The last occupant of the room was Karma, several full tiers of her mind focused on this event, crunching numbers against the djinn’s distortion fields, and her presence was almost a physical thing, a ghost floating above, giving them all a peculiar sense of safety. The God-Machine was in the room. What could go wrong?

  So when the doors slid open, they all looked up, aghast, except for Hamilcar Pande, who lounged in his chair and smiled in greeting.

  “The door!” Doje shouted, staring up at the domed roof, where presumably he expected to find Karma floating in the ether. “The fucking impenetrable door opened!”

  “Good evening, Doje,” Gurung said. He stepped in front of the djinn, and the two old men stared at each other, men whose shared history had brought the city to this moment of gibbering madness, this potential collision of ghost universes and quantum undoing.

  “What is the meaning of this, Sheriff?” Karma’s voice floated down from above, like an irritated goddess. “You have betrayed us.”

  “I invited them,” Hamilcar Pande said. “Respectfully, Karma, you asked me to find another way. Frankly speaking, I had no desire to send my beloved Kanelia into an assault on the garden. I’m very fond of the garden.”

  “Thank you,” ReGi said with a curtsey.

  Colonel Shakia made a strangled noise from inside her gel helmet, disavowing any such love.

  “Furthermore,” Hamilcar Pande said, “the weapons you are seeking to use, well, it seems like they could unravel a whole lot more than just this tower. Cocooned in this paradise, we think we are alone in this world, but that’s not true, is it? The planet has its share of hells. Who knows what will come out in response to a full unveiling of force? Escalation is not a good thing, is it, Karma? Is this not why some part of you gave me carte blanche?”

  “Continue, Sheriff,” Karma said after a moment. Her tone was icy, clinical.

  Hamilcar Pande turned to the djinn. “Melek Ahmar, Lord of Tuesday, the Red King, are you amenable to terms we—”

  “No, I’m fucking not!” Melek Ahmar roared. “I came here to rule! Either I sit on a throne tonight or I’m burning everything down!”

  “Your karma score has been skyrocketing at an insane pace; pretty soon you might actually warrant a throne,” Hamilcar Pande said with some amusement. “Although the wishes you’re granting . . . gah, I can’t imagine that’s enjoyable.”

  “Bloody Gurung making me do the most unspeakable things, forcing me into continuous vile acts. Let me tell you, Sheriff, your bloody Humes think up the most ridiculous, horrible things to wish for, and then I’m forced to go out and grant them, and then all of you bastards sit around calling me names! I’m not having it anymore, I’m sick to death of this city, I wish I’d never come here!”

  “I fail to see your strategy,” Karma subvocaled to Hamilcar. “Rustic One appears unstable. You are upsetting him. He possesses enormous destructive energy, and possibly the mind of an imbecile. You are risking our survival.”

  “Our survival? The survival of the city is paramount. You and I are not synonymous with the city.”

  “I see.”

  “I am the failsafe. Have you failed, Karma?”

  “You are arrogant, Sheriff. You presume too much. I have chosen wrongly to put my faith in you.”

  “Perhaps. Nonetheless, I will see this through. Do you agree?”

  “I see no better option at this moment.”

  “Noble Mars,” Hamilcar Pande said. “You are a true and ancient king of the Djinndom, one of seven, correct?”

  “One of Seven,” Melek Ahmar confirmed. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Do you think us djinn just fling around kingships like you Humes?”

  “Is delivering justice not one of the duties of the king?”

  “Do you in fact acknowledge me as the king of this demesne?” A crafty gleam lit up Melek Ahmar’s face. “Djinn follow exacting laws and documentation, you know.” He snapped his finger. “ReGi! I take it you are well versed in drawing up contracts? This here Hume is offering us a throne . . .”

  “Let us say you are more akin to a visiting judge,” Hamilcar Pande said. “A dignitary, hmm? A most valued monarch come here on a royal tour, humbling us with your wisdom and legalese. In this, Karma and I speak as one, and we apologize for the paucity of our welcome.”

  “Well said, Sheriff.” Melek Ahmar smiled expansively. “Finally, the courtesy owed between brother kings. I accept your invitation. I must say, your reception has been lacking somewhat.”

