There is a ghost in the machine.
Not in the philosophical way, the separation of mind and body. No, there is a ghost in the machine, haunting the engine. The ship which he haunts runs well, runs good, so often he is alone in the engine. He finds solace in the hums of his coffin, in the dull light from fixtures which should have been replaced years ago, even before him. The ghost is lonely, yes, though he can’t recall if he ever wasn’t. But he grows bored, after a time. So he tries to leave.
The ship isn’t unfamiliar to him. He knows the model well, long hours he used to spend pouring over any blueprints he could find. The ghost could find his way through the halls easily, walking slowly, paying no mind as the light he passed flickered.
The ship had a crew, as many did, and the ghost found them quickly. They could not hear him, could not see him, could not feel him beyond a passing discomfort of cold, and the ghost felt a sobering pang of anger. He was there, right there, and nothing he could do would make them notice him. He could scream, scream louder than he ever had, and the most he would get in response was a small “Drafty in here, isn’t it?”
The ghost was alone. The feeling was different from being lonely. He was not used to being alone.
He lashed out, affecting all that he could. The lights would flicker, the systems would shut down, the oxygen only barely turning back on as the crew had turned blue in the face. He threw stuff, but found he could not pick up much. The little strength he had had in life was stripped away from him, and it only fueled the ghosts' fury.
The first crew grew scared of him, and when they realized they could not get him out, tried their hardest to leave as quickly as possible.
And the ghost was alone again.
Being alone around the living was much different than being alone in empty halls, he found. He wasn't sure which he disliked more. Guilt settled in during the days following the crew’s departure, and the ghost found himself back in the engine, hiding, pretending that he was just lonely. Agonizing over every action he had made in anger. The ghost did not leave again for quite a long time, though he had no real grasp on how long.
The ship was a good ship, though, and eventually more filled its halls. The ghost watched them as they found their way down to his room, inspecting the engine and cursing the lights like he had many times before. He doubted they would replace them, it would be a meaningless expense considering how infrequently anyone but the ghost was here, but he let himself entertain a small hope that they would.
This time, the ghost followed when they left the engine. The crew was smaller than before, maybe a handful of people who clearly were only together because they had to be. The ghost realized that all of them were alone, too, and this time he did not lash out in anger. He instead waited and watched.
This crew did not like each other, that much was clear, and as they went about their jobs often times people would leave and new people would join. While the ghost did not have an instant anger for this crew, he did have a growing resentment. Door stayed closed longer than they should, the power would go out at inopportune times, lights flickered.
At first the crew blamed it on the ship, and then, when no other explanation could be found, they blamed it on him, and again scrambled for the exit.
Again. And again. And again. Crews would stay for only short amounts of time before the ghost could no longer stand them in his ship, and he would make them leave by any means necessary. The ghost was angry. The ghost was alone.
The ghost was scared.
He retreated back into the engine. At least that was familiar to him. At least there he could feel the warmth of the protection his coffin offered him from the dirt of his grave and the cold of space. But it did not make him any less scared.
Someday he would be too far gone. Someday new footsteps wouldn’t fill his ears when he listened oh so closely through senses that weren't his. Someday he would be alone, and he wouldn’t come back from it. He wondered if that might be better, to not have people to scare off? To lash out at? His fear fueled his anger fueled his loneliness, but without anywhere to direct it it just festered.
He could not sleep. He had not been able to for a while. But he could pretend, could close off his senses and just be. He was the ship, after all. Strings of numbers that he could manipulate at a whim, at a will .
He smiled to himself.
Hah
At a will.
The ghost closed his eyes, and he waited. There would be a new crew. There had to be. And when they came, everything would happen again. And he would be alone, just like he was now. The cycle would continue and it would continue for god knew how long. There was nothing else for him to do. Nothing but to wait.
So he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And
“Hey Ashe?” Dakota asked, poking his head out of the door. “Come look at what I found.”
She walked over, looking over his shoulder at the screen of a computer. It was old, much like the rest of the ship, but not ancient. They could definitely work with it, fix it up. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing.
Dakota was looking at text files, and Ashe squinted. Reading through a few of the lines she realized it was poetry. Maybe something the prior crew had forgotten to wipe? Next to her, Dakota cleared his throat.
“The endless dark where my days are spent, in truth this wasn't really what I meant. Why am I still awake, when I am not breathing? Why am I still hearing, when my heart isn’t beating? Am I still here, is this just a dream? Why can't you hear me, even when I-”
Before he can finish the final line, the computer shuts off, prompting a loud “Hey!” from Dakota, as though the computer had done it on purpose. Ashe laughed quietly to herself, standing up from where she had been leaning down to read along. “Can’t really blame the ship for its own disrepair, dude.”
He hummed, brow furrowed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“sh*tty poetry from an old crew member, I guess. Hope that guy got better.”
The lights flicker.
Okay, maybe the ship was in worse condition than she had initially assumed.
Dakota sighed dramatically, spinning the chair he was sitting in around to face Ashe. “Dude can we take a break from unpacking and checking vitals and sh*t to eat dinner? I’m starved.”
“Sure.” She held back a laugh as Dakota’s entire expression changed, lighting up, and he launched himself out of the chair into the direction of the kitchen. Ashe gave one last glance to the computer, a small feeling of unease in her stomach. The room was cold, colder than was comfortable. Maybe they should prioritize figuring out the temperature control system.
Or maybe that was faulty too. Dakota’s room was the only one that was cold.
