Melek Ahmar sat on the ledge of the great tree house, dangling his feet, savoring the cold and the darkness. There was a slump to his back, a disaffection to the way he was puffing on his cigar, normally one of the highlights of his nightly ritual. He heard the clumping noises of ReGi’s footsteps, those disgusting clog-like boots she wore, god knows how she kept on her feet let alone skittered along the branches as she did, that damn girl was half chipmunk, he really ought to get to grips with her lineage, but damned if he had the time . . .
She settled down beside him, their distortion fields powered down, but still causing a spark or two as errant molecules collided. There was a reason most djinn stayed well away from others of their kind. He looked at her profile and sighed. When she didn’t respond he sighed again, this time with so much gusto that the cherry fell off his cigar and he had to light it all over again, which he did with one fiery forefinger.
“What is it?” ReGi finally asked with a smirk.
“Just did in a grandmother. Gust of wind. Blew her right out of her window. Third one this week, can you believe it?”
“Humes,” ReGi said. “The shit they wish for . . .”
“I can’t understand it,” Melek said. “Everyone keeps wishing for death and destruction. Other day, one woman wanted an earthquake. Just a small one, so her in-laws’ house would fall into the abyss. Great plan, except she was living next door. So of course half her place fell in as well. No one ever wishes for anything good . . .”
“I guess Karma gives them all the good stuff,” ReGi said. “You’re kind of the antithesis. Melek Ahmar, the darkness in their souls, made incarnate.”
“It’s Gurung,” Melek Ahmar snuffled. “He’s the one screening the petitioners. He keeps picking the worst ones, I know it. He hates everyone here. He’s enjoying it, every time they want something terrible. It’s the same old story. He picks fights all day and it’s poor old Melek Ahmar who has to do the smiting. No one ever thinks of me. Did he ask me if I wanted to off old ladies and turn wine sour? Did he ever ask me if I wanted to sit on that horrible throne and listen to every disgusting gripe from miserable Humes all day? No. He did not. Motherfucking Gurung. He’s not going to be happy until everyone wishes everyone dead. I just know it. And then he’s going to make me kill them turn by turn.”
“Poor old Pops,” ReGi said. “I thought this was your oeuvre, you elder djinn granting wishes in a fucked-up way . . .”
“Yeah, that’s like when someone asks for a bucket of gold and you put the bucket down a well full of poisoned snakes, and laugh at him while he gets bit,” Melek Ahmar said. “That’s time-honored fun. That’s in the Lore. This shit? This is just dark. These Humes are crazy. What happened to asking for money and houses and young lovers? What happened to asking for a bigger dick or bigger tits, eh?”
ReGi laughed. “They got that shit already, Pops, don’t you see? They just need you for the bad stuff. Funny thing is, after this is all over, I bet they’ll all say you made them do it.”
“Fucking Humes,” Melek Ahmar sighed. “All I wanted was a good party.”
* * *
Hamilcar went back to the brigadier, this time in person, alone. The urge to walk the streets, hands huddled in his coat pockets, was strange to him; even stranger, putting his Echo to sleep so that his eyes actually reverted to their natural state, a view curiously empty of input. It was a subconscious act, a rebellion unthinkable even three days ago; a physical meeting, Echos off, out of surveillance, a conversation with a low chance of being picked up by Karma, unless she had drones on him, which was possible, of course, but unavoidable. Had he vocalized his intentions, it would have shaken him to his core; he was looking to subvert the state. He wanted secrets the God-Machine was unwilling to give.
Brigadier Uncle was just as shocked to see him in person, but old habits kicked in and soon they were sitting in a square balcony full of potted plants, having a nice cup of tea. Aunty Brigadier provided a platter of biscuits and cake, asked him a few pointed questions, and then left them to their “man talk” with a last forbidding glare. Exactly what perversions she expected him to lead her husband into in full sight of the street was a mystery.
“So, young man, you’re the one stepping out with our Kanelia, eh?” the brigadier said after an uncomfortable silence. “Ahem. I hope I’m not being old-fashioned, but are you from the Ganesh Pande line, or the railroad Pandes?”
Of course. They think I’m here to propose.
Hamilcar, unsure how to stop this elderly barrage of polite inquiry, soon found himself delving exhaustively into the bones of his family tree, elucidating in depth every connection and childhood memory he could dredge up. They moved on to his elementary school grades, his sporting achievements, his choice in haircuts as a young man, and some comically ham-handed detective work into his alcohol and drug habits. Since the colonel could easily drink him under the table, he bore all of this with good humor and won the brigadier over. It was quite some time before he even remembered that he was not, in fact, here to get married.