  “I was speaking of justice,” Hamilcar Pande said. “I am the investigator. Perhaps you would deign to hear my case.”

  “Justice!” Doje shouted. “The sheriff speaks true! I demand justice, Djinn King! Your servant Gurung has been hounding me for years. He almost killed me forty years ago, and now he has returned to finish the job! He has duped you into doing his bidding, King of Mars. He has brought you here to murder me!”

  Melek Ahmar stared balefully at Gurung. “Is this true, Gurung?”

  “Assuredly,” Gurung said. He twirled his moustache and patted his knife.

  “There you go,” Melek Ahmar said. “We are indeed here to murder you. Sheriff, be a good fellow and hand him over. Perhaps cutting him up will put Gurung here in a good mood, and we can finally go back to throwing parties and enjoying ourselves.”

  “He confesses to wanting murder!” Doje said. “We are a city of laws, Djinn King. We value human life. We value fairness. These are the laws of Karma. You and your dogs have no place here.”

  “Yes, human life. Laws. Fair value,” Hamilcar Pande said smoothly. “These are indeed the ideals we live by. Bhan Gurung, unfortunately, I cannot hand Doje over to you. Allow me to build my case in his defense. Do you in fact recall killing twenty-three men and women some forty years back, in an apparent attempt to murder this man, Doje?”

  “Yes, I do,” Gurung said.

  “And did you torture and kill his brother during this episode?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I was trying to find Doje,” Gurung said.

  “My poor brother,” Doje wept.

  “Bhan Gurung, did you almost kill Doje, when he finally returned home?”

  “I did. I almost died myself.”

  “And then?”

  “I was tried by the army and sentenced to death. My firing squad was set by some luck for what became KD1. Karma announced general amnesty and I was saved.”

  “Who set the date of your execution, Gurung?”

  “The men who tried me.”

  “Who were?”

  “I am not permitted to reveal the details of a military court to civilians.” Gurung glanced around.

  “I am Colonel Shakia, of Defense, I am the ranking military officer here,” Kanelia Shakia said. Her gel helmet had receded into the cowl at the back of her chair, leaving a thin blue residue over her face, making her look vaguely aquatic. “I have the authority to declassify all records pertaining to your case, Gurung.”

  “There were four generals present in the room, and the recorder,” Bhan Gurung said.

  “I have the names of these generals,” Hamilcar Pande said. “One of them, in particular, is interesting. His brother was the speaker of the house in parliament.”

  “That was hardly unusual, they’re all corrupt and connected,” Doje said. “The old system. Rotten to the core.”

  “Was it General SK Thapa who sentenced you?”

  “Yes. I requested the firing squad,” Gurung said. “He selected the date, as the head of the tribunal.”

  “Curious, isn’t it, that he should pick the exact date of KD1,” Hamilcar said. “A man such as him, so well connected, he would surely know in advance the day for Karma to assume power. It is almost as if he deliberately picked a day on which he knew no execution could occur.”

  Gurung looked stricken. This thought had clearly never occurred to him.

  “So, some attempt was perhaps made to preserve your life,” Hamilcar continued. “Can you think why?”

  “I cannot.” Gurung stared at Doje.

  “Throughout this investigation, one thing disturbed me . . . Why?” Hamilcar said. “So many whys. Why, for example, did Doje buy so many properties before KD1? Why did Karma give him so many points for them?”

  “I am not under investigation, Sheriff!” Doje snapped.

  “So many whys. Why did the generals cry? Why did Thapa save Gurung’s life?” Hamilcar ignored the old man. “Gurung’s crime was clear for all to see. There was nothing to investigate there. What was not clear was Doje’s crime. Not wanting to waste Karma’s abundant faith in me, I chose to investigate precisely that.”

  “Karma!” Doje snarled. “I requisition the immediate termination of this murderer noncitizen Gurung! And that the traitor Hamilcar Pande be stripped of his citizenship and executed!”

  “Not right now,” Karma said.

  “I demand it, damn you! You’re supposed to serve us! I have your fucking karma points! I’m cashing them in, damn you, do as I say!”

