Ghost Planet

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  I watched as he walked to the kitchen and spent a couple minutes tidying up—rinsing the teapot, loading his breakfast dishes, and starting the dishwasher. I wondered why he was bothering with all this when he was obviously dressed and ready to go out. Suddenly it occurred to me that if he was going out, I was going out.

  Murphy headed for the door, and I scrambled into my shoes and sweater and ran to catch up with him on the stairs.

  It was easy enough to see why Aunt Maeve had been skin and bones, forced to keep up with Murphy’s long strides and brisk pace while subsisting on her stash of unappetizing, manufactured food. After a few minutes of hurrying along behind him with no idea where we were going, resentment began to simmer. Murphy hadn’t chosen to be saddled with me, but I hadn’t chosen it either. How could a man with his background—a man who had been gracious and considerate from our first meeting—how could he comfortably withhold compassion from a fellow being who’d been through what I had?

  I picked up my pace, determined at least to walk beside him. But as soon as I caught up he veered into a grocery store. Outside the shop a group of people had gathered around a couple of long tables. They were pawing through what looked like piles of clothing. At one end of the table rested a big bin filled with brown-paper packets.

  I looked closer at the people—hollow-eyed, shabbily dressed, underfed. This was some sort of ghost supply depot. There were second-hand clothes, emergency rations, and mysterious white boxes. I peered into one that someone had opened and saw toothbrush, toothpaste, antiseptic, and bandages. The man holding it jerked away and I stepped back, startled. He eyed me suspiciously.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t going to take it. Do you mind if I ask—?”

  But he was already moving away. There was a desperate quality, a hungriness, to the way these people moved. They reminded me of street people on Earth.

  I stood puzzling over the ironic display of charity. Who was helping ghosts, and how were they getting away with it? Murphy had taken no notice of the blatant protocol violation.

  Maybe it wasn’t charity at all.

  Cold and hungry ghosts might force interaction. Or they might die. I knew from my training that ghost deaths were avoided. Planet security had tried killing ghosts in the early days—only to discover they came back. And they came back fresh—ignorant of their status as aliens—so their hosts had to begin the process of subduing them all over again.

  I scanned the crowd for someone who might be more receptive to talking with me. But it struck me that unless I wanted to eat ghost biscuits for the next week, I couldn’t afford to miss this shopping trip.

  The grocery store was pretty much like any neighborhood market back on Earth. I remembered what Murphy had said about self-sufficiency, and wondered how much of what I was seeing had been produced on Ardagh 1. The residents of New Seattle did not appear to want for much—there was a good selection of cheese, fresh bread, produce, and even wine and beer.

  I found Murphy ordering mussels from the seafood counter. Glancing down in his basket, I saw pasta, cheese, wine, and a bag of greens. He was set for his dinner date, but I had no idea what I was going to eat for the next week.

  He started for the checkout line and I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t buy food. I could probably pass for human, but I had no money. An account had been set up for me here, but I needed an ID card to access it. No one was going to issue me one of those now. I might be able to steal food, but I wouldn’t be able to carry much. No wonder Aunt Maeve had resorted to the brown packets.

  There were several people in line ahead of Murphy, so I made a quick pass through the store, picking up milk, eggs, and cereal. I deposited these in the cart without looking at him, then scanned a nearby stand of nonperishable food. Jerky, dried fruit, nuts—items that would be easy to grab when I had to dash out the door like today.

  As I picked up a bag of trail mix, someone said, “Miss?”

  I froze, afraid I was about to be challenged. A young clerk, fair-haired and friendly looking, held out a package of cheese. “I think you dropped this.”

  I smiled and reached for the package, but Murphy intercepted it and dropped it into the basket. The employee gave him a puzzled look, and then flushed crimson.

  “That’s a shame,” muttered the clerk, turning to go.

  Neatly managed by Murphy, I thought. If he’d given the cheese back to the clerk, I might have made a scene. Yet he’d still managed to put me in my place.

  We made it through the checkout stand without incident. I tried to pick up one of the bags of groceries, but Murphy grabbed it and placed it in the cart, which he pushed outside onto the street. As we passed the tables of supplies, I reached for one of the white boxes. I’d forgotten to look for a toothbrush in the shop. I could deal with using a ghost toothbrush as long as I didn’t have to eat ghost food.

  * * *

  After the grocery trip, I sank back into the sofa with the flat-reader. My login credentials still worked on the WAC, so I downloaded papers on Gaia theory, which had been an area of focus for scientists studying Ardagh 1. Science-based interpretations of Gaia theory asserted that Earth functions as a single living system whose components work together to maintain the conditions necessary for life. In a sense, symbiosis on a planetary scale. It had even been referred to as “symbiosis as seen from space.”

  I was interested in the idea that a planet’s different systems might collaborate to achieve a common goal. The Earth-like evolution of Ardagh 1 was such an outlandish coincidence that it was impossible not to speculate whether the planet had some purpose. What was that purpose, and how did the ghosts fit into it?

  I tried not to get sidetracked by the slippery question this raised—whether the planet was acting in a conscious way, an idea most scientists would reject outright.

