Up Against It - M. J. Locke [24]
His parents, Sal and Dierdre Agre, lurched to their feet at the sound.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dad demanded. “What are you doing? We are going to have to pay for that!”
But Mom shoved past Dad with a cry and grabbed Geoff. “We were worried sick! Thank God you’re all right.” Geoff wrapped his arms around her. Mom’s shoulders shook and her tears left wet spots on his shirt. For a moment, he thought they already knew about Carl, but Dad turned away, frowning and gesturing in a way that told Geoff he was trying to make a call. “Dammit, pick up.”
Carl’s not going to answer, Geoff wanted to say. But he couldn’t force the words out. A rock-hard knot had formed in his throat. He glanced toward his room. The door felt like another black hole. He’d shared the tiny space with Carl. He went and stood at the door, and felt his parents’ stares on his back.
Everything was just as they had left it that morning. It was all so ordinary. Carl was organized. Tidy. Unlike Geoff, whose clothes and belongings were scattered all over. Geoff started picking up his things, stuffing them in the locker. Sorry, Carl. I left the room a mess on your last day. The world’s worst brother. In the front room, Dad and Mom got into a fight over why Carl wasn’t answering and what to do next, which Geoff tried to tune out. He sat down at his desk and called up his waveface.
Kam had already posted the video of the dancing skeletons—anonymously, of course—on the local wave hangout. There were already thousands of views and over eight hundred comments—most of them raves. Geoff called up the video and watched the ensuing bone dance. It was hard to believe that was his handiwork, getting all that attention.
At some point during his parents’ argument, Dad left. Almost immediately thereafter, the doorbell rang. Mom didn’t answer right away; maybe she thought it was Dad again, or maybe she was on the toilet or something. So Geoff went back into the front room and opened the door.
It was Commissioner Jane. Her russet skin was wan, but her expression composed. She dressed formally in a long silvery grey vest and leggings, and carried what looked like a real smoked turkey.
Mom walked in from her room, holding out her hands. “Jane! What brings you here?” But her pleased smile vanished at her friend’s expression.
“Geoff,” the commissioner said. “Dee.” She set the turkey down and took Mom’s outstretched hands. “I’m afraid I have hard news.”
Mom took a step back. “No.”
“Carl was killed in the disaster, up top.”
Mom went ashen. “It’s a mistake.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“It can’t be right.”
Commissioner Jane said nothing. Mom bent her face into her hands, rigid. Geoff shifted. The motion caught the commissioner’s eye. She turned her nickel grey gaze to him. “I’m so sorry.”
Eventually they’d find out he had been there when Carl had died, and then they’d know he had spent a half hour in their company afterward without telling them. They’d wonder whether he had done everything he could to save him. He’d fucked up. Again.
Geoff hunched his shoulders. “Thanks,” he said.
Commissioner Jane sat next to Geoff’s mom and covered her hand. Mom hadn’t moved yet. Geoff felt when she did, she might explode. He got up and went back into his room, dropped fully clothed onto his bunk. Burn hot.
It had been he, Geoff, who was supposed to die young. Not Carl. He fell into a deep sleep that lasted eighteen hours.
4
Jane Navio heard the Voice late Wednesday evening as she jetted home along the commuter treeway that fanned out among the asteroids of the Phocaean cluster.
This summons from Beyond—or this psychotic break, she thought; let’s be honest with ourselves, Navio—was the last thing she needed. Her suit stank and her back hurt. Her fatigue went right down to the cellular level: her DNA, she felt sure, was knotted in snarls of disarray. Even her mitochondria hurt. She couldn’t possibly feel this lousy otherwise.
She had to be back in Phocaea in nine hours. There were a million things to do, and the memorial services were to be