  “Your request must be postponed,” Hamilcar Pande said smoothly. “We are in an external emergency. After this is resolved, by all means we will submit to Karma’s calculations.”

  “You lie!”

  “Such an agreement is amenable, Sheriff,” Karma said. “Please note that the extraordinary leeway given to you ends here. Pending this inquiry, we will honor esteemed Doje’s request in exchange for his points.”

  “What? All of my points?” Doje asked, aghast.

  “You are asking for the death of two men, one of whom is my sheriff,” Karma replied. “It will be your last request.”

  “Fine! Fuck you. You think I exist only in this place? You think I put all my eggs in your fucking karmic-point basket? Take them and kill the dogs.”

  “We are aware of everything, esteemed Doje,” Karma said.

  “How elegant your equations are, Karma,” Hamilcar said. “You dispose of all three of us with one stroke. It seems I have signed my own sentence.” He glanced at Kanelia. She was sitting rigid, her face unreadable. He hoped fervently that she wouldn’t draw her gun and end everything right now. “Well, it seems as if my investigation was useless after all. I suppose there’s no place in this world for men like us anyway.”

  “I am curious,” ReGi, the Lady of the Garden, said. “What was your answer? Why did Gurung try to kill Doje?”

  “Yes, I too am curious,” Melek Ahmar rumbled.

  “Doje’s game was the selling of people. Climate refugees, force-fitted with PMDs and sold off to the highest bidder, necessary to produce microclimates for towns and cities without enough people,” Hamilcar said. “Almost twenty thousand people trafficked in two months alone, preceding KD1. But Doje was not a mere trafficker, no. In the end he started also confiscating properties around town, using false sales deeds, which we have gathered from the National Library archives. Funny thing, that, all the digital data was triple scrubbed, but he forgot about the handwritten stuff altogether. It was just lying there, with the land registers. And those poor fools sold off, their properties taken? Well, they don’t appear on the census. Karma. Why don’t they appear on your census at all?”

  “Twenty thousand, eh?” Doje was relaxed now, his face losing the mask of a dignified old man and assuming a more natural, reptilian cast. “It was closer to twenty-five. I sold whole villages, Sheriff, whole fucking villages. Easiest money I ever made. I even had my own airstrip. And the PMDs? They were doctored. If you dial them all the way up, you can turn a human body into a nanotech factory. Every other biochemical process slows down, and of course you don’t live as long, but hell, it’s the cheapest way to jump-start a microclime. Turns the people into drooling brainless lumps of meat, though. Climate jacking, they called it. There are cities on the map that wouldn’t exist without people like me.”

  “And you got paid handsomely, got paid twice, in fact, first by your buyers and then by Karma,” Hamilcar said. “And she even covered it up for you. Why, Karma?”

  Karma did not answer.

  “Covered it up?” Doje laughed. “You think I did all that by myself? Karma fucking told me to do it!”

  “What?” Hamilcar went limp as half his feed went blind. His Echo blinked, and then scrambled like a drowning man trying to find purchase. I can’t see the data. She’s cut me off from the Virtuality.

  “About a hundred thousand too many people in the valley,” Doje drawled. “They were all pouring in from the countryside, too, clogging up the city. Poor, stupid Sheriff. You should have stayed Karma’s errand boy. Wrong time to grow a spine. Before KD1, Karma handed out orders. This many people in paradise, and no more. And someone had to be the sweeper, clean out the gutters. Guess what? It paid to be the sweeper. You’re a Pande, aren’t you? One of your own did it too. You think I was the only one cleaning house for her? I know every fucking dirty secret. I’m a fucking civic pillar, I’ll crack this city in half before I go down.”

  “Sheriff,” Karma said, her voice booming from the ceiling. “You are close to having a heart attack.”

  Bile rose in the back of Hamilcar’s throat. Can she do that? Are there backdoors in the PMD? Of course there are . . . He tried to speak, but nothing came out, just his Echo muttering like a demented ape. He fell to his knees, hands twitching, trying desperately to swivel his head toward Kanelia, his body splaying in different directions.

  “Nothing more to say, Sheriff?” Doje asked mockingly. “I guess the investigation is over. I will now collect my boon. Mr. Khunbish, if you would kindly execute the traitors?”

