~ Chapter I ~
Ghost

Jonis Locherman wondered for the fiftieth time that day why he had allowed his brother to talk him into taking this job. It was uneventful, unappreciated and very underpaid. He shouldered his flashlight and grunted to himself, his scratchy uniform even more irritating in the stuffy air of the Museum. The least they could do is turn on the AC, he thought to himself. But then again, what do they care if a night guard gets too hot? It's not as if he's anyone of importance.

In fact, the Royal Council of Antiquities had just that day decided against the installation of an automated security system for the Museum, though Jonis had not yet been informed. And even if he had, it was doubtful that he would be excited that his job was secure for the indefinite future. At least they keep the lights on, Jonis admitted, scanning the strip of rope lighting attached to the base of the wall. The exhibits each had their own display lights. He rounded the corner of his last circuit; one more room and then he would begin again.

It was the Terran Room, Section E7. The marble pillars rose to the second story in this section, and in the center of the circular ceiling hung the great bronze replica of the long abandoned planet. Jonis always took his time patrolling E7; he could not deny that it was a most fascinating exhibit.

That is, she was a most fascinating exhibit.

Jonis checked each display case around the perimeter for the little green light that signified all was well. Duly inspected, he moved to the inside of the room. The artifacts surrounding the centerpiece showed nothing amiss. At long last, he turned to her.

The Terran Lady had single-handedly made the Museum the most popular visit destination in the world for three years running. And every night, as he checked her security, Jonis was reminded again that she was the most precious artifact in the Museum. Her stand alone had enough pressure sensors and alarms to secure the entire room, let alone her single exhibit. Jonis could only go about re-setting the green light with the utmost caution.

Still, he could understand. She was beautiful. The team of archeologists who had discovered her had determined it to be the best example of the lost art of holography ever found among any of the civilizations of the Old Planets. The block of crystal in which her image was embedded was one-and-a-half times the size of a man and an arm's length square. The hologram of the Lady rested a few inches above the base. Jonis had seen her many times before on his nightly rounds, but she still had the power to steal his gaze for longer than he could spare it. After many nights of missed checkpoints, Jonis had adjusted his circuit so that she was the last exhibit he checked. That way he had more time to admire her.

Her figure was similar enough to the women of his world, but there was something about her expression that gave no doubt to her alien origin. Her eyes were closed, her face unreadable. She appeared to be draped in a robe of some grayish material, but Jonis was sure he had seen it shine iridescent in certain light. Her long hair was loose and trailed behind her, as if the model for the hologram had been caught in a breeze. But it was the Lady's unusual gesture that had once engendered so much curiosity to her identity. One arm was wrapped protectively around her torso, and the other was raised towards her shoulder, palm open, facing upwards. Her head was bent down, and if her eyes had been open they would have stared into her open palm. Long, dry essays had been written by the most advanced interstellar anthropologists about what her gesture signified. Was it an ancient Terran greeting? A sign of supplication? Had the creator of the hologram intended it to be a more personal gesture? Was it his wife, perhaps? Might she have been with child? No one knew.

Jonis circled the Lady twice. As always, he was impressed not only with the loveliness of the subject but also with the skill with which her image had been captured. From all angles, not a single point of light, not a color, not a shade was out of place. If it had not gone against all common sense—not to mention all scientific knowledge—Jonis could well have imagined that she was the real thing. The last survivor of a long dead world, he mused. Too bad for her. He rounded her pedestal one last time and switched on his flashlight, ready to begin his circuit once more.

"You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life," he murmured, addressing the silent figure. For a moment Jonis felt foolish. He had never yet been so bored with his job that he had to talk to the exhibits. And yet, there was no one there to laugh at him. The Lady certainly wasn't. He shrugged to himself and touched his flashlight to his forehead in a gesture of farewell. "I'll be seeing you in a few hours," he said, turning to go. Section E7 was secure.

Let…me go!

Jonis' flashlight swung up to his shoulder. He reached for his taser, peering around the room for the source of the request.

"Who's there? I'm armed!" he warned aloud.

But nothing and no one answered him.

It took several minutes of silence for Jonis' heart to steady, though he continued to feel the effects of adrenaline sharpening his senses. The little green lights on the exhibits' security panels flashed an all clear. He lowered his flashlight, wondering if he had imagined the voice. Pinching himself, Jonis snapped the light back onto his belt. Strange. Cautiously, he backed out of the room and tapped in the security code for the section, stating his name for the time log. The lights on the wall snapped to red, signifying that the motion sensors were active. With one last bewildered survey of E7, Jonis continued on his circuit.