“And, of course, you’ll get out of those dreadful government quarters, eh?” Brigadier Uncle said with a chuckle. “Need a bigger place, hmm? I’m sure you’ll want to have some kiddies . . .”
“Right, right, sir, actually, I’m sure you know your niece very well.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll understand that all decisions about everything will undoubtedly have to be made in consultation with her, including marriage.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’m not at all sure she’d say yes to marriage, let alone children.”
“What? But haven’t you even asked her yet, you daft boy?”
“Ah no, I have not.”
The brigadier looked dismayed. “What the devil are you doing here, then?”
“I wanted to chat about that case of ours.”
“The old Gurung one?”
“That’s right.”
“And not about getting married?”
“Not right now, no sir.”
“But damnation, man, you can’t carry on this way . . . surely you mean to get married at some point? You’re the first man she’s ever introduced to us . . .” He looked ready to cry.
Hamilcar leaned back in his chair and seriously considered this question. Of course, they had never spoken about the future, she barely acknowledged any plans beyond the immediate week. He didn’t even know her views on marriage or children; these things had never come up. On the other hand, he couldn’t quite imagine life without her glowering in close proximity.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind,” Hamilcar said. “I mean, I love her, I guess.”
“Have you told her this?”
“Do you not know her at all? She’s not a feelings sort of person. We don’t have that kind of conversation.”
“Well, woo her properly, for karma’s sake!” The brigadier lit up an illicit pipe and indicated that this was going to turn into a reminisce of days gone by. “Do you think your Aunty Brigadier just fell into my lap, a woman like that?”
“She must have been a rare catch,” Hamilcar said.
“Twenty suitors, each one richer than the next!” the brigadier said. “She was like Helen of Troy. Every morning the street under her balcony would be strewn with flowers. I wrote thirty-two poems to her, each one a masterpiece. When I got shot, dead on the cot in the middle of nowhere, she finally replied. One word: ‘Yes.’ A lady of brevity! Alas, if only that were true now. No, but that’s what it took to convince her.”
“You got shot?” Hamilcar asked.
“Training accident,” the brigadier said hurriedly. “Gun went off by mistake. Ahem, that’s not the point. Thing is, you’ve got to make it happen. Do something. Don’t just sit around.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In that case, boy, let me be the first to welcome you into our family.”
“Let’s not jump the gun, Uncle, I don’t think the colonel, er, Kanelia, has any idea about this. Why don’t you wait for my signal before telling everyone . . .”
“Quite right.” The brigadier winked at him.
“So about the other matter.”
“Gurung?”
“Doje. The businessman who was attacked.”
“The victim?”
“Yes, well, I’m wondering about that. Was he a famous man, do you remember?”
“Nothing really, I knew he was rich, not sure what he did. As I recall, details of the case were not published.”
“As far as I can tell, he came into a lot of cash right before KD1. Money he used to purchase properties which in turn were converted into karma. Five, ten million bitto maybe. How would one get that much money back then?”
The brigadier snorted. “You youngsters don’t even know anything about money. Money used to make the world go around. People would sell their mothers for money. Things were bad back then, everything was collapsing. Whole communities were disappearing. Do you know how quick people can die in a bad swarm of nanotech? Minutes. Skin shredding in front of your eyes, bodies just melting. We couldn’t make the good stuff fast enough in our bodies then, not with the old PMDs . . . Cities, towns, everything was on a knife’s edge, even with AI running the systems. Too many people, you couldn’t give them food or water. Too few, and you couldn’t make a viable microclimate with the nanotech. It was all guesswork, even AI couldn’t calculate it all fast enough, and people just died. I’ve seen highways full of the dead, people dropped where they stood. You kids live in paradise now, you don’t even know it.”
“Can you think of any city financial records anywhere from back then? Land records perhaps? Nondigital.”
“Eh? I thought you were with the government. Surely Karma herself has it all.”
“She doesn’t,” Hamilcar said. “Trust me, I need to go back to the old ways. Specifically, I want to question the previous owners of those properties that Dojo bought and sold.”
“Hmm.” The brigadier snuffed out his pipe. “You know, when the army digitized the last of our records, we sent all the books to the National Library. They’ve got acres of stuff underground. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old land registries are down there too.”
“The library,” Hamilcar said. “Of course.”