《The Wall of the Indigenes》 The case of the 7 dead colonists It was a nice breezy day. But Deema Hayat wasn¡¯t really feeling it. She kept her eyes on the collage of 7 dead people from across the country, dead in one day three weeks ago, from an allergic reaction to seafood. Each had suddenly grown a gargantuan tongue, choked on it, and died after a few minutes of utter horror shared between them and those near them. Deema focused on the first one, a bearded man in his thirties with soulless blank eyes and a vaguely disapproving look. ¡°Tell me more about him.¡± Daniel had been patiently waiting for more directions. ¡°well, Mr. Loney actually did have an allergy to olives, but it was always mild. Hives, at most, every summer without fail. He only developed it after he moved to Si, ah, the new colonies.¡± He broke off. He had the grace to not use that name for the (newer) colonies an ocean away. Deema motioned him to continue. She wasn¡¯t a fan of the colonists but didn¡¯t really pay them any mind. She knew they were up to no good, but the indigenes over there weren¡¯t sharing either. Plus, the colonists brought with them new technology and a hard working ethic. And it had already been so many years since the colonists came, they were barely colonists! Couldn¡¯t people just get along? Daniel continued telling her about Loney and the 6 other near dear departed. People of very different backgrounds and ages. A bored house-husband, 36. An ambitious marketing executive, 31. A brash lawyer, 29. A pharmacist, 55. A hairdresser, 61. A pipe-fitter, 45. And a high school graduate, 18. All united by their shared sudden allergic reaction to, well, something. It had already been 2 weeks since their deaths. The only thing other than their day of death was the fact they were all card carrying colonialists. All had gone to the ColExplore program to see the colonies up close and personal. Most had volunteered in the colonial service. ¡°So all of these people were Sioni. Had they met?¡± Daniel shook his head. ¡°How did you even find that out?¡± Daniel leant back. ¡°They all had the full map of the colonies in their homes or apartments or rooms. True believers in the return.¡± Now that was interesting, Deema mused to herself. True believers were uncommon. The Sioni were pass¨¦ and gauch¨¦. The new colonists¡¯ excesses embarrassed the Whigs, who would rather forget their own genocidal excesses in the not too distant past. Not enough to withdraw the Whigs¡¯ money and diplomatic support to the colonies, mind you. But the Whigs couldn¡¯t scold the other free nations of the world by pointing to human rights abuses and what have you when their own creation was busy bulldozing indigenes. All seven being true believers was enough to make her curious enough to take the case. ¡°But we aren¡¯t sure if they had met before. You must understand, we only realized this may be connected a week ago, when five obituaries were published in the Colonial Express. I only heard the date was a tough one for us, then we learnt that they all passed away with identical causes of death¡­. Well.¡± Daniel broke off again. He had tears in his eyes. Deema looked away. She didn¡¯t offer him her condolences. If these were true colonials, they understood the risks. You can¡¯t just take over someone¡¯s lands and groves and sea and air and not expect some pushback. It wasn¡¯t the first time that some indigenes had arranged for a quiet kill off of a particularly egregiously evil colonist. And the colonists of course had perfected the art form of the barely disguised massacre either to mow the lawn or to respond to a real or perceived slight. At least the indigenes were quiet about it. She refocused on Daniel. He had asked her for an appointment claiming it was urgent and he needed her help. She had other cases, but she agreed to see him anyway. 7 allergy deaths were interesting. She knew she was macabre, but hey. She knew what she liked. ¡°So have you any pictures of the scenes? Or they just cleaned everything up?¡± Daniel dabbed his left eye with a tissue. ¡°Not everyone. We have one video for Mr. Veli in marketing, his wife took a video because she thought it would pass very quickly and it may go viral. And we have two photos for Ms. Egoden. But we do have pictures from the funerals too. Have a look.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Deema took the proffered phone and scanned through the photos. Despite the funeral homes lighting and makeup, each of the departed looked ill at ease, with a slight green tinge to their faces. The large size of their tongues was also obvious.¡± She hadn¡¯t expected much insight from these photos so she wasn¡¯t disappointed. She scrolled further to see the two jumbled photos of the pharmacist Egoden on a jade sofa struggling for air and then the video started. A woman was hyperventilating in the background and another one was telling Veli to keep breathing and to smile for the camera. Veli was trying to stand and holding his throat and his tongue was continuing to expand in size. The hyperventilating woman calmed down enough to try to tell the camerawoman to give him an anti-allergy shot. The camerawoman ran to the other room in a flash of green and came back outside to help save Veli. But by the time she arrived Veli was already gasping for breath and turning a faint aqua blue. Deema could see the exact moment he realized he was not gonna make it, his tongue came out, lolled, and he fell down onto the floor. She felt and checked for her amulet on her skin. It was still here. Superstition, perhaps, but it made her feel safe. Daniel¡¯s phone rang, interrupting the video. Deema saw the call was from The Centre for New Colonial Affairs. Daniel snatched back the phone, mumbled a vague apology to her, and answered it right away. ¡°Yes Mr. Eeon, I¡¯m here with Ms. Deema right now. I¡¯m showing her the photos we have.¡± He fell silent as the caller talked over him. Daniel¡¯s face blanched. ¡°Should I come right away? Should I bring her as well?¡± He was listening animatedly, his expressive eyebrows were rising and falling constantly. Deema studied him. He had come to her to request her expertise in murder investigations. It had only been half an hour since he had arrived, sweaty and worried and sad. He was a part of the CNCA, had been for years. He was an admin guy, who had come across her previous work supporting the investigative services lock up a budding serial killer who killed based on the myths of the Infinite Bag of Amr Ayyar. She wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to help. For one thing, she was busy. For another, the CNCA were full-throated colonialist believers. They lobbied for the colonists, financed new settlements, and ran the ColExplore program. Odious people, pretty much. Deema herself was descended from the first colonials, those who came and explored the new world, and built a new life together here with the local indigenes, overcoming all the past unpleasantness. But the ColExplorers thrived on the unpleasantness, taking potential colonists to the new settlements and teaching them how to bully the indigenes, and how to ¡®protect¡¯ themselves from the savages. Did they have to be so obvious? He suddenly turned to her. ¡°Could you come with us? I just got a call.