back to her house that night she knows she will not, that she cannot risk it.

  In the weeks after Yassamin leaves they message each other, but it does not help the way the isolation comes rushing back, and with it, the fear of being caught. She continues to work hard to cover her tracks but she still wakes in the dark consumed by the ticking fear she has made a mistake, or that she has been caught. That winter is unnaturally brief, but as the spring gives way to summer she and Eve find a rhythm to their days, and to her surprise the anxiety gradually recedes, replaced by anxiety about fire and heat. But as their third winter in the house draws down it grows worse again, leaving her sleepless night after night, her tiredness making her jump. One day, out on the highway, a black SUV passes her three times, and she becomes convinced she is being followed. Lighting off up the track towards Yassamin’s old place she walks back across one of the top fields, watching the pale ribbon of road on the hill below as she makes her way back to the house. Yet the car does not reappear, and she becomes convinced she has merely frightened herself, that it is all in her mind.

  The next day she works, correcting a thesis while she watches Eve play. When it comes time for her nap Eve will not settle, and eventually Kate gives in, and they head out to walk to the park.

  It is bitterly cold, the wind making her head feel tight and her ears ache, but Eve seems not to care. Indeed, as she rambles in the long grass, her red-brown hair blowing thick about her, she looks almost comfortable, her wide eyes alight, filled with the pieces of the landscape. Kate knows one thing without needing to keep record: Eve is no less intelligent than a sapient child. Despite the otherness of her, she is alert, focused, her mind quick and nimble as a fish.

  It is growing dark by the time she gathers Eve up and they begin the slow trek home. Nearly the solstice, the days already short. As they walk, Kate is filled with something very like happiness, which is perhaps why she does not see him until she rounds the corner to the front door and stops dead, staring at him.

  ‘Hello, Kate,’ he says.

  Eve tightens her grip on Kate’s hand.

  ‘Who’s he?’ she whispers.

  Jay looks down and smiles. ‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I’m a friend of your mummy’s.’

  Childhood

  At first Kate cannot move. She has lived in fear of this day for so long that now it is here she doesn’t quite believe it.

  Jay crouches in front of Eve, who is hiding behind Kate, staring at the ground.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he says, extending a hand.

  Eve clutches Kate’s leg tighter.

  Jay smiles. ‘Last time I saw you, you were just a tiny baby. You’re so big now.’

  Still Eve doesn’t respond. Finally Kate undoes Eve’s hand from her leg and ushers her towards the back of the house. ‘You go and play,’ she says. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

  Eve looks up. Her eyes are wary, and for an instant Kate sees the animal in her. Kate smiles reassuringly. ‘It’s all right,’ she says.

  As soon as Eve disappears around the corner Jay turns to Kate again.

  ‘It’s good to see you.’

  Kate wants to run but knows it is too late. ‘Are you alone?’ she asks.

  For a brief moment Jay looks wounded. Kate is reminded of his dislike of conflict and tendency to assume things will turn out as he wishes. He nods. A kind of hopelessness washes through her.

  ‘Come inside,’ she says.

  As they step through the door Jay looks around, and Kate sees the place as he must see it: poor, threadbare, broken-down, the cheap second-hand blanket that covers the couch a desperate attempt to disguise its meanness. How has she ended up living in a repeat of her childhood after all these years?

  Jay follows her through to the kitchen. He stops by the small window and stares out into the backyard. Eve is crouched near the back fence, half-turned away, already intent on some game. She wears a blue corduroy dress, the 1960s look of which Kate liked when she found it in the shop, but its shape emphasises the blockiness of her build. Atop her head sits a pair of pink and white rabbit ears, her red-brown hair dark in the fading light.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Jay says.

  Kate doesn’t answer. She does not quite believe he is here, but simultaneously cannot believe he was not here sooner. He seems entirely familiar yet different in ways she cannot place.

  ‘She is.’

  He crosses to a group of drawings stuck to the wall; scribbles of colour, a scattering of clumsy potato-shaped figures, a tree, a black cloud with what looks like teeth that has always made Kate vaguely uncomfortable.

  ‘These are hers?’

  Kate nods. Jay touches one.

  ‘Does she draw a lot?’

  ‘She does.’

  ‘No problems with grip or manipulating the pen?’

  Kate shakes her head. ‘No. Pinch is strong as well.’

  Jay looks like he is about to ask another question, but then he catches himself. Stepping away from the wall, he stares at her for a long moment. Neither of them speaks.

  ‘What did you think you were doing?’ Jay asks finally, his handsome face a mask of concern.

  ‘What we were up to was wrong.’

  ‘You chose to be a part of it.’

  She nods. ‘I did. But that didn’t mean I needed to stay a part of it.’

  ‘But what about Eve? Without medical back-up she could have grown ill, had developmental problems, anything. Did you consider any of that?’

  Kate doesn’t reply. Jay turns his head and stares sideways in a look she knows means he is thinking about what to say next.

  ‘Were you depressed? Was there some kind of incident I don’t know about?’

  Kate knows she should claim there was, but she finds she cannot do it. She shakes her head slowly.

  ‘Then help me understand why you did it.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Take her back?’

  Jay leans. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s been decided. But you know you can’t keep living like . . .’ he tilts his chin to indicate the room, the house, ‘this.’

  ‘We’re okay,’ Kate says, her tone hotter than she meant it to be.

  Jay hesitates. ‘I’m sorry.’ He glances back through the window. ‘She seems . . . happy.’

  Kate looks at Eve outside. ‘She is,’ she says, then shrugs. ‘Or I think she is. She’s very self-contained.’

  ‘Abnormally so?’

  Kate glances up. She knows that tone, Jay’s desire for evidence.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t have a lot to compare it with. But my impression is she’s more self-contained than a sapient child.’

  Jay nods. ‘And have you kept track of other developmental markers? Speech? Sitting? Walking?’

  Kate hesitates. One of the things that had attracted her and J
ay to each other had been the intellectual excitement of dissecting a problem or exploring an argument, and though she suspects Jay is deliberately using this to bring them closer now, she still feels something of their old closeness reassert itself.

  ‘Within the normal sapient range.’

  ‘But?’

  She shrugs. ‘Her actual speech is less fluid than you might expect. There are certain sounds she finds difficult. It’s not that she doesn’t understand – her receptive language is fine – but I wonder whether she’s slightly less language-oriented than a sapient child.’

  ‘You think she’s less intelligent?’

  Kate flinches slightly. ‘No. Just . . . different.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She often takes longer to initiate interaction or respond to cues from other people. But she’s also less restless than other children usually are. There’s a . . . stillness about her that can be a little unsettling if you’re not used to it.’

  ‘Anything else? What about her ability to process symbolic information?’

  ‘Normal-ish, I suppose.’ Kate gestures at the wall. ‘She draws. She can read a few numerals and recognises some of the alphabet. And she will listen to stories, although again she sometimes seems a little . . .’ Kate hesitates, uncomfortable putting her feelings into words.

  ‘A little what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Wary? Perplexed? If I ask her to explain to me what we’ve just read she usually can. It’s really just a feeling but I think there’s something different there, some kind of difference in comprehension.’ She hesitates again. ‘Also, her sense of smell is unusually acute.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Jay says, still staring out the window.

  Kate looks at him. ‘What do you plan to do with her?’

  ‘That’s not up to me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m not that senior.’