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Ghost of the Living
Ghost of the Living
David Wisehart
The night before she died, Nala stood alone on our second-floor balcony looking up at the stars. Her back was turned to me as I watched her through the sliding glass door. Nala’s pale blue nightgown caught the breeze and fluttered across her skin. Dark hair danced over her left shoulder as starlight kissed the curve of her neck.
This is how I remember her.
I stepped outside and placed two wineglasses on the balcony rail.
“It looks lonely,” she whispered.
“We’ll still have each other,” I said, and kissed her. The night grew cold around us. I led Nala back inside the house and made love to her for the last time.
Nala and I spent most of the next day apart. The press agent wanted to keep us together during the interviews, but NASA had other priorities. The engineers weren’t happy with the previous memory recordings and wanted to re-record the entire crew before the flight. Nala returned to the lab while I performed for the cameras. As the captain of the starship Doppelganger, I had become the smiling face of NASA to billions of people around the world. It was my job to brave the limelight. The engineers would record my memories last, after the press conference was over.
President Aiken was scheduled to make his speech at three o’clock that afternoon. Before the main event, I spent an hour wearing stage make-up under the hot lights of the auditorium.
The press conference was going well until Matt Kemp from The Star asked the question on everyone's mind: “How can you call yourself an astronaut if you never leave Earth?”
I was accustomed to hostility from the press. President Aiken was the most unpopular politician in thirty years and my publicity tour was designed, in part, to deflect attention from his impeachment hearings.
“I consider myself an astronaut,” I said, “because one day I will step out of my starship and onto another planet in another solar system.”
“But that’s not you,” the reporter insisted. “That’s your clone.”
“My DNA, my memories.”
“He’s the man we should be talking to.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “But he won’t be born for eighty thousand years and I believe your deadline is five o’clock.”
If President Aiken is still remembered in the history books, which I doubt, then he is remembered for the assassination attempt that afternoon.
Nala joined me on stage for the President’s speech. We sat in metal chairs behind the podium with the other team leaders, the NASA directors, and a local congresswoman. As the President delivered a rambling tribute to the pioneering spirit, Nala squeezed my hand, sending me signals in Morse code: “Love you, Gavin.” They were Nala’s last words.
I did not hear the gunshot, but saw a bright red bloom opening like a time-lapse flower from the President’s back. I felt my wife’s hand pull away from mine. When I turned to Nala, she was gone.
Five secret service men with high-powered weapons rushed the stage. One man lifted President Aiken in his arms and carried him out the back door. The rest followed as a human shield.
I found Nala lying on the stage ten feet behind me. Blood pooled beneath her. I dropped to my knees, screaming for help, but no one heard me in the madness that filled the auditorium.
“I’ll find a doctor,” I promised.
But Nala held on to me and would not let me leave. Her lips moved. I leaned closer, eyes blurred with tears, and put my cheek to hers. Her skin grew cold as I listened to her breath.
If there were words, I did not hear them.
The mission was delayed for two years as NASA put me through a battery of psychological exams. Seven counselors in nineteen months. When I was a teenager I cut myself, put a razor to my wrists, and now the agency feared I might try again. But suicide was the furthest thing from my mind. I was determined to get Nala back.
The technology that made our mission possible—sending unmanned starships to distant galaxies and cloning colonists on arrival—could have brought Nala back to me on Earth.
The mission director was against it. “Gavin, you know we can't do that.”
“You have her DNA," I said. “And her memories.”
“Replicating humans is a crime. We can bring her back to life on another planet—beyond the jurisdiction of the courts—but not on Earth. I’m sorry.”
I hired lawyers and press agents. I pleaded in courts of law and in the courts of public opinion. I prayed and I cried and I swore bitter revenge. In the end, none of it mattered. If I wanted to see my wife again, I would have to wait eighty thousand years.
I was not yet reborn when my starship landed. The Doppelganger had detected a beacon from a planet orbiting Proxima Centauri and followed the signal to its source. Landing a dozen kilometers from the signal transmitter, the Doppelganger rolled out its probes and went to work. By the time I stepped out of the cloning tank the starship had already generated reports on atmospherics, mineral deposits, and what appeared to be a thriving civilization just over the mountains.
I grabbed a towel from storage and wiped the amniotic fluid from my skin.
The ship was the size of a walk-in closet. The temperature control system had failed and the metal floor felt like an ice rink. I dropped the wet towel, using it as a mat. At least the lights still worked.
“This better be good,” I said.
“You won’t be disappointed,” the ship answered in a pleasant voice.
Nala's voice.
“When did I die?” I asked.
“I have no record of your death on Earth,” said the starship. “When I lost contact with mission control, you were still alive. I have your interview from The Hope Kennedy Show. Would you like me to play it for you?”
“No thanks.”
I stared at my wrists: no scars. Strange to find them missing. Those scars had haunted me since I was fifteen. When NASA discovered those scars, they bounced me out of the Mars program and into Special Projects.