¡± And his eyes teared up again. ¡°There have been a few more deaths and injuries. 15 deaths and 1 injury. And I knew 3 of them¡­¡± Deema muttered a prayer. ¡°God rest their souls, illuminate their memories, and grant you patience¡±. She felt wrong saying that for anyone the CNCA was sad about, but it was almost automatic. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Their pressure cookers exploded.¡± Daniel stopped again and tried to control his emotions. Their pressure cookers exploded? Pressure cookers, especially the electric ones, were super safe now! Gone were the days that the indigenes in the new colonies could just pack a pressure cooker and blow it up in front of a security installation dividing them from their olive groves. Each pressure cooker shipped with safety measures that made the new enhanced safety sleeping pills look downright deadly. Deema leaned forward. ¡°Tell me more.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know too much. I just know that these deaths happened today, we are only hearing about it now¡­ These guys thought I was clearly overreacting but I¡¯m so glad I came to see you and you agreed to see me.¡± He smiled tremulously. ¡°Could you please come with me? We can show you some of the, ah, scenes. We will, of course, reimburse you for your costs and we have a generous per day allowance.¡± He showed her a card. Deema whistled internally. Yeah those guys were scumbags, but they were rich. And hey, unexplained deaths was kind of her thing! She fired off a quick message to her office partner telling her she¡¯d be back soon and nodded to Daniel. Im just a consultant They walked to the metro station 2 minutes down the street. Deema saw the gigantic billboard of Hano the singer advertising free land in the colonies. Daniel saw her glance and looked almost proud, forgetting the circumstances that brought them here. ¡°My work, you know? I arranged the interview too! She was so gracious, she didn¡¯t even want to accept money. Oh, she was lovely, telling me stories about when she went to ColExplore¡±. He kept babbling, no doubt anxious to repress the thoughts of the murder and death they were travelling towards. They took the rapid bus to Caledonie and after a short walk found themselves in a second floor walk up apartment in a gorgeous neighbourhood. Daniel didn¡¯t enter, just told her to go in. Deema entered and saw a very dead young man lying splayed on the floor on a green rug. She could still see blood mixed with the chickpeas on the walls. She turned right out. ¡°This is an active scene! I can¡¯t be here! I¡¯m just a consultant.¡± She practically yelled at Daniel. She had seen scenes of death and destruction before, of course. She was aware of what went on in the colonies. She had seen a tiny indigene girl, all of twelve years old, diagonally halved from the waist down, hanging from her destroyed house. She had seen an indigene man crooning to his recently deceased granddaughter, with her eyes bloodshot after 24 hours under rubble. This was not that. But it was still unpleasant. Daniel was crying. Deema said some words of condolence under her breath. He mumbled out that he was waiting for someone to come. She left Daniel disconsolate on his bench outside the apartment and decided to walk around. She saw a flash of green in her peripheral vision. She turned and saw a teenaged boy, next to the leaping fish in the canal, looking right at her. She greeted him with a smile. He was talk, dark haired, with dark brown eyes. He didn¡¯t smile back. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Deema dialed up the friendliness. ¡°Oh I¡¯m here to see, I¡¯m here to support the, ah, authorities and loved ones during these trying times.¡± She didn¡¯t really want to say the CNCA. The boy turned around and said ¡°He deserved it. I¡¯m glad he died.¡± He turned back and started walking away. Deema caught up with him. ¡°Why do you think he deserved it?¡± The boy didn¡¯t answer, just kept walking. Deema tried a few more times and was met with disdain and indifference. She gave up after a couple of minutes and went back to Daniel. ¡°Hey, would any of these people have any enemies? Anyone who hated them?¡± Daniel sniffled on his bench. ¡°They hate us, you know. They don¡¯t want us here. But they don¡¯t like it when we go there either. We¡¯re just.. trapped in a tough place. What do we do?¡± Deema frowned. ¡°Are you talking about being a colonist?¡± ¡°Of course. They hate us for being colonists and for being here. Sometimes I get the feeling people support the CNCA just to get us out of here.¡± He paused. ¡°but we just want to be safe! And have a safe place for our families and children, safe from the discrimination we face every day here. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Ok, anyone who would hate these people enough to kill them?¡± Daniel chuckled through his snuffles. ¡°We¡¯re Kitabis. Lots of people have hated us throughout history, many enough to kill half of us.¡± Deema knew enough to not let the pity party get started. If it did, it would never stop. ¡°May God protect the weak.¡± She quickly jumped in to her questions. ¡°I¡¯m talking about these people in particular. This is the first one of the 15, right? You don¡¯t know enough. Tell me more about why you thought the allergy 7 were suspicious?¡± ¡°Well the fact that it all happened within the same day and same hour. I knew there was something wrong. And now that these 15 have died from a pressure cooker, a pressure cooker! I know there is something else going on.¡± Deema sucked her breath in. ¡°alright, that is strange. Ok listen. I¡¯m not sure if you understand my role in this. I¡¯m not an, active investigator. I don¡¯t really go primary research. You get me the police reports, the backgrounds into all the victims, your initial hypothesis if any, and I¡¯ll analyse it all and compare it to historical attacks and murders.