Up Against It - M. J. Locke [188]
A pretty woman in a business suit and pigtails stuck her head in the door. “Three minutes, Geoff.”
“Thanks.” The word came out in a huff of air. He pulled up his notes inwave, but his heart thudded in his chest and his stomach had knotted up. He couldn’t concentrate to read, so he sprang to his feet and paced.
“Sure is easier to be a big hero on your bike,” he said, “than to stand in front of people and act like you know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry. You’re the savior of Phocaea! Here.” She went to the wall and pointed out the different people at the hearing: names, responsibilities, attitudes, an occasional dirty secret they certainly would not want him to know. “And none of those powerful, scary, important people sitting up there have to worry anymore that everyone is going to die in agony in two weeks’ time. That’s thanks to you.” She pointed at Geoff. “They all owe you a big debt of gratitude. And they know it. Today, every single one of those people wants you to be their best buddy.”
“OK,” he said, and a reluctant smile came onto his face. “Thanks.” Then the smile faded. “But I still feel so…” He pressed a fist to his belly. He felt empty. That feeling had receded, but it was still there. He said softly, “I’d give it all up to have Carl back.”
“Of course you would.” She paused, frowning.
“The pain doesn’t go away. But it eases. Eventually. Just … you know, the old cliché. Give it time.”
Geoff felt his cheeks heat up. He wiped at his eyes. They were both silent again. He thought about the other mobster people were talking about, the one that Mr. Mills had reported to. “What do you think is going to happen to Nathan Glease?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The district attorney has filed multiple kidnapping, murder, and attempted murder charges against him. The woman he bribed, the one who tried to kill your friend Ian, has already spilled everything she knows. So have his lackeys. We have the Viridians’ recordings and testimony from his attack there, as well as mine. It’s ironclad. Thomas Harman and John Sinton will also go to prison, and the prime minister will make good use of this situation to extract major concessions from Upside-Down, too.”
She sat back down and spread her arms along the back of the couch. “So I’d say you’re off to a pretty damn good start, for a tagalong little brother who couldn’t play the drums worth a damn.” He barked out a surprised laugh.
“Give them hell for me,” she said, as the aides entered, and gave him a casual wave good-bye.
* * *
Geoff’s testimony was not the traumatic experience he expected. Jane had been right—all the politicians went easy on him. It still seemed to take forever for them to wrap up and let the witnesses leave, but finally Minister Reinforte banged his gavel and the session was adjourned for lunch. Geoff called old Moriarty the minute the session wrapped up, as he’d promised. “I’m on my way up top,” he said. “Will you let everyone know?”
“We’re all in position, kid,” Moriarty said. “We’re just waiting on the star of the event.”
“I’ll hurry.” As Geoff stepped down from his place on the witness stand, amid the bright lights and hubbub, the glamour and mites, and the noise, he glanced at his heads-up. It was 10:57 a.m. Maybe she would still be there.
When it came to Vivian, he didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but he did know one thing: he was afraid of failure.
The passengers headed for Sisyphus were in a roped-off section away from the usual lines. The lift assigned to them, a big freight one, was due to arrive in a few minutes. Geoff spotted Vivian and tethered his way swiftly across the open space to her. Some people complained and hit him with bad-sammies—the crowd control guards protested—but when they recognized him, merely asked for his autograph and then let him through.
She floated there. “Hi,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”
He looked down at her pregnant belly, in stunned embarrassment. Her gaze followed his. She shrugged. “It’s not what it seems.”
Geoff blinked. “You don’t have someone, then?”
“No.”
It was some weird Viridian