“I’m not like that anymore,” I told them, eighty thousand years ago. “I’m not suicidal.”
The Program Director had smiled. “Don’t worry, Gavin. Where you’re going, it’s a plus.”
The ship had no chairs, so I sat cross-legged on the floor with the touch screen in my lap. The database contained one thousand and twenty-four records. One for each colonist. Each record contained a different DNA blueprint, plus an associated memory recording.
The first record, for Gavin Megano, had already been activated. That was me. It was my job as captain to assess the landing site and initiate the cloning process for each colonist. There was only one accelerated cloning tank, so I would have to prioritize the sequence. Different environments demanded different skills. A sea landing would call for our diving team and oceanographer. A volcanic site would require our vulcanologist. Medics would be crucial in any environment.
But I already knew who I would clone first: Nala Lin, field geologist. She was near the bottom of the list drawn up by the mission designers. Colonist 816, they said.
Well, screw them. I might be the only human alive in the universe, and I wanted to see my wife.
Before I could bring Nala back, I needed to locate the raw materials: water, carbon, calcium, etc. All the elements that make us human. The Doppelganger carried enough elements to clone a single human being. Everyone else was digital. If the ship found an Earthlike planet, it could harvest the ingredients for the other colonists. If not, I would spend the rest of my life alone.
“Tell me about the atmosphere,” I said, loading my rifle.
The atmosphere was mostly nitrogen, with a mix of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and other gases. The air pressure
was 1021 millibars. Relative humidity: 86 percent. Surface temperature: 14.9 degrees centigrade. There was plenty of local vegetation and half a dozen nearby lakes. Clearly, this was a planet worth waiting for.
The ship had collected evidence of a local civilization. The tallest hill on the horizon, some 5.6 kilometers northeast of the landing site, seemed to flicker in the grey dawn hours. It looked like a vast city of twinkling lights.
I would know soon enough.
First, I needed to survey the area. The ship had scanned a metallic structure on the far side of the lake. The structure was obscured from view by the trees, but it seemed to be a cylindrical tower, eight meters tall, fashioned from some titanium alloy.
Time for a closer look. I dressed quickly in a chameleon jumper and stepped inside my pressure suit. The helmet’s faceplate doubled as a display monitor for the instrument readouts. The controls were voice-activated, with manual backups. A quick systems check confirmed that everything still worked.
I triggered the door and squinted against the bright spill of daylight. My eyes adjusted. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the planet’s surface.
The ground was spongy, covered with a latticework of blue and yellow tendrils. They squished when I stepped on them. Like walking on a thick bed of wet moss.
Squish, squish.
Squish, squish.
“Display infrared.”
The view through my faceplate shifted spectra, and the latticework tendrils now appeared to radiate a deep crimson. My footprints registered as small blue patches trailing back to the ship, blue bruises in a field of red: the tendrils grew cold wherever I stepped.
Glancing across the lake, I saw the infrared glow of the metal structure hidden in the trees.
“Map, please.”
I studied the display and picked a path around the lake. Perhaps an hour’s walk each way.
“Display visual,” I said, and started on my hike.
My pressure suit took readings as I walked. Sensors along my arms, legs, gloves, and boots recorded the environment, sending data back to the Doppelganger. The ship analyzed the data while I played tourist.
As I neared the lake, I discovered flowers with orange–red petals that fluttered in the breeze. My glove brushed against one of the flowers. The petals broke into pieces and flew away, toward the city of lights.
I heard a loud shriek and looked up. A reptilian bird circled like a pterodactyl overhead: wormlike body, triangular head, leathery wings.
I raised my rifle.
The bird shrieked again, and dove straight for the lake. Splash! A burst of water filled the air. Then the bird flew off, a shark-like prey clutched in its talons.
I holstered my rifle and kept on moving. If I died, the ship would send out the harvester and give birth to another Gavin Megano. The new clone would continue my mission, learning from my mistakes.
Ten minutes later, I reached the edge of the lake and a tall stand of trees. The undergrowth thickened as I trudged ahead. When I finally broke through to the clearing, I stared in disbelief at the metal structure.
It was the starship Doppelganger.
Was I traveling in circles?
No. My landing site had been covered in a latticework of tendrils. This ground was thick with shrubs and surrounded by trees.
Had the ship moved?
It seemed unlikely. My suit would have been notified.
“Doppelganger, come in please.”
No response.
I stared at the ship in front of me. It certainly looked like the one I’d left behind: cylindrical, eight meters tall, with smooth round walls of titanium alloy.
The door was open. I entered cautiously. The ship was a copy of my own, but the control panels had been smashed, wires pulled, pipes cut open. Someone wanted to make sure this ship would never fly again.
And never give birth.
I looked into the cloning tank and nearly vomited. Inside the amniotic bath was an adult human. Half-formed. The skull was crushed, the face smashed in. Whoever did this, didn’t want the face to be recognized. But I recognized it.
My own face.
The face of Gavin Megano.
I ran. Stumbling, screaming, cursing.
