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.

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“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 –“

“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 – 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.