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The boring inter-non-corporate-polity meeting lasted for 2.5 day-cycles. Prior to that, I had been visiting Preservation while ART was having its drydock maintenance followed by a teaching survey trip for forty cycles with their senior students. Needless to say, I was glad of an excuse not to participate in the latter.
Mensah asked me if I'd like to accompany her to a conference on Holani K Station. She'd been taking trauma treatment for a while now (yes, I started mine, too, before you ask) and I knew she was asking me in the "I'd like your company" rather than in the "I need your company" way. I didn't dislike being needed by Mensah, but I liked seeing her strong again. Not pretending to be ok, but actually ok.
There was actually another reason why I so readily agreed to go to Holani K Station. It was used as a filming location for Thirteen Nights at The Ghost Station, a popular chiller serial from about eighteen years ago with cult following. It was actually a pretty terrible show. Low budget. Bad acting (except the one who played the secondary main character). But it was unintentionally hilarious. It was unrealistic – made worse by the promotional tagline insisting it was based on a true story. (Yeah, right.) ART suggested that its popularity was due to a B‑rated but popular actor and nostalgia‑bait set design, but I think it had something to do with the way the secondary lead appeared to be enjoying herself in a slightly self‑deprecating way, contrasting with the rest taking themselves way too seriously. We agreed that the cinematography was excellent. Even nearly twenty years ago when the serial was created, filming-on-location was quite rare, but the director was well-known for using as little artificial graphics as possible. (Not that humans would notice the difference, unlike me or ART.)
I was watching The Ghost Station for the fourth time (I've watched it once before meeting ART and twice with it) when Mensah tapped on my feed from the venue where the meeting was being wrapped up.
Hi SecUnit, we're now going to the function room to have lunch, Mensah said. Where are you?
I paused the show and replied, In the lobby behind the ikebana display. Are we leaving after the lunch?
Well, about that, Mensah said and my heart sank. Is the meeting going to continue after lunch? Maybe she's going to suggest that we stay for another day?
But Mensah said, the organisers offered a guided tour to the filming location of the drama series you were talking about. Would you like to go? I think it might be interesting. That would mean we leave here a couple of hours later than our plan. Is that okay?
I sat up in my chair. Of course I didn't fucking mind. ART would be jealous, which alone was an incentive enough.
Sure, I said, keeping my voice neutral in the feed, grateful that Mensah couldn't see my face. What time are we leaving?
Mensah didn't need to see my face. She just laughed and said she'd let me know when the lunch was nearly over.
Twenty-two humans (seventeen adults and five juveniles) and I got on a shuttle that took us to the small old station that had been replaced by the new one where the meeting was held over twenty years ago. Three of the juveniles looked to be about the age of Amena or a little younger, but the other two seemed barely adolescent, with their whiney, incessant attempt to seek attention from their parents.
Mensah politely asked if the juveniles wouldn’t get scared (if they knew the show) or bored (if they didn’t), but the parents insisted they were fine. They didn’t like the serial, but they were “used to scary games.”
Sure. Games are no more or less realistic than being on an abandoned station rumoured to be haunted. If these kids got traumatised, their caregivers could enjoy dealing with the night terrors. (Some of Mensah’s kids’ friends watch things that would make their parents go pale.) (No, I wasn’t the one who gave them the media. I can be responsible, contrary to what ART thinks.)
"Welcome to Thirteen Nights at The Ghost Station Experience," said one of the two humans in dark brown uniforms that met us at the embarkation zone. "My name is Yang-Ming and your guide for today, and this is Kono, a general support staff. Another guide Lina will join us later. Since it's not officially open and you are getting a preview before the press, I'm afraid any visual recordings are not allowed today."