  Chapter Fifteen: Knife Saint

  The giant Mongolian stepped forward almost reluctantly, his combat suit making a swishing sound with each stride. Colonel Shakia tried to get out of her command chair and inexplicably found her arms and legs turning to mush, as her own PMD reacted to the sudden, full onslaught of Karma’s electronic assault. Hamilcar watched her military-grade nervous system try to shrug it off and then the shadow of the Mongolian fell over him.

  He raised his hand and half caught the armor-powered fist. It smashed through his wrist, splintering it, and even then the blow to his collar bone was heavy enough to break it, folding his body in two. A titanium-booted foot stomped on his knee, effectively wrecking it, leaving him twitching like a half-crushed insect pinned to a board.

  His PMD was reacting like a groggy alcoholic, flooding his body with painkillers and adrenaline, while at the same time dealing very ineffectively with whatever viral weapons Karma had rained on it. I should have got the upgrades.

  Mr. Khunbish was not a cruel man. He reached down and almost gently cradled Hamilcar’s head between his hands, a deft touch despite the armor, and the servo motors in the suit hummed, a prelude to the vise that would no doubt pulp his skull. Half hanging from the Mongolian’s grip, Hamilcar saw Kanelia marshal her unruly limbs. The ancient-looking revolver bloomed in her hand, blessedly free from electronics, momentarily immune to whatever Karma was hitting them with.

  The gun fired, once, twice, and then she emptied the chambers. The noise was crazy loud, Hamilcar could hear it even through the metal hands encasing his head. The large-caliber bullets hit the Mongolian at point-blank range, and the giant warrior flinched back, even his battle suit not immune to the sheer kinetic power of mid-twenty-first-century lethality.

  Kanelia threw the gun away and leapt over Hamilcar, not a wobble on her, the instinctive need to gore a momentarily stunned opponent driving her forward, muscle memory stamped into her body from her cage-fighting days. Her knife appeared in her left hand and she went low under the armpit for a sleeve joint, well aware of battle suits and their foibles.

  Mr. Khunbish kicked her off with brutal power, and she landed on her back a few meters away. Very deliberately, she got to her feet and dusted herself off. She glanced once at Hamilcar, but he could see almost no recognition in her eyes, just an incandescent rage.

  “Stand down, Colonel Shakia, this is an order,” Doje said.

  “I take no orders from you, fucker,” she spat out. Her knife made a lazy orbit from Mr. Khunbish to Doje.

  “Now, now, that’s a mouth on you,” Doje smiled. “Karma?”

  “Stand down, Colonel Shakia,” Karma said. Her words had a palpable gravity, as if the very pores of the room were filled with her substance. If she hadn’t been fully engaged before, it was clear that the entirety of her mind was here now, focused on this one moment.

  “Fuck off,” the colonel snarled.

  This time her head snapped straight up, and she went rigid. The PMD was a dumb mule, meant to resist outside influence. The Echo was a different kind of beast. Karma hit her with a psychic blast of data that Hamilcar could feel from meters away, a roaring river that would have swept away a lesser mind. Kanelia Shakia resisted for half a second, a lone fisher standing against the tsunami, and then finally, reluctantly, slid to one knee. Her knife fell from nerveless fingers.

  Doje stepped over and slapped her across the face, hard enough to make blood gout from her split lips. The terrible old man picked up the knife, and Hamilcar watched in sickened panic, unable to look away.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” ReGi poked the djinn king in the back. “Fucking do something.”

  “Fucking stop!” Melek Ahmar shouted, raising one hand.

  His power billowed out of him, almost a visible wave, and for the first time in his life Hamilcar Pande saw and felt the force of an elder djinn. If Karma’s assault had been a gale, this was a nova, a roiling expansion of forces beyond the ken of human understanding. Time itself slowed into a trickle; movement was impossible, the air solidified, he could almost see the sonic ripple of Melek Ahmar’s shouted command, waves in the dust. We are flies in amber. What manner of creature is this? We have severely underestimated Rustic One . . . Karma, you’re a fool to have let him in.

 

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