¡± Daniel seemed disappointed. Deema didn¡¯t care. She wasn¡¯t going to see dead bodies in person if she could help it. She got up and walked away. As she turned into a side street to go back to the green metro line, she saw the boy again a few metres ahead, unsmilingly looking straight at her. She went up to him and engaged him in conversation again. ¡°Hi, how¡¯s it going with ¨C¡° ¡°get to the point.¡± He was the most grumpy teenager she had seen! She straightened her face. ¡°So, why did that guy in Apt 202 deserve to die?¡± ¡°Because he was evil. He made pancakes every March 16th and sent it around.¡± Deema winced. ¡°I even had it a few time before I realized what he was celebrating. You know, my parents know her parents and even they didn¡¯t realize it until afterwards. They don¡¯t care much for politics, you know.¡± He fell silent. ¡°That is foul, I agree, but that¡¯s not enough..¡± Deema attempted. ¡°That¡¯s not enough to celebrate his death? What do you think he was doing every March 16th if not celebrating someone¡¯s painful death under a bulldozer?¡± He scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like ¡®sauce for the goose¡¯. ¡°I¡¯m not saying he had anything to do with it, but it was a bit off how much he celebrated it. So I won¡¯t let any weird hangups about not celebrating people¡¯s deaths stop me from having an ice-cream to mark the occasion. Deema had to ask. ¡°Are you indigene?¡± The boy frowned. ¡°No, why do you ask?¡± ¡°Because you seem slightly too invested ¨C so what if the guy celebrated a murder by bulldozer. It¡¯s tasteless, sure. But..¡± The boy leaned forward, his manner understated but carrying a whiff of danger. ¡°Tasteless? You think someone celebrating the living death of a martyr is¡­ tasteless?¡± Deema stuttered. She didn¡¯t mean to say that, she said to herself. ¡°I just mean that if he does something evil doesn¡¯t mean you have to, either.¡± He laughed a low, almost silent laugh. ¡°You think being happy at the death of a fascist is a bad thing?¡± ¡°How do you know he was a fascist??¡± ¡°I¡¯ve told you one thing about him. If that alone isn¡¯t enough to damn him, what will?¡± He punctuated his words with a shake of his index finger raised to the heavens, highlighting his amazonite ring on his little finger. This was the strangest conversation she had ever had with a teenager. He seemed mature beyond his years, except, the mature people Deema knew never talked like this either, with passion brimming. She had seen people talk like this on Yin. He must get his information from the newfangled social media sweeping the land, she thought to herself. He¡¯s brainwashed to feel extra pity for the indigenes. Her phone rang. It was Daniel, telling her he had shared her all the information he had over email. She turned to the boy and realized he wasn¡¯t there anymore. She went back to her office and then to her home, where her daughter Sara was waiting for her. Here to shed a tear for a fascist She pored over the pictures. She had printed out the profiles and what was known. It had been a week since she had last seen Daniel. In that week the news had spread like wildfire. 7 and 16 colonists dead in the motherland in few weeks in suspiciously similar yet separate circumstances was enough to set the rumour mill ablaze. Plus, the dead in the pressure cookers incidents were relatively famous. She didn¡¯t remember the last time that many colonists died in such uncertain circumstances. Yes, there had been more deaths and destruction as the indigenes slipped past the trade controls their hamstrung economy belaboured under to supply their fighters with materials with destructive potential. But it was understandable, physical, real to see colonist peacekeepers die on the rare occasions they engaged the indigene fighters in close combat. But these stories of growing tongues and exploding cookers did not make any sense. For the life of her, she couldn¡¯t figure it out. But she had a call with Daniel, a weekly check-in they had agreed to. She put together a quick meeting agenda. Update, exchange of information, questions, next steps. She got a notification that her online meeting had started. Daniel was waiting. And he launched straight into the conversation. ¡°Good afternoon, Ms. Hayat. So, do you have any theories about what happened?¡± Deema took a breath. She gave her 15 second executive summary: that she was still looking into it. She didn¡¯t stop there, though. She thought would be a good idea to talk over what she had reviewed. The first 7 are all very random. They hadn¡¯t known each other before. They had attended similar Colonial schools, and had either gone to the colonies on the ColExplore trips or were planning to, before their demise. They were not really that active online on Yin or any other platform. No information regarding any other similar cases was publicly available. ¡°The public is treating their deaths from sudden allergies as inexplicably weird and tragic. The government has launched an information blitz talking about the danger of sudden onset allergies and how to protect oneself and has subsidised the price of epi-pens. This would indicate the government is not treating these deaths as suspicious or at least not openly so.¡± Deema paused. Daniel motioned her to continue. The 16 (the injured one passed away after an agonizing few days) were rather different. They were all part of a wider online community that celebrated colonization of the new territories. Unbidden, a few of the gloating pictures they had posted of indigenes massacred and imprisoned and starving came to her mind. One of them, a girl with short hair and colourful earrings, beautiful and graceful even in death, reminded her of her daughter. She shook her head and continued with her report. ¡°They were committed colonists and all had, at one point or another, gone viral for their support for the colonies.¡± She went to her next slide and she paused. It was a list of their most hateful hits. Mhael held fundraisers for new settlements. Mazrim marked every March 16th with pancakes and held pancake design competitions. Taim made posters depicting indigenes insects swarming for food. Savan organized missile signing parties. Deema paused and looked at Daniel¡¯s face. It didn¡¯t change expression even once as he scanned the list of viral memes ranging from extremely distasteful to downright evil. ¡°Yes, some of us can be a bit¡­ overzealous. But surely they didn¡¯t deserve death for their words.¡± He finally spoke. Deema immediately thought of that teenager she met ¨C whose name she didn¡¯t know. He was definitely pleased with Mazrim¡¯s death. Deema tried to put it gently. ¡°Of course, however, there is a significant section of the general public who are treating these deaths as, well, deserved.