The rest of the rooms were quiet and uneventful. The minutes on the great clock ticked slowly away, and at an hour past midnight, Jonis returned to the Terran Room. He disengaged the room's master motion sensor and began resetting the individual alarms.

Let me go, Jonis Locherman.

The blood cooled in his veins and his heart started to pound. That he had not imagined. Flashlight and taser came out in one practiced motion. "Show yourself!" he cried. He whirled to the center of the room where he had the best view of the surrounding exhibits. "I will shoot!" he threatened the invisible intruder.

But once again, no one answered him.

Jonis frowned and counted to twenty in his head. Nothing like this had ever happened on any of his previous watches, and for a moment he wondered if one of the other guards was playing a trick on him. He had an urge to radio his supervisor, if to only hear another human voice. But he decided against it; Hendricks would ask what was wrong, and then Jonis would have to think up a plausible explanation for his call that did not involve a disembodied voice. His imagination had never been good, so he pocketed his radio and hefted his flashlight for the last round of the night.

Jonis did not sleep well that next afternoon, though he tried to convince himself that it was due to his poor judgment that morning. At dawn, as soon as his shift had let out, he and a group of his mates from the Museum night-watchman detail had agreed to meet at an all-night diner for dinner and drinks. They stayed well into the morning, though Jonis found that he did not enjoy himself as he usually did. The memory of the ghostly voice was dancing at the back of his mind, but he took care to push it well aside and out of his consciousness. Returning to his apartment, Jonis had fallen asleep on his couch, without even bothering to change out of his uniform.

He woke to brilliant sunshine pouring in through his open windows. Groaning at the combination of his stupidity and aching head, he pulled his blackout shades across the offending brightness and collapsed in a wrinkled heap on the couch. Stretching himself out, Jonis blessed the darkness and did his best to fall asleep again. But he had no such luck, even with the shades drawn. Yet it was not exhaustion that kept him up. Though he took care not to admit it to himself, he knew it was his fear of the dream that kept his tired eyes open and his mind treading the regret-filled paths of the past.

At long last, he gave up. It was no use pretending; he rolled to his side and flipped on the morning news. Stories of discontent from within the Chartered Nations filled the newscaster's teleprompter and scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Good news from the Council's reconnaissance mission to Delta Centauri Prime received only a brief nod; the station was far more concerned with the shocking and the salacious to bother with any success stories.

Reaching his capacity for grim announcements and veiled portents of doom delivered by impeccably dressed reporters, Jonis muted the sound and rolled on his back. He stared at the ceiling, unable to avoid the memory anymore.

It was a dream that bothered him and troubled his sleep. A recurring dream. A dream from his past.

Jonis sighed, frustrated with his inability to control his emotions on the subject. For years after his disgrace he had managed to suppress the regret, the shame, the anger. By the time he had taken the night-watchman's post at the Museum, he thought he had forgotten it. But nearly a month ago it had all come back—and vividly—in the fractured scenes of his nightmare.

It began in a lecture hall. One of many he had frequented at the University's medical school, indistinguishable from any other. It was an evening class, and Jonis sat near the front. The professor was speaking, but no matter how hard Jonis tried, he could never manage to understand what it was he said. Knowing he would fail without accurate notes, Jonis tried harder, often moving closer to the front to do so. But nothing made a difference.

Then, inevitably, when he was at his most confused, the professor would call on him.

It was then that Jonis would remember the paper. His committee-assigned dissertation. The blessed guarantee of a scholarship that would pay off all his medical school debts. The summation of all his long years of torturous education and crushing expense. His ticket to everything he had dreamed of having, of doing, of living…

And he had forgotten it.

This was where the dream varied. Sometimes he had left it at home, sometimes he had slipped it in his bag and forgotten the bag on the train, and sometimes (these were the worst of all) he had forgotten to start his dissertation at all. But the consequences were always the same. Sickening panic, followed by deep, burning shame and ended in anger. Pure, blind rage. He often ran in this part of his dream, though things generally got confused. Sometimes he felt as if he were running, but then he would look down and realize he had not moved at all. More often, though, he would wake up at that point, shielding his eyes if he had forgotten to shut the blackout curtains and feeling claustrophobic in the dark if he hadn't.

All in all, it was an exhausting dream.

But he had gotten used to it, Jonis admitted grudgingly to himself. Suffering through the disorienting scenario several times a week for the past month had cured him of his first shock, and though unwanted, it was no longer unexpected.

