A Tale of the Genie Wars
*
I frowned as I looked at the Nile crate that had been dropped before my front door -- the peeling postage on the side proclaiming that it came from my Aunt. The corners of the box looked like they had been pretty badly beaten up, but that
was
why the Nile was the
second
most popular online shipping and delivery service in the world.
"Goddamn it, Janice," I said, kneeling slowly down and picking up the box.
Once I was inside my house, I spent a few moments cursing the fact that I hadn't grabbed my picker-upper. I knew there was an actual name for the thing I used to pick up moderately light weight objects without needing to bend over...but I had never really bothered to learn it, out of bloody stubborn mindedness. I'd accept the crippling. I'd even accept the massive debt from getting my body pieced back together inch by bloody goddamn inch by overpaid doctors. But I'd rot in hell before I remembered the cutesy name my health provider gave to my grabby thing.
Spiteful? Maybe.
But you'd be spiteful too if you were hit by a goddamn car while buying ice cream. Vanilla ice cream, just to add insult to injury. They hadn't even had
french
vanilla, the kind of vanilla I preferred. I shook my head as I hobbled inch by inch to the kitchen counter top. As I hobbled, my kitten Sparks ran around my ankles, meowing excitedly. She lay on her belly, then rolled onto her back, then sprang up onto the counter as I slowly, slowly, sloooowly set the box down. Sparks started to bat at my fingers, her meowing going from 'hi hi hi hi!' to 'pet pet pet pet!'
I swear, I had a dog sometimes.
Once I had put the box down, I fumbled around in my pockets until I found my swiss army knife. I flicked it open, took vicious pleasure in stabbing the box and sliding the tape apart. I imagined it was the driver who had hit me with the car...and then opened the box to find that my Aunt Janice had mailed me, at no small expense, an old style scientific calculator. The kind that you could actually play games on, back before every phone had become self aware and capable of projecting holograms (or whatever it was that phones could do these days.)
I scowled at the calculator.
"Thanks, Janice," I said, sighing.
My phone started to ring -- as if it recognized the dinosaur that I was looking at and wanted to remind me that it was still the top of the electronics food chain. I set my knife down, leaning on the counter as I slowly reached down to tug my phone from my
other
pocket. I saw it was a call from my friend Matt. I tapped it on, putting it to my ear, and saying: "Yeah, what do you want?"
"Whoa, Leon," Matt said, sounding amused. "What about, hey Matt, hows it going?"
"Die in a fire," I said, my voice dry.
"That's the Leon I know!" He sighed. "I was just thinking, we should get back to the hanging out scene. There's this new bar downtown called the Health Bar. You can play games there
while
getting buzzed, you know?"
"Huh," I said. "Two problems: I can't drink."
"Well..."
"And, even worse, I
don't
drink. I hate drinking," I said, frowning slightly -- that...was kind of weird. Matt was a goof, but he didn't normally forget things like that.
"Well, yeah, but..." he said, his voice fumbling a bit. I glanced down at the calculator -- my brow furrowing as I noticed that the tiny solar panel that was seated on the top of the calculator was glowing a pale blue. Which was
weird
as shit, but not quite as weird as the screen display. It was showing, in curved lines (which was impossible) a series of cursive letters. Which was also impossible, this was a
calculator,
as I felt like I needed to remind the damn thing.
Of course, I could barely read hand writing, let alone cursive.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, I was just saying, we don't hang out much anymore," Matt said, sounding a bit abashed. "And I was figuring, I mean, bars can be fun!"
"Uh, can I call you back, Matt?" I asked, tapping my phone off before he could respond. I set my phone down as I leaned forward and looked at the calculator as the cursive continued to scroll across. I started to figure out what it was saying after a few moments of squinting and cocking my head.
HANG UP THE PHONE AND OH GOOD GREETINGS MASTER
"...Janice, are you trying to prank me from Siberia?" I asked the calculator. "Is this a custom built thing?" I picked up the calculator, frowning as I did so.
I AM NOT JANICE -- THOUGH I DO KNOW JANICE. IF YOU WANT Y
The cursive ran out of room. I rubbed my thumb along the keys, trying to find which one would...do anything. My thumb pressed against the arrow key to the left that I was fairly sure was normally used for graphing programs. The calculator shuddered and quivered and the cursive started to flash.