¡± For the first time in her short association with the man from CNCA, Deema saw impatience in Daniel¡¯s eyes, tight mouth, and narrowed eyes. She rushed on. ¡°While generally people are mostly still pro-colonists, there are many short-form videos and pictures shared in the ¡®this you¡¯ format. You know, of course, that in this format they ¨C ¡± ¡°Ms. Hayat. We have hired you for your expertise in esoteric crimes. Not for basic ¡­ information gathering.¡± His lips curled further. ¡°What have you found that may link these tragedies?¡± Deema looked straight into her camera. ¡°Part of my work involves understanding the public perception of these crimes. You would be amazed at the professionalism and obsessiveness of some of the, ah, amateur detectives. They are worth listening to.¡± She paused and took a sip from her glass of water. She didn¡¯t want to encourage the CNCA¡¯s paranoid tendencies. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Ok. So, what is the word on the street? Or the online forums?¡± Deema had a helpful diagram prepared for this exact question. She flipped to the next slide. ¡°Well, there are four theories. One, these are just a gigantic coincidence. Two, it¡¯s not a coincidence that wannabe colonists and colonist propagandists got, um, eliminated by local indigene supporters. Three, two, but by indigenes themselves. And four, two, but by magical means.¡± Daniel started to say something but Deema continued to talk over him ¡°I repeat, these are the ideas of various forums I observe and participate in. These are not my professional opinions.¡± ¡°Magic, really? Who did this, Baba Yaga?¡± Daniel scoffed. ¡°You know, I had to bend some rules to hire a non-colonialist. I expect better from you. Tell me what do YOU think.¡± Ok, if he wanted this, he got it. ¡°We don¡¯t have enough information to suggest a specific answer, yet. But this case does remind me of a few past cases I know of. The mass ankle injury event in Ruritaani just before the army instituted a draft for its war with its unruly ethnic minority in its east. The totally natural, proven to be unrelated deaths in their sleeps of Fenk¡¯s air defense operators. The ..¡± ¡°What do these have to do with colonialists here?¡± ¡°Well, these were all inexplicable events with multiple deaths or injuries and in each case there were significant impacts of their being out of commission. The Ruritaani army was unable to draft many young people and had to negotiate a peaceful compromise with its eastern provinces. The sudden deaths of Fenk¡¯s air defense operators, hidden from its enemies, gave its government the impetus to sign a peace treaty with the neighbour it had been feuding against for 10 years. I think this may be something similar and ¡­¡± Daniel scoffed again. ¡°The colonists would love to sign an actual peace agreement with the indigenes, but you know, it¡¯s just impossible. They are savages and need to be firmly dealt with. You know, they raise their children to be willing victims ¨C martyrdom is holy to them! These are a people who don¡¯t even love their children, how can a peace agreement be signed with them and why am I justifying myself to you? Please continue.¡± Well, she had known the CNCA had extremely bigoted views about the indigenes in the new colonies and their environs, but it was another to see them in practice. ¡°There is some talk on the forums that the colonists would need to negotiate to some degree. The current violence can¡¯t continue. The indigenes have not been defeated or their leaders hunted down despite the wholescale destruction of their villages. Even the staunchest allies of the colonists have made some outraged noises at the most recent round of violence and enforced famine on a civilian population.¡± She saw Daniel force himself to remain quiet and rushed to get to her point. ¡°These deaths may be linked to an independent actor who knows how to cause mass casualties or injuries that have major repercussions for various entities involved in conflict and war.¡± Daniel leaned into his camera. He had a ring light on. Image conscious or just good practice? Deema filed that information away as he began to speak. ¡°Well, does the pattern fit, entirely?¡± ¡°No. For one thing, the 16 who died have been replaced by hundreds of others who have gone viral even faster. Their methods include posting gory combat or massacre footage, celebrations and / or recreations of the 16¡¯s past viral memes, and new viral memes encouraging the Sio-, I mean the colonists to ¡®harden their hearts¡¯ and show the indigenes their place or finish them off for once and for all. These new creators have seamlessly fit into the space vacated by the 16, to contest the new frontiers as the colonialists begin to lose their majority on the internet.¡± She took a breath. Before, she wasn¡¯t really invested all that much in this conflict light-hours away, since it was all too complicated, it had been going on for all too long, and well, her own life kept her busy. But now she couldn¡¯t look away. In her research she found inhumanity upon inhumanity, covered up by the compliant media who followed her imperial government¡¯s line: the colonies were a bulwark against oriental recidivism. They were an unsinkable aircraft carrier that could be forgiven every sin. But that was now changing. The latest round of violence, sparked by an audacious indigene hostage taking operation, had crossed all limits, even those established by the colonists murder sport case where snipers killed 4 young boys playing football on a beach. The colonists did not take this affront to their dignity and security lightly. They immediately imprisoned a few more thousand indigenes to add on to the existing thousands and then really got going. They dropped white phosphorus and sniped doctors. They hunted journalists for sports. They made prisoners go blindfolded into a building to convey instructions and then shot them when they came out. They starved millions, then told thousands to come receive flour, then opened fire. And then they did it again. Even the notoriously pro-colonist media couldn¡¯t put enough lipstick on this pig. But the CNCA tried its best. The CNCA ran breathless think pieces decrying the new anti-colonism and doxxing college students, like the one who, when shown an article lamenting the evacuation of the 600,000 northern colonial settlers, responded flippantly and said ¡®double it and give it to the next person.¡¯ Deema tried to ignore the voice in her mind telling her to tell Daniel to fuck off. Killings were bad, even of colonialists and their sympathisers. She had her moral code. ¡°All that to say, this doesn¡¯t fit. Daniel stared at her, unblinkingly. ¡°Is that all?