Blue Remembered Earth

No discussion was required. For once, the Akinyas were all in agreement. The decision was entirely in their hands, as Memphis had no family but the one that employed him.

‘We wouldn’t want that,’ Hector said softly, Geoffrey nodding his assent, and knowing as he did so that he was answering for Sunday as well.

‘I think you’re doing the right thing,’ the specialist said. ‘And I am so sorry that this has happened.’

Geoffrey was still trying to come to terms with what the day had delivered. Everything felt unreal, off-kilter. Memphis had been part of his life in a way that Eunice never had. She was a reclusive figure who sometimes beamed herself down from the Winter Palace, but who never walked the household in person. Having her removed from his life was the same as having a part of his own past dismantled, boxed away for posterity. He was sad about it, but it didn’t rip him apart.

It was different with Memphis. He’d always been there, a living, breathing, human presence. The smell of him, the prickly texture of his suit fabric, the squeak of his shoes on waxed flooring as he patrolled the household’s corridors at night, more vigilant than any watchdog. Kind when he needed to be, stern when the moment called for it. Always willing to forgive, if not necessarily forget. The most decent human being Geoffrey had ever known.

He remembered Lucas’s words: You imposed on his good nature.

The implication wounded, but he had done exactly that. Always had done.

‘Thank you for letting me know,’ Sunday said, when she chinged back in response to his earlier transmission. ‘Right now, I don’t really have a clue what to say. I’m still processing it. I’m so sorry that you had to see him . . . the way he was. But whatever you might think, this wasn’t your fault, OK? You asked Memphis to do something for you, but that doesn’t mean you have to take responsibility for what happened to him. Memphis was old enough to make his own decisions: if he’d felt your request endangered him, he’d have told you so. So don’t go making this any harder on yourself than it already is. Please, brother? For me?’ Sunday collected herself; from the figment, it was hard to tell if she’d been crying or not. ‘I’m on my way to Pavonis Mons right now. Keep me informed, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m able.’ She touched a finger to her lips. ‘Love you, brother. Be strong, for both of us.’ He nodded.

He would try, although he did not expect it to be easy.

Geoffrey had to get out of the house, so he went for a walk in the gardens, forcing his mind from its rut as best as he was able. Everywhere he went, though, he found evidence of Memphis’s handiwork. Choices about the redevelopment of the grounds, the refurbishment of ornamental fountains, the arabesque detailwork in the enclosing wall, the selection of flowers and shrubs in the beds – all these things had ultimately fallen to Memphis. Even when the family had been presented with a series of options, Memphis would already have whittled down a much larger set of possibilities, to the point where any one of the final choices would have been acceptable to him. One of his greatest, subtlest gifts to the Akinyas had been granting them the illusion of free will.

Later that afternoon, when Geoffrey had returned indoors, Jumai chinged to say she was on the train from Lagos. Geoffrey was momentarily befuddled, until he remembered that he had in fact called and left a message with her, shortly after the body was taken away. Everything had been a blur. Jumai had been working, so couldn’t take the call there and then. He was still startled that she was on her way.

‘Get off the train in Kigali,’ he told her. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘All right,’ she said, doubtfully, as if that wasn’t the kind of reception she’d been expecting.

‘It will be good to see Jumai again,’ Eunice said, announcing her presence.

‘You never knew her,’ Geoffrey snapped. ‘You never knew anyone at all.’

It was only later that he realised she’d had the good grace to keep out of his skull while he’d been wandering the grounds.

It was a two-hour flight, and mid-evening by the time he landed in Kigali. Rain was descending, soft and warm, honey-scented, dyed scarlet and cobalt and gold by the station’s old-fashioned neon signage. He’d just missed Jumai’s arrival: she was sheltering under the concourse’s overhanging roof, while taxis and airpods fussed about and vendors packed up for the night. Two black bags, sagging on the damp concrete either side of her feet like exhausted lapdogs, were her only luggage.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ Geoffrey said when they were in the air, wheeling over night-time Kigali on their way back to the household.

‘I knew Memphis pretty well,’ Jumai said, as if he might not remember. They’d both got wet between the station and the airpod, but were drying off quickly with the cabin heater turned up. ‘I was part of your life long enough, don’t forget.’

‘I’m not likely to.’ But while he’d remembered to call Jumai – she’d have been hurt if he hadn’t – it was only now that he was beginning to remember how closely braided their lives had really been. Weeks, months, in Amboseli. Memphis had often come out to the research station while Jumai was fashioning the architecture for the human– elephant neurolink. They’d often ended up eating together, late at night, under a single swaying lamp around which mosquitoes orbited like frantic little planets, caught in the death-grip of a supermassive star.

Long stories, silly laughter, too much wine. Yes, Jumai knew Memphis. Had known, he corrected himself. All past tense from now on.

He started crying. It was ridiculous – there’d been no particular spur to it, save the helter-skelter progression of his own thoughts, but once he started he could not stop himself. How foolish he had been to think he could keep it together, at least until he was out of anyone’s sight.

‘I’m sorry, Geoffrey.’ Jumai squeezed his hand. ‘This must be really hard on you. I know how much he meant to you.’

‘It’s hard on Sunday as well,’ he said, when he was able to speak.

‘Is she flying in?’

‘Not really an option – Sunday’s on Mars, on her way to Pavonis Mons.’

They were crossing the southern tip of Lake Victoria. The clouds had parted overhead, the waters as still and clear as if they were cut from black marble.

‘What’s going on, Geoffrey? Eunice dies. Memphis dies . . . Your sister decides to go to Mars.’