Glob the organizer pulled themselves together—literally. Somewhat reluctantly, he sent out pulsations of a wail summoning any like-minded component entities wafting in the wispy Martian wind. He long since preferred sailing alone around his beloved, red planet in the mobile, ghostly afterlife of the microbe he had once been.

While he occasionally missed his previous one-celled life on the wet and wild Arean surface, he loved this refreshing frosty solitude, the way the pale, pink sun fought its way through the thin, dusty, carbon dioxide air. Most of all he loved the effect the dust had on him, giving his ghostly substance feelings of strength and euphoria. As a dust-permeated ghost, he sensed a million comforting shades of pinkish orange, all intertwined, merging and blending with each other. Their reliability soothed his anxieties when erratic plumes of methane bumped him off his intended course.

The cold that had killed his previous self was all-pervasive, but it empowered and steeled his ghostly resolve, night temperatures when the carbon dioxide dropped out of the atmosphere as mischievous snowflakes being conducive to reflective thought. There were many advantages to being dead, as contrasted with living as a fragile, single microorganism joined together in the unified mega-creature that had been but one part of the planet Mars.

The dust made him appreciate the radiation he had never noticed as a wet microbe. Gamma ray bursts tickled the fringes of his phantom boundaries. Cosmic rays energized him, sent him on a roller coaster ride racing around the planet. Nothing gave him a bigger thrill than buzzing Olympus Mons or diving into the depths of the Valles Marineris. Solar energetic particles induced an almost embarrassing pantheistic passion, making him love the whole universe.

In death and covered lightly with dust, Glob had always been comforted by the hush of the Martian surface, the soft sounds of ethereal wind and dust scratching the red rocks, the occasional low groan of marsquakes deep below. As a dusty ghost, he felt vibrations he had never noticed in his living form. Regular, recurring tremors from the planet's core put him to sleep, and surprise noises from meteorite impacts jolted him into a state of enhanced awareness, not necessarily unpleasant, but occasionally tiring.

In any case, now it was once again time to abandon his unencumbered single state and reassemble, hoping to attract congenial entities for his determined course. Unfortunately, he couldn't accomplish everything alone. Only millions of ghostly microbes joined together possessed heightened powers. More importantly, Glob often still simply enjoyed the company.

A ghostly form outlined by the electrostatic, caustic, reddish dust gradually drew itself together, but ever since that asteroid Armageddon billions of years ago, the now living-dead Martian life forms had the luxury of taking their sweet, Arean time. Once you were dead anyway, there was no reason to hurry anything. Plus, the dust covering millions of entangled ghostly microbes induced considerably more intense feelings than the dust over one lonely ghost.

For activities as an astral composite, Glob preferred the one-celled microbe shape of his previous life. However, guiding the herd as a composite ghost he had learned to consent to the majority of entities who answered his call to join up when it came to appearances.

Oops, he had picked up Stonk with the smell fetish again. Even way back as a life-form Stonk had been one pain in the protoplasm. As usual, he would probably insist on their assuming the spectral form of a shape-shifting dust devil that stirred up the sand every time it hit the ground, dust alone never being enough for him.

Stonk would never learn to show any consideration for the desires of others, and as of this point in millennia Glob didn't want to be bothered with trivialities. Another infernal, soulless machine had disturbed their frozen paradise, ugly, metal monstrosities all of them. Glob couldn't take any more. Enough was enough, and it was time for action, if not by all the Martian ghosts he could persuade to assemble, then alone.

The living microbes hadn't appreciated the marauding asteroid poundings at the time. After all, they killed what had been successful and joyous life forms, sent their watery home down to the planetary core, and left their previously fertile world a frozen, barren land. To their surprise though, those microbes had then discovered a new kind of existence after death. Billions of years of experience showed the living-dead microbes the pleasures of non-corporeality, especially freedom from the restrictions of their previously fragile bodies and covered with euphoria-inducing dust.

Alone or assembled together, the ghosts were indestructible and long since united with the planet, though unlike before. As ghosts, they noticed the newest invasions just like the planet did. Glob groaned after every impact, shuddered with every vibration from spinning wheels, from every forced penetration by sharp instruments.

The impact of asteroids or meteorites was always a one-time event that the ghost microbes could endure and recover from. These new metal machines were a never-ending annoyance, with their scratching violations of the planet's surface. Just thinking about these alien constructs made Glob itch.

Glob couldn't endure the spectacle of ugly, gray, foreign structures anymore, metal that never was and never would be part of the planet. Abomination!

Glob noted gratefully that several million former microbes had now joined together under his leadership, as had often been the case in the past. He sensed that other ghosts were also forming, probably organized by microbes who weren't on his wavelength. A row of tall, reddish apparitions now stood on the frozen slopes of sand. One of them, with the general shape of Ascraeus Mons, quavered in the wind.

