Genie's Trap: A Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Fan Fiction
Episode Twenty-nine: Grieving Skies
Date: April 17th, 2015

The pain drove away all thoughts of the flame-like eyes out of my head, and leaning forward I vomited spectacularly, the sick being caught in close to my face and held there.

"Dude, what's wrong with him?" someone sitting to my left asked.

"I don't know," another to my right answered, "get the bag off before he drowns."

A thick black bag was pulled off my head and some of the puke rolled out and down my chest while I blinked in confusion. I was sitting in the back seat of a car between two men with the hard-eyed look of people who'd seen much in their short lives. Under the jacket of one I caught sight of a holstered gun and the other held a knife to my ribs: the threat didn't need to be said for me to understand that any sudden moves would result in punctured liver.

"W-What's h-happening?" I managed to wheeze, my voice sounding nothing like it usually did.

"Nothin' to worry about Mr. Brown," the man on my right growled menacingly. "We just want some questions answered."

"N-Nothing to worry about?" I repeated, feeling only marginally better. "That might have been true when I hadn't seen your faces, but now you're facing kidnapping charges." Making threats probably wasn't the best idea in this situation; and why were they calling me 'Mr. Brown'.

David Brown: the name came to me immediately because it was my name! David William Brown, a down-on-his-luck college grad with an Associate of Applied Sciences degree in accounting that was getting me nowhere. My entire life flashed before my eyes, up until the point that I lit that lamp in my apartment. Everything after that was from Kira Yamato's perspective – I'd been Kira, I'd felt the controls of the Strike Gundam and the acceleration of the machine as it maneuvered, and interacted with the crew of the Archangel. When I'd lit that lamp I'd been thinking, it would be so cool to be Kira Yamato.

We pulled into a parking structure and the guy on the right got out to use his cell phone. He talked for a moment with whoever was on the other end, before telling his companions, "We're a bust: let him go and let's get out of here."

"You know, he could still accuse us of kidnapping," the driver said in a tight voice.

"And attempted murder, the way that knife was positioned," I added. Then I promised, "But if you go your way then so will I."

I was helped out, the bag of sick thrown at my feet, and then the trio were heading away in their car. Left alone I started patting my pockets, coming away with a cellphone and wallet; the cell phone was new, but the wallet was the familiar eagle-stamped leather billfold that I'd bought from a Boy Scouts of America troop at the last city fair. There was over $100 in cash, a couple of unfamiliar credit cards, and three pictures of myself – my real self – with Megan Astor.

Activating the cellphone I searched through the contacts until I found Megan's number, calling it. She picked up almost immediately, but her voice was hesitant as she answered, "David?"

"Hi, yea; well, this is awkward."

"Yea, awkward if the right word. The flame on the lamp went out, so I know that you're . . . well, you. Just tell me where you are and I'll send someone to pick you up."

"To be honest, I'm in a parking garage somewhere: I'll call you back when I've got a street address," I told her, then as an afterthought added, "Oh, could you send some clothes along? I'm afraid I threw up when I . . . came to."

"Of course," she replied. "I-I'll be waiting for your call."

Hanging up and dropping the bag of sick in a garbage can, I found my way out of the parking structure to find that it was part of a high rise somewhere in downtown Los Angeles. I found some street signs and called back with my location, and less than a quarter hour later I was being picked up by a dark blue limousine: a diplomatic color meant to blend in without offending certain sensibilities – black being the color of mourning in the west while white was the color of mourning in the east.

The interior was well appointed, but there was no one to talk to but the driver, and he had the privacy screen up. All I could do was clean myself off with baby wipes and change clothes, paying little attention to where we were going. We left the city and made our way to the Astor estate, which I remembered from the times I'd gone there for the photo shoots.

My door was opened by a man with the same threatening demeanor as the toughs who'd kidnapped me, but this man looked concerned not threatening. "I know it's none of my business, David," the man confided like we were conspirators, "but whatever you did just apologize and take the blame; even if it isn't your fault."

"Thanks," I said while trying to put a name to the man's face. It was impossible: I didn't know this guy. "That sounds like advice to live by when it comes to women."

Laughing, the man led me into the house, past the hallway filled with the images of the Astor's patriarchs, to an office about halfway down. Inside Megan Astor, as lovely as I remembered with her strawberry-blonde hair and athletic body, and a man I only vaguely recognized as the lawyer who'd delivered the lamp; he was slender, like a devoted marathon runner, but his suit was fine dark linen and professionally tailored. They were seated to one side where three chairs surrounded a circular table, on which was the old ceramic lamp from which the creature of smoke and fire had emerged.

"Hello, Mr. Brown," the lawyer said, standing up to shake my hand. "We've met before: my name is William Riley, lead legal counsel for the Astor Estate."

"I remember," was my reply as we shook hands.

"Ah, good; that should make things easier. Why don't you have a seat? I imagine that you have a lot of questions."

"The season's changed," I noted, looking out the window. "So, two questions, really: what the hell is that lamp, and what did it do to me?"

Nodding, Mr. Riley answered, "Right to the point: I like that. Alright, tell me what you know about the dijinn?" At my dumb look he corrected, "They're better known as 'genie'."

