Ghost Story

she doesn’t look fantastic. Anyone with eyes can see that, and I’ve always been the kind of person who can appreciate gorgeous scenery without feeling a need to go camping in it.

Actually, glancing around, there were about half a dozen Mollys, all of them wearing old sixties miniskirt uniforms, each of them manning a different station. The one who had opened the door had jet-black hair in a neat, almost mathematical, gamine-style cut and slightly pointed ears.

“Star Trek?” I asked her. “Really?”

“What?” she demanded, bending unnaturally black eyebrows together.

“There are two kinds of people in the universe, Molly,” I said. “Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans. This is shocking.”

She sniffed. “This is the post-nerd-closet world, Harry. It’s okay to like both.”

“Blasphemy and lies,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me with Nimoysian perfection and went back to her station.

Communications Officer Molly, in a red uniform with a curly black fro and a silver object the size of a toaster in her ear, said, “Quadrant four is below five percent, and the extra pressure is being directed at quadrant three.”

Captain Molly, in her gold outfit, with her hair in a precise Jacqueline Onassis do, spun the bridge chair toward Communications Molly and said, “Pull out everything and shift it to quadrant three ahead of them.” The chair spun back toward Science Officer Molly. “Set off the nukes in four.”

Science Molly arched an eyebrow, askance.

“Oh, hush. I’m the captain, you’re the first officer, and that’s that,” snapped Captain Molly. “We’re fighting a war here. So set off the nukes. Hi, Harry.”

“Molly,” I said. “Nukes?”

“I was saving them as a surprise,” she said.

There was a big TV screen at the front of the room—not a flat-screen. A big, slightly curved old CRT. It went bright white all of a sudden.

“Ensign,” Captain Molly said.

Ensign Molly, dressed in a red uniform, wearing braces on her teeth, and maybe ten years younger than Captain Molly, twiddled some of the dials that didn’t do anything, and the bright white light dimmed down.

From outside, there was a long scream. An enormous one. Like, Godzilla-sized, or maybe bigger.

Everyone on the bridge froze. A brass section from nowhere played an ominous sting: bahm- pahhhhhhhhhhm.

“You’re kidding,” I said, looking around. “A sound track?”

“I don’t mean to,” Ensign Molly said in a strained, teenager tone. She had a Russian accent that sounded exactly like Sanya. “I watched show too much when I was kid, okay?”

“Your brain is a very strange place,” I said. I meant it as a compliment, and it showed in my voice. Ensign Molly gave me a glowing grin and turned back to her station.

I walked to the right-hand side of the captain’s chair and folded my arms. The screen came up to light again, showing a devastated section of the city grid. No, not decimated. Had that part of the city been decimated, one out of every ten buildings would be destroyed. That’s what decimated means. Personally, I think some early-years, respected television personality got decimated and devastated confused at some point, and no one wanted to point it out to him, so everyone started using them interchangeably. But dammit, words mean what they mean, even if everyone thinks they ought to mean something else.

Science Molly spoke in a grim voice. “Nuclear detonation confirmed. Enemy forces in quadrant four have been decimated, Captain.”

I pressed my lips firmly together.

“Thank you, Number One,” Captain Molly said, spinning back to face the front. “Harry, um. Help?”

“Not sure what I can do, grasshopper,” I told her seriously. “I barely managed to steal a bathroom rug from some rubble and whip up a flying carpet. Her stuff goes right through me, and vice versa.”

She looked at me for a moment, and I saw the same look of fear flicker over every face on the bridge. Then she took a deep breath, nodded, and turned to face the front. She started giving smooth orders, and her other selves replied in calm, steady voices.

After a few moments, Captain Molly said, “If you aren’t here to . . . I mean, if you can’t help, why are you here?”

“Because you’re here,” I said calmly. “Least I can do is stand with you.”

“If she wins . . .” Captain Molly swallowed. “You’ll die.”

I snorted and flashed her a grin. “Best thing about being a spook, grasshopper. I’m already dead.”

“Quadrant three is collapsing,” Communications Officer Molly reported. “Quadrant two is at twenty percent.”

Captain Molly bit her lip.

“How many quadrants?” I asked her.

“Four,” she said. “Since, you know. Quadrants.”

I wanted to say something about decimated, but I didn’t. “We’re in quadrant one?”

Captain Molly nodded. “I . . . don’t think I can stop her, Harry.”

“Fight’s not over until it’s over, kid,” I said. “Don’t let her beat you. Make her work for it.”

Science Molly said, in a firm tone, “Death is not the only consequence here. Should the Corpsetaker prevail, she will have full access to our talents, abilities, memories, and knowledge. Even though we have spent the last months distancing ourselves from others to insulate against a situation such as this one, the Corpsetaker could still inflict considerable damage on not only our friends and family, but on complete innocents. That is unacceptable, Captain.”

Captain Molly looked from Science Molly to me and then said, “The fight isn’t over yet. Prepare the Omega Bomb, but do not deploy.”

“Aye, aye,” said Science Molly, and she stood up and strode to the other side of the bridge—and an old wooden cabinet beside an old wooden door.

I blinked at it. “Wow. That’s . . . kind of out of theme.”

Captain Molly coughed loudly. “That? That’s nothing to worry about. Pay it no mind.”

I watched Science Molly get a device the size of a small microwave out of the old cabinet and push one button on it. Then she set it on the console next to her.

“Um,” I said. “Omega Bomb?”

“The Corpsetaker doesn’t get me,” Captain Molly said in a firm tone. “Ever.”

“And it’s in that old wooden cabinet because . . . ?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Captain Molly dismissively. “Ensign, bring up the screen for quadrant two.”

I eased away from Captain Molly as she kept commanding the battle, and went over to stand next to Science Molly. “Um. The captain doesn’t seem to want me to know about that door.”

“Definitely not,” said Science Molly, also in confidential tones. “It’s a need-to-know door.”

“Why?”

“Because if you know about it, you’re one of the ones who needs to know about it,” she replied calmly. “And if you don’t, it’s better that you not know. The captain feels you’ve suffered enough.”

“Suffered enough?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“I have nothing further to say on the subject,” said Science Molly.

“It’s my fault,” Ensign Molly said. “Sorry. Look, I don’t mean to, with the cabinet and the door, okay? But I can’t help it.”

You ever get that feeling you’re standing in a room full of crazy people?

I got that feeling. It isn’t a very nice feeling.

I stared at the door and the old wooden cabinet. It wasn’t a particularly outstanding door in any way—a standard hanging door, if rather old and battered. Ditto the cabinet. Both had been stained a medium brown, apparently a very long time ago. Both were covered with dings and dents, not as though something had tried to