¡± Unbidden, Deema thought of the young boy, and the flash of green. ¡°For now.¡± Deema asked him if he had any updates, and he didn¡¯t. For next steps, Deema would continue her analysis, anticipating another 10 hours this week of secondary research. They decided to meet again next week. Work of the angels Deema served Sara some lentils with rice and a goat cauliflower curry. Sara was talking up a storm about school and classes and friends. Sara had finished a plate and was reaching for seconds. Deema was glad to see her enjoy her cooking. It didn¡¯t happen every time, her daughter was a budding critic and she had strong opinions about what she liked. ¡°I¡¯m having a hard time with Spanish! The conjugation is annoying and it¡¯s just so different. I wish I could learn it just by listening to songs, it would be so much more fun. As it is, there are SO many pronouns and I have to memorize all these words¡­ ¡± Deema smiled, her mind flashing back to her own time learning Spanish and she remembered a neat factoid. ¡°Did you know many Spanish words come from Arabic? Pillow, rice, shirt, oh and ojala comes from inshallah for if God wills!¡± Sara took that change of direction and ran with it. ¡°Yes and olive and oil and saffron. Oh and¡±. It was so easy to smile when Sara was around. Her daughter¡¯s unsullied zest for knowledge and her excitement to share it was contagious. She was still going on. ¡°And funny you should mention inshallah. You know how it came about, right? That chapter of the Book supposed to be read every Friday.¡± Sara paused expectantly. ¡°Oh, remind me, dear,¡± Sara being Sara went on a tangent. ¡°It has a lot of stories in it. The men in the cave, the man in green who did stuff for God all over, the traveller who traveled from one end of the world to the other and locked up Gog and Magog, oh and the meta commentary about never saying you¡¯ll do something without saying Inshallah because it¡¯s not up to you, see.¡± Deema kept listening but her smile slid off her face. The man in green? Sara was still talking. ¡°So the people came to the Prophet ? and asked him three questions and he ? said I¡¯ll tell you tomorrow but he didn¡¯t say Inshallah! And so the next day¡­¡± Deema¡¯s brain was working furiously. It couldn¡¯t be this obvious¡­. She gave her daughter a kiss and told her she had some work to do.
It was tenuous, but it had to be shared. But Daniel wasn¡¯t picking up. She had called him 5 times already and he didn¡¯t pick up even once or even message her. She would¡¯ve messaged him what she wanted to tell him, but she didn¡¯t want to say it over text, or email, or any other typically recordable means of communication. It felt off to her even to help the CNCA, dangerous, even, but they had hired her. They deserved this much. She tried a few times again before going to sleep, every time unsuccessfully, thinking about what she had only recently learnt ¨C how Ruritani draft enforcers had fallen down stairs, some from just three stairs, to their deaths before the government gave up on the draft and signed the peace and autonomy treaty. And how the protests by the Ruritani had essentially held the ministers for environment and defence hostage for 4 days. And How the ministerial hostage taking and the deaths of the enforcers were hand-waved away during the chaos of the time and their reality kept secret.. And how there were rumblings of magic, and destiny, the hand of God, and green. She couldn¡¯t believe it, but the coincidences were adding up. Sara had reminded her of the old story of a man in green tasked by God to solve problems. In his story, he sabotaged ships, killed transgressors or transgressors-to-be, and rebuilt a wall to protect the inheritance of two orphans. He acted as God willed and knew more about the unseen and the unknown than even the prophets of the time. The pattern fit. How could she have been so blind? At 4 am, her phone rang. She grabbed around for her phone. It was Daniel. Finally. She was fully awake in less time than it took her to pick up the call. ¡°Ms. Hayat. Sorry to have woken you up. We have a situation.¡± Deema jumped in. ¡°Oh, yes we do. If this is matter is indeed related to the independent actor we talked about ¨C then we can expect significant deaths the next time round. This is not my professional opinion, but I would suggest getting amulets for all of your people and increase security for them ¨C if you have any large groups either here or in the colonies. Anyone one group of people for a training or conference, like doctors, logistics personnel, or ¡± Daniel cut her off. When he did, his voice was faint and damning.¡°151 reserve pilots of the Colonial Air Force and 25 local trainers and support staff have perished in the past 24 hours.¡± WHAT. Deema¡¯s heart stopped. 151 pilots in one day? And 25 others? This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°The pilots were all in the motherland. Some for training, some for vacations, some for rotations. But all suddenly developed blood clots, which rapidly became pulmonary embolisms, and they just died.¡± He paused for a second. ¡°How did you know this time would be far deadlier? What more do you know? What aren¡¯t you telling me? Why didn¡¯t you text me?¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you pick up my calls?¡± She fired right back. She didn¡¯t want to respond to the other questions. He sighed. ¡°It has been a busy few days. But this.. this changes everything.¡± ¡°What do you know so far? Have they released any information¡± ¡°well, you can¡¯t hide this for too long, but no. They haven¡¯t released any information. We just know that almost every single reserve pilot developed deep vein thrombosis, then a blood clot, and then died. But. You need to tell me what you know. How did you know?¡± Deema was silent for a few seconds. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you here. Meet me downtown at the 24/7 Babby¡¯s. You know which one.