  While I continued my research, Murphy tidied the apartment and installed a new display, which a junior staff member had run over from the counseling center. Then Murphy worked too, and we passed the afternoon in respectful (if not companionable) silence until it was time for him to make dinner for his guest.

  I anxiously awaited her arrival, not for her own sake, but because this would be my first real opportunity to interact with another of my kind. Remembering the ghosts I’d encountered outside the market, I tried not to have unrealistic hopes.

  When the bell sounded at seven, I followed Murphy to the door.

  The woman who swept in from the hallway was not what I had expected. She was pretty, certainly, with thick auburn waves and a curvy figure. She just didn’t seem his type to me—though obviously I was the last person qualified to make this assessment. She turned her face up to be kissed as her ghost slipped in behind her.

  He was a tall man of medium build, probably in his late thirties. His face was framed by curling red hair and a beard, and he watched me through wary, intelligent eyes.

  “So lovely of you to come,” I said to him, hoping to break the ice and lighten the mood. But the poor man looked at me like I had vines sprouting from my ears.

  “Sorry, that wasn’t funny.” I held out my hand to him. “I’m Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, taking my hand. “It’s been a long time since anyone spoke to me.”

  I nodded—no explanation required.

  “I’m Ian.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ian. How long have you been—” Dead? An alien? “—on Ardagh 1?”

  “About two months. I gather you’ve just … arrived.”

  I hated euphemisms. Apparently I could no longer make small talk without them.

  “Yes. Gorgeous spot for a holiday. Though I think I’m going to speak to management about the staff.”

  One corner of Ian’s lips curled up and my heart lifted with it. There was some life left in this one.

  Murphy and his guest had moved on to the kitchen, where they spoke in low murmurs. I regretted not being able to listen in, but there would be time for that.

 
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked Ian.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

  With a low chuckle I headed for the kitchen and nosed out the wineglasses. The bottle sat open on the dining table and I picked it up, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. There was an awkward lull in conversation between Murphy and his date, and I waited for someone to take the bottle from me. When they didn’t, I repaid their restraint by pouring half glasses.

  I joined Ian on the sofa. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  He accepted the glass with a look of relief. “Of course, whatever you like.”

  Glancing toward the kitchen, I asked, “Who is she?”

  Relief sank into resignation, and he gave me a sad smile. “Julia. My wife.”

  I bit the inside of my lip, reluctant to press him further. But how many more opportunities like this would I get?

  “I’m so sorry. You seem young to be—could I ask how you…?”

  “Emphysema.”

  The disease killed a lot of people on Earth. An atmospheric cocktail of allergen hypergrowth and plain old dirty air had caused instances of respiratory ailments to skyrocket. Especially in the big cities, where whole hosts of microbial air scrubbers provided little more than a false sense of security. Rhinovirus was part of life—I’d had at least four varieties in the last year.

  “And Julia—has she always followed the protocol with you?” I asked him.

  “Yes. Well, after the first day.”

  “The first day? Why did she change after that?”

  “Counseling.” He smirked down at his wineglass. “When she first saw me she threw her arms around me. We picked up right where we left off when I died. Since her first counseling session we’ve been strangers.”

  I swallowed. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “And now she’s dating him? Right in front of you?” I couldn’t help thinking if that was my wife in there whispering with Murphy, I’d have my hands around the good doctor’s throat.

  Ian’s nostrils flared. “Apparently.”

  “Ian, I’m so sorry.” I was repeating myself. I didn’t know what else to say. The whole thing made me feel sick.

  “You don’t need to apologize.” He gulped his wine and set the glass on the table. “But enough about her. I’m curious about you and Dr. Murphy.”

  I shrugged and rolled the glass stem between my fingers. “I can’t tell you much about that. I hardly know him. I’m lucky for that, I guess.” I didn’t feel lucky.

  “The one you replaced—she and I never spoke, but she was a cousin or something?”

  “His aunt.”

  “Why the change, do you think?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It almost looks like some kind of trick, or trap. He didn’t know I was a ghost at first. We interacted. But the end result has been exactly the same.” I scowled. “As you can see.”

  Ian sank against the sofa with a sigh.

  “Do you feel any different than you did your first day?” I asked him. “I mean physically. Weaker? Listless? Any pain?”

  “No pain. But I feel tired all the time. Every day I feel less motivated to try with her. I sit around all day not knowing what to do with myself. I fought it at first, but … well.” He picked up his empty glass and set it back down. I handed him mine, insisting when he refused.

  “Do you have any theories about why we’re here?” I asked. “Not for this, surely.” I waved my hand vaguely at the humans in the other room, and remembered Murphy’s similar gesture in the café where we’d had lunch.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he muttered into my glass. “Did you have a job, Elizabeth? Back on Earth, I mean.”

  “I was working on my psychology Ph.D.” I gave him a wry smile. “I’m writing my dissertation on the ghosts of Ardagh 1. How about you?”

  “Teacher. High school biology.”

  “No kidding?” Finally a bit of luck. “Are you familiar with the history of this planet?”