Yang-Ming was about the size of Tifany from Preservation Station, while Kono was a little thinner and taller. Both had a keen and watchful expression like Tifany’s, suggesting if anybody tried to sneakily use their recording devices, they'd spot them. Fortunately, they wouldn't be able to stop me from recording everything into my memory. They cannot exactly ask me to cover my eyes after all. But I kept my drones in my pockets as courtesy to their professionalism. For now, anyway.
"The filming location experience is still being prepared but will be open to tourists in about three weeks, if everything goes according to plan," Yang-Ming added smiling around at us. "So, you are the lucky first visitors!"
Or the unlucky ones – incomplete tourist venues usually mean that safety inspection hasn't been done. (All we need is someone to declare "what could possibly go wrong" and we can skip straight to the disaster.) (But I wouldn't miss it for the world anyway.)
While Yang-Ming and Kono were handing out head protective gear to the participants (my risk assessment stat went down by a whole point), one of the juvenile humans was asking another one, presumably their sibling, about the show.
“Was it the one where the station was full of vengeful ghosts of workers who had been killed in the accident, and they come out to kill everyone when the former director of the station comes back to destroy some incriminating data?”
Juvenile Human 2 replied, “Maybe? Or the one in which a bunch of people get an invitation to some do at the station by the rich, eccentric owner, but find the owner dead, and get killed one by one.”
No, wrong answers. The vengeful ghosts’ story was called The Last Shuttle to Orbital Thirteen (why do humans like the number thirteen so much?) which was a feature-length film. It was so full of horror media tropes that ART and I placed a bet on just how many they would squeeze in by the end. (I won with twenty-one, although ART didn’t admit defeat claiming that “the one sucking up to the most obnoxious one dies” trope and “the one sucking up to the most obnoxious one dies first” should be counted separately.) The one with the invitation was a limited serial called And Then Silence Falls in LeviHolin, which was actually quite good. And no, they didn’t find the host dead, the host remained absent until the last five minutes.
I wasn’t going to correct them, but was relieved when Kono said, “Oh, these are great shows but not Thirteen Nights at The Ghost Station. It’s about a corporate security ship The Orienton, on its way to transport a prisoner loses navigation with the life support system failing and ends up at a nearest station.”
“Ah now I remember,” said one of the adult participants with exceptionally large, floppy ears, “the station had been in a serious accident and abandoned, only kept as an emergency outpost. They send out a message buoy to their home base, but must disembark and wait at the station for thirteen days.”
Kono nodded as she helped secure a small helmet to a small human. “Yes, but while they’re waiting, people who’d died in the incident come out and haunt them, making them lose sense of reality and start attacking each other. Only the medical officer keeps their cool and tries to protect them.”
The Floppy Ears said with a smirk, “It’s ironic that they only manage to save the captain and the prisoner unscathed while most of the others die, wasn’t it?”
Mensah, who happened to be standing next to Floppy and received the smirk politely smiled back and said, “I liked the prisoner the best. He’s the most cynical one and manages to miss all the cues by the ghosts, which was quite funny.”
She was quite right. The prisoner was the only one that kept the show grounded. Contrary to the creators’ expectation, the very good-looking captain irritated the audience, while the medical officer and the prisoner captured their heart.
Once everyone got the protective headgear and hi-vis vest (obviously, the juvenile humans protested that they made them look stupid) (they would be stupider if they were going to roam this place without them, they were told, correctly), we left the embarkation hall towards a dimly lit corridor. Based on the map I downloaded from the station’s SecSystem, I knew we were heading towards the junction to the commercial area and beyond to the escalators going up to the offices and habitation floors. Something about the old appearance of this station reminded me of Milu which somehow prepared me to getting assaulted (that’s how it felt) by popup ads by the markers as we passed the junction. The humans made noises of surprise, and Mensah briefly grabbed my arm (I wouldn’t recommend humans grabbing a SecUnit like that, but I knew it was by startle reflex and also it was Mensah, so, yeah), but they didn’t seem to mind that much, commenting on how quaintly old-fashioned the ads were. (I still hated the marker ads. This one even gave me chills.)