¡± He did. Deema put on a hoodie, it was cold this time of the morning, and left. The night tram service was a life saver. She couldn¡¯t get over it. 176 people, dead in a night. Pilots, too. They tempted death every day and then they got wasted by a supernatural entity. She did a quick scan of the major trends on Yin. Her feed was mostly cat videos, investment advice, some rightful vitriol against the new colonist propagandists and their vile exhortations, kettlebell tips, and some of those same vile exhortations. One post that made her stare blankly into the screen, sight unseeing as it repeated endlessly. An indigene man, his zip-tied hand starting three inches from his non-existent elbow the only recognizable thing left of him after a colonist¡¯s tank crushed him to white and red and yellow pulp and parchment paper. The propagandist sharing the post was proud, proud to be a pancaker. She reached maybe 3 minutes before Daniel and ordered a tea. Her mind was still in shock. She had always known the colonists to be callous and brutal but this was even more violent than the bulldozer crushing that brave young woman all those years ago. She paused. In all these years, she had never seen that woman¡¯s final fate. She was a heroine, abstract in her goodness and purity. She wondered if everyone¡¯s body was just parchment holding red and yellow. She pondered if all of the colonists were just pancakers or aspired to be. She saw Daniel. He made a beeline right to her. His eyes were bloodshot and raw. He sat down without asking her. Tell me, tell me now, he said, waving away a waiter. ¡°Before I begin, I want to let you know this will be end of my involvement with the CNCA, and by extension, you, Daniel.¡± She felt much better and safer after having said that. More at peace. She wished she had the guts to just up and leave, but she couldn¡¯t. She wasn¡¯t going to tell him about the man in green though. As far as she was concerned, she needed to limit her collaboration with the CNCA before she ran the risk of becoming a statistic, too. Before he could say anything, Deema pushed her cup away. ¡°Ok so this has a pattern. I didn¡¯t have all the information before but this has happened before. There are powerful forces at play. Hidden, unknown, and supernatural forces. Each time a country or a body politic transgresses beyond certain limits, these, ah, unexplained deaths and injuries pile up. And in each case, they escalate until the parties involved make peace.¡± Make peace, she scoffed to herself. That¡¯s when typically the transgressors give up their attempts to dominate or crush their opponents. The waiter was back, and this time it was Deema who waved him away. ¡°The Ruritani mass ankle injury event was not enough to make the Ruritani government change course, it¡¯s only when 61 of their draft enforcers died in one day in mysterious circumstances while on their job, after thousands of people protested and countered their heavy handed ¡®mobilization¡¯, and the rest of the enforcers developed a phobia of doing their jobs, and the military refused to follow their orders to invade the breakaway self-governed republics that the government backed down and signed the treaty.¡± She took a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know you that well, Daniel. All I know about you is you came to me to find out the link between these deaths 7 deaths, and then those 16, and now these 176. I¡¯ll tell you now. These were a ladder. The first 7 were just random grunts, those who were the foot soldiers or the foot soldiers to be for the colonial army. The 16 were those that incite others to evil. These last 151 and 25 ¨C if they even are limited to these ¨C are the latest escalation, and an invitation to change course and make peace.¡± His wan face turned even more ashen. She saw fear in his eyes. ¡°Escalation by who? Who is it who is killing us?¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°I do not know for certain. But if I did, I wouldn¡¯t tell you. I would be very careful being an open colonist or a supporter of the colonists, Daniel. This is a warning. It is too clean to be the work of amateurs. It¡¯s either insanely well-trained killers going around escalating the number of their assassinations that leave no trace and occur across thousands of miles or.¡± She paused. Not everyone believed, but. ¡°It could be the work of the angels. Or of the friends of God. All I know is, I don¡¯t want to be associated with you. Good luck, Daniel.¡± I hope you become less of a fascist, she said to herself. And if you don¡¯t, may God take you before you transgress beyond his limits. She stood up. ¡°Good-bye,¡± She picked up her almost untouched tea and nodded twice at him. He made some gurgling noises as if he wanted to say something but he remained silent. She left. We will see, oh yes, we will see The news presenter was crying on his livestream, talking about his childhood friend, who was an enthusiastic tennis player, an always available babysitter, and a lovely person. He was one of the colonial pilots that had recently completed a voluntary tour to go fight in the colonial war. He had died in the recent spate of unexplained deaths, leaving behind a young family. She navigated away from the news stream and went back to her Yin feed. Colonists and their supporters had initially increased in number after the news of the bizarre and inexplicable deaths had come out, but once Yin had blown the lid on just exactly how rotten the recently departed were ¨C public opinion firmly switched towards the indigenes. The dead made it easy ¨C they had documented their every action from war-crimes to violence to pure creepiness and took pride in declaring how they volunteered to go on bombings or ¡®target practice¡¯. And a whistleblower had leaked the sheer extent of the support the national government provided to the colonials a few days ago and had gone into hiding to stay safe. And now as she flipped from post to post she saw less and less of proud colonialists broadcasting indigene terror and more of widespread bullying of colonials and of government personnel by the young and old alike, only interrupted by primary person footage of indigene bravery and engineering creativity under technological limitations. One woman, Ameera was especially sharp in her put-downs of colonist evil. Deema saw a post by Ameera opining that the family of the news presenter¡¯s pilot friend was probably better off without a genocidal maniac in the house. Her clock rang the hour. Deema looked up from her device, the mail was probably in. As she walked out to the communal mailroom to pick up her mail, she a flash of green out of the corner of her ete. She stopped and looked around but there was nothing. She shrugged and went to pick up her mail. She was expecting something from her cousin travelling across the southern continent and got it. But she also found an interactive news piece in her mailbox, surprising her, since she wasn¡¯t subscribed to that service. She picked it up and went back. She nodded at two of her neighbours fiddling with their vertical gardens, entered her apartment, and pressed the red button to start the news package as she started to cook. It was a notification from the government¡¯s newspaper of record. The government¡¯s spokesperson¡¯s hologram suddenly appeared. He was a local indigene who could have been adopted into a long line of colonialists for all his deference to and defence of the colonies. ¡°this so-called whistleblower is a traitor to our glorious nation, and his so-called-publisher has violated our laws from afar. Both must stand trial in our courts. We are sure our free and fair judges will make the right decision and sentence them to what they deserve.