  “Julia explained it to me. After I’d recovered from the shock of finding out not only had I died, I’d been reincarnated as an alien. But I don’t have to tell you. I spent a couple weeks doing research before—well, before it started to seem pointless.”

  Scooting toward him, I said, “I have a theory I’d like to discuss with you. Do you want to eat first?”

  His eyebrow hitched up. “We’re going to eat?”

  I grinned and made another trip to the kitchen. As I poked my nose into the pot on the stove, my mouth started watering. I’d been tormented with the smell for the last half hour. Murphy had made some kind of pasta dish—mussels in garlic and white wine. They were already seated at the table with their dinner, and it looked like there was plenty to me. I scooped healthy servings onto two plates, ignoring the fact Julia was staring at me. As I left I gave her a wink, not bothering to wait for her reaction.

  “I suppose we could eat with them,” I said, handing Ian a plate and fork, “but I promised Murphy I’d be good during his date.”

  “He talks to you?”

  “No. But he has to listen, right?”

  Ian gave me a sidelong glance and an earnest smile as he twirled pasta around his fork. “I like you, Elizabeth. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have met you.”

  “Likewise. I never imagined I could be lonelier living with someone than living alone.”

  The empathy in his face caused a tightening in my throat. It wasn’t somewhere I could afford to go right now. “Are you ready for wild, unfounded hypotheses?”

  He laughed. “Absolutely. The wilder the better.”

  “Good.” I swallowed a bite of noodles—rich, tangy, and salty. “I’ve been reading about symbiosis and symbiogenesis, and it’s just about convinced me the whole ghost thing is a misguided attempt at some sort of mutualistic bond. I can’t get past the idea it’s meant to benefit both sides somehow.”

  Ian frowned. “Interesting idea. But it’s sort of worked out the opposite hasn’t it? We seem to be hurting more than helping each other.”

  “Agreed, but I think that could be a problem in the approach. A failure of whatever created us to identify an appropriate way to reach out to the colonists. I mean, the alternative theory is ridiculous. We use this Earth-like planet to lure them here and then try to drive them crazy? An alien entity with the ability to generate life on a barren planet could have wiped out the colonists the day they arrived.”

  “True enough.” Ian rested his fork on his plate. “Is there more to your hypothesis?”

  There was. An odd little puzzle had pieced itself together in my head over the course of the last few hours. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. At least to me.

  “You know how the planet came to be the way it is today?” I asked him.

  “Vaguely. A group of scientists came down to collect soil samples—sand samples, really—and two years later the planet had evolved into an ecological twin of Earth.”

  “Pretty amazing coincidence.”

  “Coincidence is highly unlikely,” he agreed. “It’s like the first visitors tripped some kind of wire.”

  “Exactly. From a scientific perspective it sounds ridiculous, but the scientific community in six years hasn’t been able to come up with anything like a rational explanation. Maybe it’s not even a scientific question. Or at least not one we can answer with our level of scientific understanding.”

  “So let’s assume the planet’s genesis was related to the scientists’ arrival. What are we? A botched effort? Some kind of half-baked version of humans?”

  “Speak for yourself,” I laughed.

  “I assure you, I am.”

  “You could be right. But I don’t think we’re meant to be copies of humans any more than Ardagh 1 is a copy of Earth. I think Ardagh 1 came into being to serve as a habitable environment for the visitors, and I think we could be the planet’s way of attempting to con
nect or communicate with them.”

  Ian sat digesting this and I realized the silence was complete.

  I wondered when Julia and Murphy had stopped talking.

  “Okay,” continued Ian, “but why dead people? That seems a hostile approach, doesn’t it? Sure to cause trouble.”

  “From a human’s perspective, sure. But we’re talking about aliens.”

  Ian blinked at me. “Go on.”

  “Let’s go back to the beginning for a minute. Colonization had been underway for months before the aliens appeared, right? I wonder whether that might have been a period of observation. What if our creator, for lack of a better word, was looking for clues about how to approach the colonists?”

  “Plausible.” He nodded. “Interesting thought.”

  “It gets more interesting when you think about what the scientists were doing at that time … cataloging and studying the new life on Ardagh 1, with heavy focus on Earth’s extinct species.”

  Ian’s eyes closed and he gave a groan of understanding. “You think our creator equated dead relatives with extinct species, which obviously were important to the colonists.”

  “That’s right. If you imagine that an alien intelligence might have no ability to comprehend social or familial bonds among humans, the approach looks almost logical.”

  Ian set his plate on the coffee table and laced his fingers together.

  His eyes came to rest on my face. “That’s inspired, Elizabeth.”

  I laughed. “I love you for not saying ‘imaginative.’”

  “Well, that too. But that doesn’t necessarily make it unscientific.”

  We were interrupted by Murphy’s portable going off. I turned my head toward the kitchen. Murphy and Julia’s flirtation over dinner held no interest for me—well, beyond personal curiosity—but I did want to know whom else he was talking to.

  “Hi, Lex,” said Murphy. I thought I saw a look of displeasure cross Julia’s face.