So why am I so upset this morning? he asked himself.

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that as well.

For his dream had been different this time. It had started the same, but when the professor began to speak, there was no sound. Jonis had looked around the classroom, but there was no noise from the other students either. In fact, they sat at their desks as mute and as stone-faced as statues. No one moved, no one spoke and, after a moment's study, Jonis realized with horror that no one even breathed. He turned back to the professor, terrified. But he had stopped moving as well.

Jonis had tried to stand, but his legs were paralyzed. He tried to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. Though unconscious, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. The silence grew painful.

Then, all at once, someone said his name.

It was the disembodied voice from the Museum, ringing clear and bloodless through the silent air of his troubled memories.

Jonis had woken with a scream in his throat.

~o~

Jonis did not want to go to work that night. He had never loved his job of guarding the Museum, but neither had he loathed it. Sometimes it was frustrating, but it was never unbearable. Some of his closest friends were fellow guards, and together they made the best of it. But now, with his nightly circuit tinged with the memory of that horrible voice, Jonis could hardly bring himself to change into his fresh uniform, let alone drive to the Museum and check in with his supervisor. It took all his practicality, arguing all the way with his emotions.

If I miss a night, Hendricks will dock my vacation time, and probably my pay as well. I can't afford that. Besides, I'd have to give him some legitimate excuse for skipping. And how am I going to come up with that? 'Sorry, Hend, started hearing things? I just couldn't bear to patrol a room with a ghost in it?' Please. He'll send me for counseling. And then dock my time off. Nah, I've got to do this. It was probably all in my head anyway.

Still, he couldn't resist the shiver that ran through his spine as he deposited his gear in his locker. The voice had seemed so real. So desperate. So…

He holstered his taser and clipped on his flashlight with a grunt. Stop thinking like that, idiot! You have a job to do, so man up or go home. Wordlessly, Jonis obeyed his self-motivating speech and clocked in. The Terran Room was waiting, after all.

Despite his mental assertions, however, Jonis felt himself trembling as he crossed the threshold of E7. He scanned every visible inch of the room before deactivating the motion sensors, just to be on the safe side. Nothing but ancient Terran artifacts greeted his wary gaze, and he allowed himself to relax a little. "You are a fool, Locherman," he mumbled.

Jonis Locherman?

His heart just about stopped in his chest. The hand that pulled the taser from his belt was shaking like an autumn leaf, and his mouth was dry. "Who…whoever you are…show yourself! I am armed and I will shoot!"

But what have I done?

"You are trespassing on Museum property," he answered, forcefully steadying his voice. He spoke louder as he moved towards the center of the room, collecting his wits as best he could in the face of the spectral sound. "You are in violation of section 7a of the Governance of Antiquities charter," he recited. "Come out with your hands in the air and I will escort you to the authorities."

I have done nothing! Why do you imprison me?

"Where are you?" he cried again, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

I do not know, Jonis Locherman.

"How do you know my name?"

You say it every night.

"Who are you?" he yelled, trying to restrain the creeping sense of panic. If this were only a prankster or a thief, he knew could handle them easily. The Museum spared no expense in training their guards to deal with any incursion, and Jonis could hold his own in a fistfight. But if it really was something else… Jonis swallowed. Tasers, as he recalled grimly, were not certified to immobilize ghosts. "Why can't I see you?" he asked, weapon still trained on all possible hiding places.

I'm right here! How can you not see me?

Jonis gritted his teeth. "No more games!" His voice had risen in pitch, and he knew he was close to losing himself in panic. Taking a deep breath, he gave the invisible intruder an ultimatum. "I'm going to give you ten seconds to come out with your hands in the air, or I trigger the alarm."

Why…?

"One."

But I am here, Jonis Locherman!

"Two."

I have always been here!

"I told you, no games! Three!"

But you spoke to me earlier! You know me!

"What are you talking about?"

"You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life."

Jonis went rigid. He remembered those words. The voice was not speaking—it was reciting. Reciting the very thing he had said the night before…to the Terran Lady. Unable to stop himself, he turned to the massive crystal exhibit in the center of the room. Jonis felt the blood drain from his face. "That's not possible," he whispered.

Yes! Yes, Jonis Locherman! I am here! The flashlight and taser fell from his hands and he backed away from the Terran Lady. She continued to plead with him. Please. Let me go!

It was all he could do to respond, unsure whether or not he was hallucinating, living his nightmare from the morning or functioning in reality. "How…how…w-what are you?" he managed at last, fingering the talk button on his radio. If he pressed it, his fellow guard Jonne would be there in under a minute.