"What is the crisis this time?" Nem transmitted an impatient thought in Glob's direction. Glob noted that Nem's mass was definitely smaller than his. No wonder that reassembled ghost felt the need to take the shape of a mountain. He could obviously no longer command the loyalty and popularity he once enjoyed. And there only seemed to be nine ghosts altogether instead of the twenty they had once been. Well, there was nothing Glob could do about apathy.

"We have to do something about the invaders," he transmitted back angrily, trying to ignore the entities that were suddenly abandoning him, even though their loss made him feel queasy. Typical for immature ghosts. Billions of years of existence and they still dashed off like errant DNA strands every time there was work to do.

The Ascraeus Mons ghost shrugged as the dust rose slightly in the thin air before falling back down. "We're ghosts; what do you expect us to do with alien lumps of metal that fall out of the sky? And why should we do anything at all?"

Glob's rage shook his dust devil form. "They're ruining the planet. We can do all kinds of things. We can whip up the winds and bury the structures in the sand. We can urge the planet to open up and swallow each new invader; we can unite all our forces and send a telepathic command to get whoever is sending them to stop."

A third ghostly form shook and dissipated, but not before transmitting: "You're an idiot, Glob. We can ignore the occasional garbage dump from another planet. Why should we provoke them into sending even more invaders?"

Glob tried to control his frustration; he didn't want all the component microbes he had assembled into his ghostly form to flee. Although he hated to admit it, there was a certain strength and stability in numbers. "These metal monstrosities are destroying our home. I can't stand seeing them; I can't stand hearing them; I can't stand running into them. They don't belong here. We have to get rid of the pests we already have and make sure that no new ones come."

The row of apparitions melted away quickly. Soon only Nem with his fake Ascraeus Mons shape remained. "Hey, Glob, give it up," Nem called. "Why can't you just ignore a few pieces of useless garbage? Mars is big enough; you can just disregard the little invaders."

"You don't understand," Glob insisted. "I know they are there; their presence invades my feelings; it affects everything I do; it diminishes the pleasure I get from the dust. No matter where I go, the objects are in my way. These unnatural monstrosities destroy the harmony between the planet and the ghosts whose living cells were once part of it."

"It sounds like these inanimate objects are haunting you," Rem shook with amusement. "You got it backwards. You're the ghost; you should be haunting the machines, not the other way around."

"You don't understand," Glob said. "I can't take it here anymore with these, these abominations!"

"Well," Rem paused. "My guess is that they will keep coming. So either you get used to them or leave. But do you really want to give up your home of billions of years just because of a minor annoyance?"

Glob reflected as the other ghostly microbes dissipated. Later, having given it enough thought, he called for an assembly of all microbes, adding that he had come to a decision and needed their help. Since the microbes had been a fairly tolerant and congenial lot in life, this time they all showed up and assembled into a group of twenty ghosts, each one a copy of the dust devil form.

Glob began, "I've given it some thought, and have decided that Rem is right. I can't stand it here anymore with the metal invaders, they aren't going to disappear, you won't help me get rid of them, and so I have to leave. I need your help to propel me to Phobos from the top of Olympus Mons. Together we can absorb enough radiation to give me the necessary momentum."

Rem shook his composite shape. "Isn't that like cutting out your nucleus to spite your membrane? A few pieces of trash in the sand and you want to leave your home and your friends?"

Glob answered, "The trash has ruined my home, and everything has changed. I have to leave."

Rem said, "Aren't you forgetting that we owe our ghostly existence to the fact that things changed pretty suddenly a few billion years ago? Things always change."

Glob insisted, "I can't live with these changes. Will you help me get to Phobos or not?"

"If you're sure," Rem said. "We can propel you there, but we can't get you back. You'll be all alone on that potato-shaped excuse for a moon for who knows how long. Is it really worth losing connection with all of us just to get away from these few rubbish heaps?"

"Haven't you noticed?" Glob asked. "For the last billion years or so we've assembled less and less often into mega-ghosts. I think we're all slowly turning into one-celled hermit ghosts, me just faster than the rest of you. I want to leave, and I want to leave now."

"It's your ghostly existence," Rem conceded.

Slowly all the ghosts coalesced, creating one gigantic apparition that floated up the Olympus Mons. Eventually a wayward gamma ray burst provided the energy necessary to push Glob into the path of the closest moon, where he landed shortly thereafter.

To his relief he could no longer sense the metal invaders. Phobos was completely silent. However, Phobos turned out to be a monotonous place, no atmosphere and so no wind, no planetary core and so no quakes. Worst of all, there was no pleasure-inducing dust. The moon was just a lonely pile of rubble with no personality, no irritations, and nothing of interest.