“Doppelganger! Come in, Doppelganger. Do you read?”
Still no answer.
“Do you read? Can you hear me? What’s going on?”
My bulky pressure suit wasn’t made for running. The oxygen pumps worked double-time as I struggled to breathe. My faceplate fogged up. I could barely see.
It took me half an hour to reach the landing site. My ship was still there, but something had changed. Something was wrong.
“Display infrared.”
Footprints everywhere. Blue bruises in a field of red. I scanned the horizon: rocks, plants, lakes. But I saw no animals. Nothing that might leave footprints. Of course, my visitor could be inside the ship. The hull glowed hot in the infrared. Impossible to read anything inside. I’d have to find out the hard way.
I moved in slowly. The ground squished underfoot. I pressed flat against the ship, listening for sounds inside.
Nothing.
I edged toward the door, took a deep breath, and threw myself in. Back to the wall. Rifle out. Ready to fire.
I was alone.
Closing the door behind me, I removed my helmet and gloves, then surveyed the ship. The communications systems were down. Probably a malfunction. After eighty thousand years in space, you had to expect some wear and tear—
Squish, squish.
Squish, squish.
Movement outside. Footsteps in the spongy marsh.
Grabbing my rifle, I checked the monitors, using a toggle switch to adjust the surveillance cameras.
The door opened. I felt a cool wind at the back of my neck and caught the scent of bitter almonds. I turned in time to see a shadow fall across the floor. A silhouette eclipsed the doorway: an adult human, dressed in a long dark robe.
He had my face.
I saw his weapon too late. He fired. Blood exploded across my right hand. Pain shot up my arm as my rifle clattered to the floor. I screamed and grabbed my wrist to stem the flow of blood.
He picked up my rifle, holding the weapon next to his own. They were, of course, identical.
“Hello, Gavin,” he said. “Sit down.”
I sat, blood spilling from my wrist. My mind raced. NASA must have sent a back-up ship. Three starships, maybe more. This clone killed the other one and destroyed the other ship. But why?
“You could have killed me already,” I said.
“I have. Hundreds of you.”
“Hundreds?”
“I’ve lost count,” he said. “But we have time. It’s not dark yet.”
“What happens after dark?”
“They’ll expect me back.”
“The crew?”
“No, the dragons. They’re waiting.”
“I saw one.”
“I know.” Gavin leaned against the doorway. “They’re a smart race, but superstitious. They believe in ghosts. Spirits. Demons. When the first ship came, they welcomed us. But when the second ship arrived—”
“The same ship.”
He nodded. “With the same crew. Another Gavin Megano.”
“A ghost.”
“Worse than that,” he said. “A ghost of the living.”
“What happened?”
“They captured him. Held purging ceremonies. Ritual torture. He begged me to end it, so I did.”
“You could let me live.”
Gavin shook his head. “They know you’re here. They’ll find you. Better to die now. Quickly.”
It would be dark soon. I had to stall him, buy time, come up with a plan. “NASA sent a hundred ships?” I asked.
“Or a thousand. Or a million. Cheaper to send a copy than to train another crew.”
“And the beacon brings them here.”
Gavin nodded, with the weary look of an executioner. He told me about the o
ther clones. He killed most of them before they were born, but sometimes he arrived too late. I was the first to discover another ship. The first to figure things out. Gavin didn’t seem to mind. It gave him someone to talk to, if only for an hour. He seemed to need it. Needed to connect with his younger self. Needed to recapture something he’d lost.
Suddenly, I knew what I had to do.
“How’s Nala?” I asked.
He hesitated. “She’s leaving me.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said.
“I’m the same as you.”
“No. I was you, once. You’ve never been me.”
“What happened?”
“I used to be the captain of a starship, the commander of a crew. You know what I do now? I kill myself. Over and over. What woman wants a man like that?”
“She married you.”
“No,” he said. “She married you.”
“Do you still love her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I love anymore.”
“You loved her once. The way I love her now.”
“Did I?”
“We came across the stars for her.”
He nodded, quietly, then told me the rest.
Gavin, the first of us, had watched Nala come to life in the cloning tank. He welcomed her with warm kisses and orange-red flowers that flew away when you touched their petals. It was against mission protocol to bring Nala back first, ahead of the others, but Gavin didn’t care. He and Nala were together again. Alone on an alien world.
Nine days later, the dragons made contact. They were friendly, curious, full of mischievous humor and practical jokes. For months, Gavin and Nala studied the dragons’ culture. As the human colonists emerged one-by-one from the cloning tank, building a city in the mountains, Nala trained them in the ways of this strange new world.
Then it happened. A second clone ship arrived.
The dragons were terrified of Gavin’s ghost. They flew into fits of madness, reverting to some primitive impulse for blood and torture. They captured the ghost. The dragon high priestess held public exorcisms that went on for days as the colonists watched in horror.
“Gavin, do something!” they screamed.
But what could he do? Fight the dragons? Stop a ritual he barely understood? It could jeopardize them all.
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