¡± The hologram went on to detail the serious charges the whistleblower was hiding from and the publisher was being extradited for. Deema felt a deep rage build as listened to the holographic psycho¡¯s barely restrained glee. The mood of the nation had changed, coast to coast, but the elites and the politicians remained steadfast in the support of the colonies. The honest ones among them admitted that the colonies were an investment, to keep the colonial neighbourhood always on edge and in a state of constant internecine war. The indigenes were a sad sacrifice, but a sacrifice the government was entirely too willing to make. Not in my name, she thought. Not in my name. She waved a hand, winking out the hologram. She pulled up her device and signed into those domestic forums she lurked on to see what the enthusiasts of the esoteric and everyone else were up to.
The forums were ablaze with rage against the colonizers. Any colonists or their supporters were either keeping a very low profile or had been banned for genocide promotion. Deema drank it all in. She wrote up a high-level analysis of the recent situation, about the unexplained killings in Ruritania and the unknown massive protests and hostage taking / civil disobedience by the Ruritani there to stop the mobilization in its tracks, and submitted it. Her post quickly attracted comments and shares and excitement. People wanted to do something, anything, to stop the genocide. Over the course of two days, opinion coalesced around protesting the ministry of justice or the ministry of colonial affairs. Fervor and passion spread across the public, across real life and alternate media. Millions filled the streets of the nation, an eclectic mix of the young and old ¨C everyone with a heart still beating. Even the ossified official and corporate media realized the direction the wind was blowing and began to put out opinion pieces lightly critical of the colonists, the colonial government, and even the national government. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It was too late. Deema and some of the most active members of the forums had come together. They mapped out a meticulous plan to force the national government to stop, to listen, and to end the genocide. They began by taking a leaf out of the Ruritani playbook. They would conduct direct negotiations with the ministers responsible.
A million or more attended the next major protest march. As the crowd swelled and swayed and passed by the Ministry of Colonial Affairs, a young woman from the city¡¯s main temple addressed the crowd. It was Ameera, the online put-downer par excellence. ¡°Free, free indigene!¡± She began. ¡°Free, free everyone!¡± The crowd roared back. The woman found Deema in the crowd, and smiled. ¡°We will see, oh yes, we will see The liars locked, the ghoulish gone. The killers killed, we will see We will see, that¡¯s right, we will see She paused, and the crowd took up the cry. We WILL see. We WILL see. The ground pulsed. She continued. ¡°We will see, oh yes, we will see The propagandists popped The bombers bombed, the criminals crushed, the genociders stopped We will see, oh yes, we will see. See peace prevail, we will see¡± For a moment, everything was still. Then the crowd took up the chant. Deema was among them. So was her family, so were her friends. After a few chants, the young woman motioned for attention. She pointed to the ministry 200m away from her. ¡°This is where our government supports the genocide. This is where they process all the bulldozers, all the bombs, all the airplanes and all the artillery. This building is where our Minister is hiding. Let¡¯s go say hello.¡± A few hundreds of those closest to the building began to walk up to it, soon joined by thousands more. The police flexed their batons but faced with a crowd of determined thousands would not take no for an answer. The crowd settled in, started a party. Ameera was still on the stage, telling them stories about some of the martyrs she knew. The minister, a harried-looking man in his fifties with inadvisably sharply-edged glasses, came out to reason with the crowd. Ameera welcomed him to the stage but stared the ministerial security down. They held no power here. The drones buzzing next to them caught the scene from every angle, broadcasting the stage to the protestors in the area and beyond. ¡°Thank you for coming, Minister. Do you support genocide?¡± Whatever he meant to say was immediately drowned out in the crowd¡¯s boos. Ameera motioned for quiet and calm. ¡°Yes Minister, go ahead. Do you support genocide?¡± He nodded, no, no, no. Ameera handed him a microphone, but kept its control with her. ¡°Will you end the genocide?¡± ¡°Well, you see¡± and the crowd broke out ¡°We will see, oh yes, we will see.¡± From her position just behind the stage, Deema saw the minister visibly wince. She smiled. She was the one who came up with the chorus, after all. Everytime the minister started to vacillate and obfuscate and talk in generalities, the crowd bullied him. Deema doubted he had ever been grilled in this manner. He got a call and picked up his phone. Ameera reached out, grabbed the phone, and threw it away. Deema saw Roy, one of her co-planners, immediately send a couple of organizers to get that phone back. She wondered what sort of dirt would be on it. The minister cracked. He insisted he had been in government only to temper the unfortunate pre-existing colonist bent. He promised to cancel all exports to the colonial entity. When pressed to end military support to the colonialists and to end the investigation into the whistleblower and the extradition of his publisher, the minister balked and said that was outside of his control. ¡°No problem, Minister. Let¡¯s go now to the Department of Defense and the Palace of Justice. You¡¯ll take us there.¡± Roy came and gave Ameera the minister¡¯s phone.
