“It was never my intention to kill you,” Karma said to Hamilcar Pande. He was propped up in the command module, his broken body encased in a medical gel the chair itself had extruded. The rest of them were seated around him, a rough semicircle of bloodied victors.
Hamilcar Pande snorted. “You sold a hundred thousand people to microclime slavery.”
“Doje misrepresented the case,” Karma said. “In the Original Pact, I merely laid down conditions under which the conversion of the city would be successful. It was mathematics. My calculations indicated optimal conditions for the project. The choice was given to the leaders of the city. This was one of seven cities under consideration. I did not recommend any course of action. The algorithm simply indicated there were too many people. It was not optimal. It was the choice of you humans, Sheriff, your own parents and grandparents, to remove the unnecessary people. If you find the choice distressing, remember it is people who made it.”
“You are not conscious. You have no preference.”
“Precisely, Sheriff,” Karma said.
“Unnecessary people,” Colonel Shakia said, her face hard. “Some guy will always make that choice.”
“Yeah. Humes always kill each other, nothing new. You owe us boons, Karma,” ReGi said. “Pay up.”
“Yes,” Karma said. “One boon each. Then the three of you leave, forever. That is my condition. Ask, Lady of the Garden.”
“I think Uncle Gurung ought to go first.”
“I do not think he deserves a boon,” Karma said. “He is sitting next to two heads which he has cut off, one of whom is my number six, Doje.”
“You made a bet and lost, Karma,” ReGi said. “Be a good sport.”
“Fine,” the God-Machine said. “Ask, Bhan Gurung.”
“I got what I came for.” Bhan Gurung patted the heads next to him.
“Am I to understand you want nothing more, and will hereafter leave our city in peace?” Karma asked.
“Wait. Him. Hamilcar. I want him to be the sheriff. For real. For life.”
“What?” Karma asked.
“You need a failsafe, Karma,” Bhan Gurung said. “He’s a good failsafe. Make it for real. Make him real.”
“And what precise role are you envisaging for Mr. Pande?” Karma asked.
“I don’t know. He’ll be your conscience. He knows what to do. Let him write his own chit. That’s my boon.”
“Granted. Sheriff, you are now hereby real, at the request of Bhan Gurung. And you will never return here, Gurung?”
“I believe I have what I came for.”
“Lady?” Karma asked.
“The garden. I’m taking it.”
“What?”
“You said I can’t come back, so I’m going to take the garden. I’ve tended it all this time, it’s mine. I’m going to put it in a snow globe.”
“And what exactly will remain there once you remove it?”
“I dunno. Like a smoking ruin maybe? Oooh, maybe a black hole. Or one of those ghost universes you were talking about. Anyway, that’s your problem, since you don’t want me to come back or anything . . .”
“Fine, fine, am I to understand that if I permit you to stay here, you will consider not removing the Garden of Dreams from existence?”
“You have to give it to me,” ReGi said. “Like my own fiefdom. I want to be the Duchess of the Garden. And you can’t come in, not with any drones or surveillance or anything. One hundred percent privacy for me and my people.”
“I will give you a ninety-nine-year lease. There is no private property in the city. This will be the first and only case, kindly do not bandy it about.”
“And the duchess thing?”
“Fine, I will grant you the title of Duchess of the Garden, which will be purely ceremonial and—”
“Yay!”
“And you, sir, the Lord of Tuesday,” Karma said finally. “Do you still wish to rule the city? For I am sorely tempted to hand it all over to you and take my talents somewhere without duchesses and Gurungs.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Melek Ahmar said hastily. “Good luck with your new duchess and your failsafe and er, that ferocious army lady. Me and Gurung are going to hit the road. Big wide world to see, eh? Been asleep for too long, and Gurung here’s been lusting after vengeance all this time. We need to live! To explore! To fornicate! All too soon, the troubadours will sing once again of Melek Ahmar the Red King and his trusty lieutenant Bhan Gurung the Taker of Heads, they will talk of the day Melek Ahmar climbed ninety-nine flights of stairs, up the tower of doom, fighting alien hordes . . .”
“Is there a boon anywhere in this story?” Karma asked. For a machine, she was becoming terribly sarcastic, Hamilcar thought.
Melek Ahmar smiled a sly smile, and for a moment, the sheriff remembered how this goat-wearing rustic had somehow turned the city upside down.
“Karma, I want you to reset the counters,” the Lord of Tuesday said. “Zeroes. I want everyone to be a zero.”
“Why?” Karma asked, aghast. “Why?”
“What, I like zeroes,” Melek Ahmar said. “They know how to party.”