What do you mean, Jonis Locherman?

"You…you're not real."

Why not? Of course I am! I…

But Jonis would not let the Lady finish her thought…if indeed it was the hologram thinking at all. He snatched his flashlight and weapon from the floor and made a break for the door, entering the security information in record speed. The red light blinked in acceptance and overrode the missed entry on the Terran Lady exhibit. He took a deep breath and holstered his taser with shaky hands. From a distance, the Lady looked perfectly normal. Jonis swallowed repeatedly to get a hold of his panic and turned away from E7 with a determined step. But after just three paces, he found himself running.

Disobeying protocol, Jonis avoided the Terran Room for the rest of the night, setting the perimeter defenses at the doors and walking away as quickly as he could. Even that took all his courage. Jonis knew that, if not for the fact that Hendricks would fire him if he left his post, he would have fled the Museum long before the end of his shift.

The next morning Jonis woke in his apartment with his taser in easy access on his nightstand. He groaned as he checked the clock; it had only been four hours since he had returned home from the Museum. Still, after many attempts, he could not go back to sleep. This time, it had not been the dream that kept him up; indeed, he had not suffered through the nightmare at all. What he had to deal with in real life was far stranger than any dream. He lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, considering the events of the night before. Somehow, in his own apartment, with the morning sun streaming in through his window, the fact that the Terran Lady had spoken to him seemed far less frightening than it had in the silence and half-light of the Museum. Yet Jonis could not get her voice out of his head, and there it retained some of its terrifying impossibility.

Let me go.

Let me go.

Let me go, Jonis Locherman.

The voice had sounded so real, so frantic. But why in the world would he imagine something like that? He had no special interest invested in the Terran Lady; he guarded her exhibit for pay, after all. Sure, he had admired her, but why would that translate into a hallucination of this magnitude? It made no sense. Jonis frowned. Could he be ill? Brief though it had been, his stint in medical school had not been terminated for lack of interest. Pushing aside the familiar regret, Jonis analyzed his mental state of the past several days. The dream. I've been having that nightmare. Could that have morphed into this somehow? He had not specialized in psychology at the University, so he hadn't the slightest idea how to answer his own question. But it gave him an explanation at which he could grasp. It's either that, or I'm going crazy.

He did not like to think about the second option.

~o~

Worry for his sanity caused Jonis to check into the Museum's central guard station that night with even more reluctance than usual. Jonne, his fellow watchman, noticed his strange behavior.

"You all right, Locherman?" he asked, strapping on his flashlight and taser.

"Yeah," Jonis answered automatically. But at a second thought, he stopped his friend. It would be easy enough to discover here if the whole episode had taken place in his head. "Jonne, you've taken the E7 circuit before, right?"

"'Course." Jonne lowered his voice. "You need to switch?"

Jonis shook his head. "No. I was just wondering if you've ever…" he paused, realizing he would have to phrase this carefully. "I was wondering if you've ever heard anything strange in the Terran Room."

Jonne shot Jonis a curious glance. "Like what?"

"Oh. I don't know. Something buzzing—I was wondering if one of the alarms might be malfunctioning," he lied, losing his nerve.

"Nope." Jonne frowned. "I'll ask Hendricks to check the specs," he assured. Jonis nodded, feeling guilty for not trusting his friend. But he didn't want his coworker doubting his sanity. Jonne was a good man, but he was also a dutiful employee. If Jonis told him he was hearing voices, he would have to tell Hendricks. Then Jonis would probably be put under observation, and he would certainly not be allowed to continue working. Especially if that work involved bearing a weapon. I'll wait to judge for myself, Jonis told himself firmly. He shouldered his security vest, clocked in and began to make his way towards the Museum proper, well aware that every step took him closer to the Terran Room and its crystal inhabitant that was certainly testing his sanity.

~o~

Jonis checked and double-checked every exhibit on his circuit, drawing out the time until he would have to face the Lady again. Part of him was already convinced that he had had imagined the whole thing; part of him quailed at the thought that he might in fact be losing it. Yet the only other option was so absurd that it was nigh unthinkable. The coward in him wanted to pass by the room altogether and put off the answer as long as possible. But his overriding rationale wanted to know—to know for certain and to be rid of the maddening debate. So at precisely the stroke of eleven, he typed in the section code for E7 and entered the Terran Room.