Two humans came from the direction of the maintenance corridor and one of them spoke to Yang-Ming briefly about the engineering rooms out of bounds to the visitors, and walked on to the direction of the Port Authority office. The other was a small human with brown skin in the same brown and joined at the back of our group where Kono was bringing up the rear. Kono was talking to one of the adults there but nodded to this newcomer, so I guessed this must be the other guide, Lina. She looked young, barely older than Amena, but what do I know? I can never tell human’s age by their appearance.
Anyway, Yang-Ming led us to the escalators as I had guessed. It was an old-fashioned moving-stairs type instead of the semi-enclosed pods usually used in stations this size. The steps rose out of the floor, lifted us, then folded back under. I’ve seen footage of humans nearly getting sucked into these things when their clothing got caught. Fucking dangerous.
The tour was interesting and Yang-Ming turned out to be quite a good guide. She showed us the places like the cargo lift where the most obnoxious character was trapped, the shabby hotel bar where the captain talked with a manipulative ghost pretending to be a bartender, the utility corridor with a trash chute from where the corporate security fell to their death, and so on. She sent us the short clips of the serial to our feed so that we could compare what we saw with them.
“Are you enjoying the tour?” Mensah asked me in a quiet voice as we stood around the little balcony overlooking the foyer below (I edged closer to the little humans who were trying to climb the parapet for a better view, ready to grab them since their stupid guardians were too busy looking down themselves).
“Yes, surprisingly,” I replied honestly. “How about you? You don’t like this genre of media.”
Tano and Farai liked horror/chiller media, especially when they were very unrealistic, so Mensah sometimes watched with them, but I knew she was often secretly scared from the way she was tensing up. Her marital partners knew it, of course, so they usually sat on both sides of her in a comforting way. Once, Tano had to step out half way through a horror show to tend to a sick farm animal, asking me to take their place. At particularly tense moments, Mensah sat pressed hard against me and I got sprinkled with some snack items that spilled from the container every time she jerked at some jump-scare bits. Mensah explained that she did enjoy watching them, but couldn’t help her reactions. I didn’t mind that at all.
“I’m not a horror show fan but I do enjoy watching them with my family and friends,” Mensah replied. “I enjoyed The Ghost Station, particularly the parts where Yusifa (the prisoner) was arguing with the ghosts in the dining room, not at all scared. I also liked that ghost with the music box.”
Before I could respond, Floppy butted in with, “Oh, I couldn’t stand that stupid kid. Not only did she die a stupid death trying to retrieve that useless broken music box, but she also tried to kill the others after becoming a ghost.”
“That’s not what happened,” I snapped, unable stop myself. “Linh went back because it was the only thing she had from her dead parents. She wouldn’t have died if the supervisor hadn’t triggered the hatch’s closing sequence in panic.”
“She would have made it if she hadn’t gone back,” Floppy insisted. “And she was taking it out on the Orienton’s passengers out of misplaced grudge.”
“That’s a curious interpretation,” said the parent of one of the small humans, finally dragging their kid away from the parapet. “I thought she was just trying to draw attention, having been lonely for so long.”
Lina, the second guide, looked as though she was about to say something, but Kono gave her a tiny headshake, and she shut her mouth.
Mensah said, “I thought Linh was trying to save them by warning them off the faulty emergency hatch. She didn’t expect the assistant pilot to get startled and fall.”
“Oh, it was intentional,” Floppy said stubbornly. “Revenge. The pilot looked like her old supervisor.”
Moron. Why would Linh take revenge on a human completely unrelated to her death? She’d looked distraught when the assistant pilot fell and tried to summon help. It wasn’t her fault the others couldn’t see her.
Juvenile Human 3 bounced impatiently and said, “Can we see the creepy corridor with the emergency hatch?”