The other minister¡¯s weren¡¯t as easy to bully. No matter. A few strategic blockades (pipelines, trains, and routes leading to the sea ports exporting arms, ammunition, and energy to the colonists), plus an increasingly powerful belief in karma aided by publicizing the kinds of people who died in mysterious circumstances. They weren¡¯t all bomb-dropping pilots. They were also equipment technicians maintaining bulldozers, graphic designers drafting propaganda cartoons, and other low-lying scum. It was a bad time to be a colonist or a colonist sympathizer. Kicking and screaming, the government was bullied into dropping its support for the colonists. Not too long after, the colonists blamed all their excesses on a small coterie of erstwhile leaders and claimed to be victims too. Many left to come back to the homeland, some left to go find their way elsewhere in the world, but without having a tyrannical government backing them up, they behaved better and hid from the law. Deema¡¯s poem was right. They did see peace prevail. The Wall of the Indigenes It was summer, and it was already light outside. Deema went for a walk nice and early as was her wont. She took the tram, already half-full with almost all the passengers half- or fully-asleep. She looked around. The tram had an ad for the new subway line under construction on the other side of town, big and freshly printed. It made for a nice change from all the ads calling to support the settlers or calling attention to specific protestors and their ¡®misdeeds¡¯ of wanting an end to the genocide. A teenager with a big racquet bag two rows down from her woke up with a start and swiveled his head around, all wide-eyed. He muttered something about having missed his stop and that he couldn¡¯t believe he was late for training again. Deema recognized him ¨C he was one of the more noticeable students at the protests. His claim to fame were the bagels with cream cheese and butter he brought in their scores from his family¡¯s bakery to some of the protests she had been at. He didn¡¯t recognize her though, busy as he was grabbing his stuff and pleading with the tram driver to tell him when the next stop was. The driver, laconic as always or because of how early it was, pointed to the info screen above his head without looking up. A minute later, he was off, running in the opposite direction. Deema followed three stops later, at the fifth locks. She always did love the green areas next to the waterways. Deema began walking around aimlessly. Just being in close proximity to the water made her breathe easier. Even the return of the ducks and the geese for the season, covering some of the trails with their excrement, couldn¡¯t dampen her mood. She found herself next to one of the innumerable small side streams that fed into or out of the canal. She saw a fish on the ground leap back into the water. She stopped and turned. ¡°Fancy seeing you here.¡± It was the boy, his ageless face distinct in the early rays after the sun¡¯s rise, resplendent in green. ¡°Peace be upon you.¡± She returned his greeting with peace and the blessings of God, and followed it up immediately with a question. ¡°Are you really Khidr?¡± The boy smiled a genuine smile. At least it wasn¡¯t grim and chilling this time. ¡°The right pronunciation is Khizr, actually. The Zaad was historically closer to a z than a d.¡± She moved closer to him and asked. ¡°Are you him?¡± ¡°What does it matter?¡± He asked, serious. ¡°It matters to me, to the world.¡± She was emphatic. ¡°To know Khid- sorry, Khizr is alive, and active, and stepping in our matters - ¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. He cut her off. ¡°Khizr is alive in us when we do what is right. We have the knowledge, we have the ability to know right from wrong. If we do what is right, what is just, what is true, Khizr is alive. If we do not, Khizr died centuries ago.¡± She was silent, her mind reeling with the ramifications. Could it be true? Could Khizr, that mysterious sage, be alive all these centuries? She noted the boy hadn¡¯t denied being Khizr, and that fish leaping back into the water was just too on the nose. But there had to be a logical explanation for all this! Was this truly Khizr? Could she believe her eyes and all that she had seen? Was this really happening? Or was this an inspired copycat or a club of copycats. Her mind went back to the killings. There had to be a physical reason for all those allergic reactions and pulmonary embolisms and what not and definitely for those pressure cookers. How could it be targeted? Who was watching? Who had a list? She reflexively touched her amulet, reassuringly close to her heart just a little above her left elbow. ¡°So far, I just know destruction and death and killings,¡± The boy opened his mouth to protest but Deema forestalled him. ¡°Yes, I know, of fascists but of humans nevertheless. What did you create? Where is the wall that protects the orphan¡¯s treasure?¡± The boy ¨C the man ¨C smiled deeply and widely. ¡°That¡¯s my favourite part! The wall that protects the orphans, the weak, the honest, the just, the indigene. That¡¯s the wall of fear. The fear that the indigene will strike back. The fear that the indigene will capture them and violate them or worse, not do anything at all to them except treat them with human decency. The fear that the indigene will no longer be weak. The fear that the indigene can count on something beyond human reason. The fear that everyday normal people, typically politically indifferent people, support the indigenes. The fear that the indigene doesn¡¯t just have moral support, but real, lasting, physical support that they will see today and forever.¡± He smiled again. ¡°Nice poem, by the way.¡± Deema mumbled a thanks and a ¡®it wasn¡¯t just me¡¯. Khizr (was it really him?) ¨C whoever he was ¨C continued. ¡°You can brush away all sorts of unlikely things, chalk them up to coincidences. But your poem, that boy¡¯s bagels, that girls mockeries, and everyone¡¯s time and efforts, risking life and limb for people and ocean away? You combine that with mysterious deaths and the very real social deaths and what do you get?¡± He spread his hands. ¡°Look around. Do you see anything different?¡± He pointed to the billboards, suddenly totally free of colonial posters and calls to settle (almost) virgin land and now advertising a new museum exhibit on the ancient incense trade. ¡°This is fear. This is not conscience, dear Deema. This is pure, primal, unadulterated fear.¡± He smiled again, a beautiful smile. ¡°This is the wall, Deema, the wall of the indigenes. The poems and protests and the supplies and the armed support from their neighbours helped. But it¡¯s really them. They have made their own wall. They have guaranteed their future. Yes, they paid a heavy price. But they put the fear of God, and the fear of the indigenes themselves, in the hearts of the colonisers and the fascists. They are winning, Deema. They will win. We will win.¡±