It was quiet. Nothing had changed from the night before. Discarded food wrappers and other bits of trash left over by careless tourists had already been swept away by the janitors, and the room was clear. The lights on the perimeter exhibits blinked green in their turn, and the security cameras had not moved from their watchful positions over the entrance and exits. But Jonis could not help the uncomfortable doubt that lodged in his throat as he came at last to the central exhibit. Moment of truth, Locherman.

He placed himself in front of the Terran Lady…

And smirked as nothing but silence met his ears. "See?" he murmured to himself, twirling his flashlight and bending his head to tap in the code. "Perfectly sane."

Jonis Locherman?

He froze, hand on the security panel. The voice bounced back and forth between the walls of his mind, and Jonis could not stop himself from raising his eyes to the famed figure. She was as still as ever. "That's not possible," he said, imagining the straps of the straight-jacket tightening around his chest. That's where they put people who've lost their minds, right? For there could be no doubt—whatever it was, this was not coming from his imagination. If Jonis had ever been sure of anything, he was sure that he heard those words. And he knew that that meant his days among the sane were numbered.

Jonis Locherman? Are you there? Speak to me, please!

Certain he should run from the room—and from the voice—Jonis nevertheless felt compelled to answer. "Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step back. It's strange, Jonis thought in passing, how rational a madman might think to act in the face of his delusions!

My name is Phoebe, she replied (if it were truly the Terran Lady he was conversing with in the first place.) Jonis took another step away from the crystal column.

"What do you want?"

I want to be free.

"Free from what?"

Free from this place. Jonis felt something akin to hope flowering in his mind, and he shuddered. It was certainly not his hope; he had none left. Whatever the emotion was, it too was part of his hallucination. The voice spoke again. Can you help me?

Jonis' throat was dry. He swallowed, moving back another few feet. His head spun and he felt himself rehearsing a plan to check himself into the hospital. "You aren't real," he answered as if to remind himself. "I…I have to go." Jonis turned to the exit.

Wait! Please, don't leave!

But Jonis kept walking.

What can I do to make you believe I am real? The voice in his head was pure desperation. And despite himself, Jonis found he could not take another step. Though everything in him fought against it, he turned again to the mysterious figure. Lunatic, unhinged, mad as he was—as he must be—he could not deny such a plea. It was too heart-wrenching.

"Move," he answered, voice hushed. "Show me you're alive and I'll believe you."

I can't move. I don't know why, but I can't. Ask something else of me.

Do my hallucinations defend themselves? he thought in amazement at the wretched product of his own mind. "I need to go," Jonis said again, shaking his head. Drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, nearly blinding him. But he had not the time to blink them away before he could feel her response. Black spots like ink flickered in front of his vision, spreading until he could see nothing at all. He cried out as a dozen vivid images poured through his mind. A vast gray sky…the face of a smiling man with wide spectacles…a flash of lightning…the clouds breaking over an endless expanse of blue water…strange constellations seen through primitive telescopes…a young girl laughing in excitement…the rush and explosion of an ancient Terran space craft…an unintelligible stream of frantic conversation…a woman in tears…the press of cold steel…fire and darkness…and then…nothing.

Complete silence. Not even the sound of thought.

Then, after many ages—or it might have been only the fraction of a second—Jonis began to regain his senses. He could still feel nothing, but his ears tingled with the least vibration. Noise flooded through his mind, thousands of people chattering all at once. Gradually he learned to distinguish different voices. But there were so many, and they were all in a strange language…he listened carefully until the words made sense. He tried to move, but it was as if he had no body to direct. There was only the blackness, the voices that rose and fell with the setting of the sun, and…and…

But what was this? A new sensation…as if his thought had congealed…and become a sixth sense. A useful sense. He could hear someone walking nearby.

"You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life." The voice was ghostly.

Help! Help me! He cried silently. Let me go!

"I'll be seeing you in a few hours," said the voice again. It was fading.

No! He tried reaching out with his strange new sense. Let me go!

Jonis' eyes flew open. He fell to the floor, his hands spread in front of him to keep him from pitching forward. He was dizzy and felt sick to his stomach. The inky spots disappeared from his vision and his thoughts were returned to his own control. Very cautiously, he sucked in a breath and sat back on his heels. The entire episode had taken no more than the space of a heartbeat.

Do you believe me now?

He hardly had the strength to look up at the Lady. "All right," he panted, resting his hand against the marble wall to steady himself. "I believe you."

Then let me go, Jonis Locherman! Please! You felt what it is like! I want to be free from this!

But it was too much. Jonis heaved himself to his feet and ran from the room.