“Sure,” Yang-Ming said after checking the work schedule. The families with small children opted out, so Kono and Lina took them back while the rest of us followed Yang-Ming down a narrow, ill-lit staircase. The juveniles ran ahead. Mensah and I fell behind a little, and when I offered my hand, she took it with a grateful smile. By the next landing, the others had already vanished around a corner, though we could still hear their voices and footsteps echoing in the distance.
As we passed a dark doorway to (according to the map I got) the maintenance walkway, Mensah flinched. I turned and saw Lina standing there awkwardly. I was pretty certain she wasn’t there 1.4 seconds ago when I glanced.
“How the hell did you come here so quickly?” I said, more accusingly than I’d intended. “You were at the embarkation hall with the rest.”
Lina looked surprised but grinned happily. “You can see me, too?”
I unintentionally had an eye contact with her. “Of course, I can. Lina the guide, aren’t you?”
Mensah exhaled tremulously. “Thank deity, it’s not just me, then.”
What?
“I’m not Lina,” said not-Lina. “I’m Linh. It was good of you two to defend the media version of me.”
“But,” I stammered, not because of my act-like-a-human codes, “Linh in Thirteen Nights at The Ghost Station was an adolescent human ghost.” Not the smartest comment under the circumstance, I admit, but it felt rude to say “but you’re not real”.
“Creative adjustment, innit?” Linh grinned. “For your information, I didn’t get killed to get my music box. The stupid supervisor told me to fetch it for her. But I’m not here out of grudge or anything like that. Supervisor tried to unseal the hatch when she realized what she’d done. It was quite chaotic.”
“May I ask why you are here, then?” Mensah asked as we all resumed descending the stairs carefully.
“Dunno,” said Linh, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe because I’m just not ready to move on? I didn’t much like the job here, but I liked this station. I enjoy watching what they are doing here now. And I made a friend, too.”
“A friend?” Mensah asked in surprise, but I suddenly realised whom she’d meant, which was soon confirmed. When we finished our descent and reached the end of the inadequately lit corridor, Kono came to check on us, now over ninety meters behind Yang-Ming’s group.
“Oh, hi Kono,” Linh said happily. “I was just showing these two the way back.”
Kono halted on the spot and stared at us.
“You see Linh?”
We just nodded.
Kono looked impressed. “It’s usually small kids that can see the departed. It’s rare for grownups to see them. Only some among those who are empathetic and had had near-death experience.”
“You almost died?” I asked.
“Nah, I’m special,” said Kono smugly. “I’ve been gifted that way all my life.”
Mensah looked impressed. “It’s nice that you can see it so positively. I feel a little ashamed the way I was so alarmed. I’d always thought ghosts existed because they couldn’t move on, trapped by something that made them sad or angry.”
So did I. Or rather, I’d thought ghosts were fictional. Not real.
“How did you know Linh wasn’t … a live human?” I asked Mensah.
“I noticed that people around her acted like she wasn’t there – no one looked at her when she spoke.”
Huh. I don’t look at humans when they are talking but then that’s just me, I guess.
“Exactly. The kiddies were talking to me,” said Linh. “Usually Kono can help me out, but others were talking to her so she couldn’t step in. And the parents started to freak out, so I had to leave.”
“Let’s make some plans, since things like that might happen more often once The Ghost Station Experience opens,” Kono said to Linh.
“Let them freak out,” I suggested. I was joking but only half-joking. Personally, I wouldn’t have hated seeing Floppy freak out. It would’ve been hilarious.
“Yeah, maybe not a bad idea,” agreed Kono. “People make assumptions that ghosts are scary and out for vengeance. It’d be good if they realised that there is one like Linh who is kind, fun, and great to be with.”
“I think I know exactly what you mean,” Mensah said softly and gently squeezed my hand that she was still holding, causing me to have emotions.
I very softly squeezed back.
Maybe non-vengeful ghosts are more common than humans think. Same as rogue SecUnits who don’t do murderous rampage. Maybe they just need humans to treat them as a person, too.