Glob quickly learned what boredom meant. He felt nothing. He could fly around the moon in a matter of seconds, and it always looked the same. There were no mountains, no gorges, and no thick sheets of carbon dioxide ice to slide down. The rocks stayed gray, and the sky stayed black, hour after hour, year after year. There was no planetary core, no movement of areomorphic layers of rocks beneath the surface. Without the dust, he couldn't feel the moon at all.

After a while, Glob quit exploring. He decided to accept his solitary refuge, never allowing himself to regret the lack of contact with his ghostly microbe friends on Mars and the lack of heightened perception from the Martian dust. It was less a matter of pride than of giving in to a grim reality.

But as it turned out, his solitary seclusion was shorter than he expected. A sudden swarm of meteors slammed into Phobos and vastly increased its tidal deceleration. As a result, the impact of the pile of rubble that had once been Phobos created thousands of holes in the Martian surface and Glob was home again, unfortunately at the bottom of the Valles Marineris, immediately energized by the dust.

By the time he navigated his way up, taking several wrong turns through the randomly jutting rocks, Glob was overwhelmed and confused by sensations. Thousands of foreign metal objects clanked, thundered, and expelled electrical impulses. The vibrations seemed to emerge from all over the planet. One quick flight confirmed this suspicion. Mars had become completely infested with the alien structures in an unreasonably short timeframe. The invaders climbed up the mountains, they dug their way down the crevices, and they stood on posts driven into the ice sheets at the poles.

Making a futile effort to shut out the dust-amplified sensations from the metal objects, Glob noticed communications he hadn't detected for billions of years. There were genuine, animate life-forms on the planet! And their telepathic noise was muffling the vibrations from the metal garbage. What on Mars …

Glob sent out a call to his ghost microbe associates but had to wait an unaccustomed length of time for any replies. At this point he had to admit to himself how much he missed his friends, missed assembling with random groups of ghostly microbes. Together they were always more than he was alone, even if he had to put up with some very annoying former component parts.

Eventually a reddish, dust devil shape assembled on some rocks in front of him and Stonk blurted out, "Glob! Great to have you back!" Glob was amazed that Stonk now took on leadership responsibilities. Things had really changed.

Glob held onto his solitary microbe form and asked, "What's going on? Where are the rest of the ghost microbes? And where are the animate life-form communications coming from?"

Stonk's ghostly composite quavered with amusement, "You won't believe it! The metal monsters you hated so much started coming here with life-forms a few decades ago. It's the greatest time we've had since that planetoid created the Tharsis Bulge."

"Why?" Glob asked. "Wasn't the metal garbage bad enough when it was at least biologically sanitary?"

"You're still an idiot," Stonk replied. "The metal crates started bringing living creatures with them. Living creatures! That's what we've been missing all these billions of years. Ghosts need living creatures to haunt, and these clueless immigrants are the best, all of them scientists and engineers who refuse to believe in ghosts. The slightest obviously eerie action from us terrifies them because they can't explain it. This is fun and games like you never imagined.

"And you won't believe the smells these creatures give off, especially if you warm them up enough. I can't get enough of it.

"That's why it took us so long to answer your call," he continued. "We're all on constant haunting sprees and never want to quit. I persuaded some old friends of yours to join me and meet up with you for old times' sake, but we don't want to interrupt our fun for long."

Glob floated indecisively in the familiar dusty air, almost paralyzed by the excitement he sensed. The communications from unknown living creatures were a little intoxicating, not nearly as unpleasant as the sensations from the metal structures. "I'm not sure," he said. "How do you know anything about these life-forms, anyway?"

"That's the beauty of it," Stonk elaborated. "These life-forms are much more fragile than we ever were. They die at the slightest inconvenience, like lack of oxygen, air pressure, or heat. A little innocent radiation, and they croak within the year.

"And after they die, these mega-multi-celled creatures become really complex ghosts. When you assemble with them, you become a part of something you could never even imagine. They love to join up with us; we show them how to be ghosts on Mars, how to absorb the dust as ghosts, and they tell us how we can haunt the other life-forms.

"Come on, try it," he continued. "Right now we're all connected with Gertie here. She was an astronomer in life and has stories to tell that you'll never believe. Join up with us and we'll all go haunt Frank, her old nemesis at the observatory on Pavonis Mons. Gertie has some really gruesome ideas about how to drive Frank crazy."

After boredom and dust deprivation on an unchanging Phobos for far too long, Glob was finally ready for a major change. "I'm in," he said. "What do we do first?"

And so the haunting continued.