Description: Murphy's Ghost The tarmac was deserted. Foggy and disoriented, I wondered how long I'd been standing there, listening to the evergreens groan in the wind and dreading my first encounter on this new world. Would it be human or alien? I breathed in the crisp, impossibly clean air, trying to clear my head. My gaze traveled around the landing pad hemmed in by towering conifers, and came to rest on the transport terminal, oblong and silent under a slate-gray sky. What now? I had the unsettling feeling I was the only person on the planet-Ardagh 1, more commonly referred to as "the ghost planet" by people on Earth. Inexplicable things happened here. The planet itself was a study in the impossible. Finally the terminal doors slid open, and a figure stepped out onto the tarmac. Half a dozen others spilled out behind him, and a transport whined into view, landing about thirty meters away. The presence of the other passengers eased my sense of isolation. But that first man out of the building-he was headed right for me. My heart beat out a warning, and my mind snapped back to the original question: Human or alien? "Elizabeth?" He raised his dark eyebrows, and my gaze locked on his startling eyes. Piercing, round, and the lightest shade of blue, like sky behind a veil of cloud- clean cloud, not the brown smudges that passed for clouds back on Earth. Something about him tugged at my memory, but I found this the opposite of reassuring. "Yes?" I answered, uneasy. If he wasn't human, I was minutes on the planet and already breaking the rules. It was dangerous to talk to them. There were institutions back on Earth devoted to caring for people who'd done so. I'd met some of those people. "My apologies," he said, offering a disarming smile. "I really hoped to be here earlier. I see your transport has already left." Irish. Very charming, and also not surprising. The Ardagh 1 colonies, and the Ecosystem Recovery Project itself, had been founded by an Irishman. One of only two European nations to refuse sacrificing sovereignty on the altar of centralized government, Ireland had suffered a lesser degree of cultural homogenization than its fully incorporated siblings. I now felt more confident he was human, but he wasn't the person I'd been expecting. "I'm Grayson Murphy," he offered, coming to my rescue. "Lead psychologist at the New Seattle Counseling Center." Lifting my eyebrows in surprise, I shook the hand he held out-his grip was warm and solid. I understood now why he seemed familiar. Grayson Murphy was the father of Ardagh 1's Ghost Protocol. He was also the highest-ranking psychology Ph.D. on the planet. "Haven't frightened you, I hope?" he said with a smile. More like dazzled than frightened. "Not at all. It's just that I didn't realize-" "I know." He nodded. "You were expecting Katherine Katz. I'm afraid some unforeseen circumstances have led to a change in your assignment, Elizabeth. You'll be coming to work with us in New Seattle." He watched me closely, and I strove to keep my disappointment from showing in my face. I'd left Earth with the belief I was headed for a residency at a counseling center in a smaller colony to the north. I was long overdue for a break from academia, and there would be no escaping it in New Seattle. The larger counseling center employed three of the four Ph.D.s who'd worked on the Ghost Protocol: a policy that prohibited interaction between colonists and the planet's indigenous inhabitants. "I see." A less-than-enthusiastic response, but it was the best I could manage. "Could I ask about the circumstances?" A sudden gust of damp wind blew right through me and I gasped, hugging my arms around my chest. I didn't have on enough clothing for the late-winter weather. "Let's get you inside. I'll explain everything." As I matched his brisk pace across the tarmac, he continued, "I'm really sorry you've been shuffled around like this. I'm at least able to deliver the happy news that your container arrived as scheduled, on yesterday's cargo transport-nothing short of a miracle considering the dodgy state of our transport service." "Thank you," I murmured, grateful to have been spared knowledge of the "dodgy state" of transport service prior to my departure from Earth. Then something occurred to me that hadn't at first-and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. "Dr. Murphy, are you my new supervisor?" Again he smiled and I liked the way the smile took over his whole face. "Afraid so. But please call me 'Murphy.' Everyone does." Amiable as he appeared, it was hard not to be intimidated by the idea of reporting to him. And hard not to contrast this ambitious young psychologist with earthy, Birkenstock-wearing Katherine Katz. "I hope everything is okay with Dr. Katz," I said. I couldn't help but wonder whether she'd changed her mind about me. "Dr. Katz is fine, but the counseling center" Murphy hesitated, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled. He stepped inside the terminal. "We've reassigned you because the Cliffside clinic was badly damaged in a tremor a few days ago. We don't expect it to reopen for several months." I froze outside the sliding doors, staring at him across the threshold. "I-that's awful. Was anyone hurt?" "Miraculously, no." The wind lifted the ends of his fine, dark hair. "Is that sort of thing a regular occurrence?" He frowned as he studied my face. "I'm going about this all wrong, aren't I? I used to be primarily a researcher, and I'm told my bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Let me buy you lunch and I'll explain everything." I took a deep breath and propelled myself inside. "Don't worry, Elizabeth, we're going to take good care of you. And regardless of the circumstances, we're happy to have you. You're desperately needed." As if to prove his point, his portable made a shrill bid for attention. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at it before shutting it off. Though the terminal was warm and comfortable, the rows of skylights made it feel open to the elements. My gaze settled on a small crowd gathered around two monitors at the end of the service desk. A woman broke from the group and strolled toward us, stopping short a couple meters away. She was rail-thin and pale, and she seemed to expect something from us. I waited for Murphy to speak to her. Instead he turned and guided me toward the exit, fingertips lightly pressing the small of my back. Glancing behind us, I saw the woman following. Her eyes met mine, and suddenly I understood. She was an alien. This was Murphy's ghost. Fresh from relocation training, I knew what I was supposed to do-the Ghost Protocol dictated I ignore her. Forget her, if possible. But as I turned away I couldn't help guessing at whom she might be-a sister? A friend? Wife, even? As we left the terminal, I wondered how long it would be before I met my ghost. They'd tried to prepare us in training, requiring us to list and describe the people we'd known who had died, so it wouldn't come as such a shock. But I had never lost anyone -not a family member, not a friend, not even a pet. I had no idea what-or whom-to expect. * * * The street side of the terminal was less blustery, but it was now raining-a mopey, noncommittal Northwest rain, just like back home in Seattle. Murphy stopped and turned. Tiny drops of moisture collected in his hair, and mine. If everyone had a superpower, those eyes were his. I tried to imagine what it would be like to sit with him in a therapy session. Then it occurred to me I might very well find out-all colonists were required to attend daily counseling sessions as part of acclimation. "Feeling okay?" he asked. I had no trouble reading the subtext: Are you up to this? Are you frightened? I was grateful for his concern. But I was also eager to make a good impression. "Yes," I assured him. "I'm fine." "Good. There's a café just down the street. The salmon eggs Benedict is amazing. What do you say?" I had never eaten salmon. Salmon had long since exited the food chain on Earth. The last farm had shut down before I was born, pulled under by antibiotic-resistant disease. My stomach grumbled resentfully-and audibly-at the memory of the stale pastry I'd eaten on the transport. Murphy smiled. "Shall I take that as a yes?" "Absolutely," I replied, flushing. "I'm starving." He turned down the street and I followed. "It's only a few blocks, so I thought we'd skip the tram. Unless you're cold?" "It feels good to be outside." Not to mention the fact I got queasy just watching the tram whoosh back and forth above the pedestrian walkway. As we headed down one side of the double row of four-story, modular buildings, Murphy a

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