"You mean like Disney's Aladdin or 1001 Arabian Nights? Rub the lamp and you get three wishes," I answered. "The first is usually flawed, forcing the genie's master to use their second wish to correct the first, but in doing problems increase, until wisher finally wishes that they never found the lamp."

Waving away that explanation, the lawyer replied, "Those tales are only a shadow of the truth: the dijinni only grant one wish, but not in the way you might expect. First you have to understand that they are ethereal beings, unable to exist on our plane of existence without a vessel. They can inhabit inanimate objects but cannot interact with the world in that form; so they created a pact with humans – a pact that has been forgotten but is still in effect."

I was horrified even before Mr. Riley continued, "The person who lights the lamp agrees to give up their body to the dijinn. In return, the human's soul is placed inside the lamp where they experience one perfect wish – a lifetime of happiness."

He said it with such a wistful expression that I couldn't help but wonder what his 'perfect wish' might have been. "So, the genie hijacked my body: what's it been doing the past three months?"

"David and I are engaged to marry," Megan spoke at last. "Since taking over your body we've been consolidating our hold on the family companies, countering the old fools who thought to take over after my grandfather's death, and making ventures into the robotics industry."

Nodding, the man energetically noted, "It has been a most amazing thing to watch: apparently the dijinn takes on some of the personality traits and interests of the host – which was why Mr. Astor was so particular on the choice."

A disturbing understanding reached me then, and I wondered, "Old Mr. Astor was the genie's last host, wasn't he. You're engaged to marry your grandfather?"

Megan blushed, but defended her position, "I'm securing a valuable resource for my family." It was an excuse, but one founded on solid reasons. "Usually the dijinn chooses a new host from within the family: a son or grandson. Only all my brothers and cousins share a predilection towards alcohol and the company of . . . loose women. He'd experienced all that, so he wanted his new host to come from outside the family. When that happens one of the women of the family become his link to the funds and estates. I loved my grandfather as a grandfather, but, yes, I did know that he'd be reincarnated into whatever body he chose, and that I'd be his wife."

She was defiant: not challenging me, precisely; more firm in her conviction than anything else.

"Why was I kidnapped?"

"You were kidnapped?" was the immediate response.

I nodded, and explained, "I came to inside a car with three toughs: they had to pull the bag off my head when I threw up in it and then stopped at that high rise to get instructions. They cut me loose because they'd had to reveal themselves and I promised not to report them."

After a moment of meaningful looks passing between Megan and William the woman answered, "The building belonged to one of our biggest rivals in the telecommunications field: you were probably abducted to determine who much you were involved in our new telecom ventures."

"So, the genie hung me out to dry?"

"That's the way it might seem," the lawyer attempted to dissemble, "but just think: without you getting sick and having that hood taken off you'd never have been released."

"Semantics," I answered the man, "is the study of the logical aspects of meaning."

He nodded, understanding my meaning. I could have quoted Obi-Wan Kenobi's "different point of view", but I thought legalese would mean more to these two. Whether or not the genie let me go because it had known I'd be released if I saw the faces of my abductors did not negate the fact that by doing so it was leaving me holding the bag.

Looking at Megan, I asked, "So, what happens now?"

"That's up to you," she answered, putting a lighter on the table next to the lamp. "I love David, the amalgam of your body and the dijinn's soul, but I can't force you to light the lamp. The pact can be made unwittingly, but not unwillingly. So, either you light the lamp and make the exchange, or William and I contrive a reason for our falling out and we go separate ways.

"No chance that the two of us could be together?" I wondered, and her gimlet-eyed stare was enough to know that I did not want to pursue that line of thinking.

Taking the lighter I considered my options before flicking the striker and putting the flame to the wick.

Smoke began to pour from the mouth of the lamp, a tendril wrapping around my wrist before the rest began to pool onto the ground between the lamp and myself. It took the form of a man – two arms and two legs connected to a central trunk, the head forming last with a pair of purple flames in the place of eyes. There was a sensation like my thoughts and feelings were being sifted and judged, and then the voice intoned: GRANTED!

. . .

. . .

The pain drove away all thoughts of the flame-like eyes out of my head. For a moment I thought that I should have been sick to my stomach, but I wasn't: it was just the full body pain that I had to deal with. My eyelids felt grainy and resisted my attempts to open them, snapping closed immediately if I did not make a conscious effort, and looking I took stock of my surroundings mostly by feel than anything else.

I was laying on a bed, the blankets tucked under my arms, in a room made of glass; like a greenhouse crossed with a hospital room. Standing next to my bed was a young woman, perhaps 16 years old, with light pink hair and pale cerulean eyes, a pair of gold barrettes clipped in place above her left eye. For a moment I thought, jail bait, and then I remembered that I was only 16, too.

Why did I think I was older?

Because I'd been older in my dream – I was always in my mid-twenties in those strange dreams.

She smiled at me, and in a high sweet voice she told me, "Good morning."

End Episode 29

NOTES: This was actually a really tough episode to write, and I struggled with how to reveal the whole 'genie's trap' aspect. Let me know what you think in the comments.