THAT WORKS THAT WORKS THAT WORKS
"Wha-" I started.
Then the calculator exploded.
The force of it sent me sprawling backwards, my cane skittering away as I felt several of my stitches burst and some of the metal chunks that the doctors had put in while taking other metal chunks out started to jar around. I felt something wet cough into my mouth and I finished skidding, Sparks hopping onto my chest and licking at my face -- clearly worried and terrified. But considering Sparks was
in
the room and not bolting towards the back yard was a testament to how much like a dog she was.
I craned my head up -- looking at the curling smoke that bloomed above the kitchen counter. It drifted aside and sitting there was...a boy.
He looked to be about twenty years old -- young and slender, with skin so pale that he looked to be made of pure alabaster. His hair was dark black with a single purple streak through it, while a pair of thick glasses sat on his cute button nose. His eyes were folded -- giving him a slightly Asian cast to his features -- but the rest of his body was clad in slender leather straps and pouches that were arranged in a way that managed to cover both nipples, his junk, and almost nothing else. His left arm had a large calculator strapped to a wrist-band, giving him a retro-sci-fi look mixed in with the punk-goth attire. His lips were painted black, and his eyes were bright red.
"Greetings, oh...shit," he said, his eyes widening as he sprang off the counter, landing on the hardwood floor beside me. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah..." I said, my voice acid. "I just decided to snap a rib and dislocate my shoulder for fun because that's just how we have
fun
in America these days."
The boy frowned at me. "No need to get snippy, master."
He snapped his fingers...
And I was standing up. I blinked and put my hands on my chest, then looked down at my feet -- I was wearing the same clothes, though...I lifted one leg experimentally. My knee bent perfectly normally, and I was able to balance on my other foot. I started to hop, and with growing joy, I realized...I was able to move! I was able to move and spin and dance like I was before the car had run me down! I spread my arms, spinning around in a circle. "HAH!" I laughed. "HOLY CRAP!" I said, then grabbed the boy, hugging him tightly. "I forgive you for blowing up, Jesus Christ, that's amazing!"
He laughed. "Hey, hey, hey," he said. "Don't go bragging to people -- I technically broke the rules..."
I drew back, still beaming as my hands rested on his shoulders. "Rules?" I asked.
"Genie rules!" he beamed as he put his hand on his chest. "I am Calculator -- a genie of the technological realm."
"...okay..." I said, slowly.
"Um, super basics...ever seen Aladdin?" He asked, cocking his head.
"Yeah," I said.
"Well, then, at least I know you got the basics -- thought the specifics are surely FUBAR," the genie -- Calculator. Lator? Calc? I didn't know what to call him, really. Still, it was shocking to hear a mythological creature, ripped straight from the tales of mythical Arabia, standing before me...with the name
Calculator
and using phrases like "FUBAR" and referencing my third most favorite Disney movie.
I brushed my hands along my face. "How many wishes?"
"As many as you want, so long as you keep this," he said, picking up the calculator -- I had thought it had exploded, but it was still perfectly intact. "If another gets this and uses it, even if they don't know it's my phylactery, then you are
fucked
."
"Right," I said, nodding. "W-What are the limits on my wishes?"
As I thought this, my head started to
spin
.
"Theoretically? None!" He said. "Want to be lord god of the entire world? Sure! Want to have sex with yourself as a girl? Totally doable! Want to pilot the EAS Agamemnon? I got you covered."
"You..." I blinked. "You just won five points for dropping the classy, obscure reference." I tapped the side of my nose -- feeling a giddy excitement adding itself to the spinning feeling in my head. It felt like I was already shooting through the stratosphere.
"Thanks, master," he said, bowing to me. "Now, there are
practical
concerns. My wishes can do anything, but I'm
not
the only genie, and my powers are due to the spread of my aspect -- I draw energy from technology. Its ubiquity is
why
I have such cosmic powers..." He grinned. "I hopped onto the bandwagon in the 18
th
century and a lot of other djinn have been jealous ever since -- before you ask, the less powerful an aspect, the easier it is to transfer to it. It's like climbing a mountain -- easier to climb up it when it's small than when it has become tall."
