"The Gurkha and the Lord of Tuesday" by Saad Z. Hossain (novella; 2019)

**A postapocalyptic Katmandu, ruled over by a benevolent AI named 'Karma'.  Is it a utopia?  A dystopia?  Well, an all-powerful djinn just woke up after millennia of slumber, and the big problem is he thinks it's boring**  

The setup is a classic one:  Following climate disaster, humanity's survivors are forced to huddle up in purpose-built cities, nanotechnology protecting them from a Planet Earth that can no longer support them.  One such city, one of the greatest, is Katmandu, jewel of the Himalayas shining brighter than ever before

Nanotechnology has created a post-scarcity society, in which everything you could possibly want is available at the push of a button.  With food and shelter and comfort and safety taken care of, currency has been abolished.  For luxuries, the only thing that matters is Points doled out by the city's aptly-named benevolent AI ruler, Karma:

Karma took everything; money, land, companies, stocks, bonds, vehicles, food, even a grandmother’s famous momo recipe. It gave only one thing back. Points. Points for service, points for good works, points for intellectual copyright, points awarded by algorithms that snaked into the future, mathematical prescience that would have beggared the Oracle of Delphi. Fair trade and good works, this was the basic heart of the system; Karma couldn’t be swindled, she couldn’t be bluffed, she didn’t permit price gouging or fixing or hoarding or adulteration or IP theft, or all the unfair practices corporations used to control the economy, and despite the serpentine mathematics involved, the end result was simple—Karma made the market for every human transaction, big or small, and in circumstances of the public good, she awarded points herself. Altruism was a big thing these days, with god watching.

Much of the story follows Hamilcar, the "Sherriff" of Katmandu.  The office is vestigial, and largely a joke.  His job is to be a failsafe if Karma makes a mistake, but the entire system is predicated on the fact that Karma doesn't make mistakes.  And even if she did, how could a mere human judge that?  So, Hamilcar lives a most peaceful life, surrounded by the knowledge that everything in Katmandu is perfect (although even that has some cracks, "I’ve got an uncle who swears that the machine-made momos taste like shit because the pleats in the dough are too perfect, and you don’t ever get the slightly burnt crunchy bits." . . . foreshadowing, perhaps)

Until, that is, a man walks in from the wilderness, an ancient Gurkha warrior complete with trademark khukuri knife.  An old man who might have some stories to tell, who certainly knows more than he's saying.  As Sheriff Hamilcar tracks down this mysterious figure (unlike all the other good citizens of Katmandu who are brainchipped so that Karma can watch and protect them, Gurung has no implants), he finds clue after clue pointing him forty years earlier, all the way back to KD1 "Karma Day One", the day that Karma took over the city with "general amnesty, erasure of debt, cancellation of all contracts, deposit of all currencies, and nationalization of all private property."

What happened that day?  What does Gurung know?  And upon what secrets has this peaceful, perfect place been built?

The setup is a classic, a young idealist realizing that maybe his "perfect" society isn't as perfect as he thinks.  And in a postapocalyptic setting, maybe the "new" society has all too much of the old (i.e. our real-life current one).  Humans are still humans, capitalism and greed still find ways to divide us into the haves and have-nots, and maybe these things are simply inexorable parts of human nature

So anyways, into the middle of this plot is dropped a character who does not give a fuck about any of that

Enter Melek Ahmar, the Djinn King, freshly awoken from millennia of slumber.  The Lord of Mars, The Red King, Most August Rajah of Djinn.  "I keep telling you, I’m the Lord of Tuesday. You think they hand out days of the week just like that? I’m one of seven!"

Melek was accidentally awoken by Gurung, and in fact it was realization of the great djinn's power that prompts Gurung to return to the city, where he can use this being's awesome might to yada yada yada honestly, Melek doesn't really care.  He even knows that Gurung is probably manipulating him, but it just seems like too much trouble to try and fight it

That doesn't mean that Melek is happy.  The opposite, really.  Because while Hamilcar and Gurung play out a shadow dance of morality, questioning the foundations of their society, Melek just finds the whole idea boring.  The first thing he does is go to a bar figuring that the degenerates and lowlifes can have a good time.  Instead, he finds a room full of people sitting quietly on their Echoes (implanted smartphones), calmly drinking "liquor cubes" that appear upon request.  And he is pissed:

“You call this drinking?” Melek Ahmar looked around in contempt. No one was slumped over, no raised voices, no one was even laughing. And due to the stupid flying cubes there weren’t even tavern wenches to molest. He thumped Gurung. “This is your bar of desperados? You want me to overthrow this God-Machine with these limp pricks?” 

“They are a bit anemic,” Gurung admitted.

Although this novella is short, it still has plenty of hilarious setpieces, scenes where Melek meets the people of this post-scarcity Katmandu.  Sometimes he tries to teach them about debauchery and degeneracy, other time he's shocked to be the one learning from them.  In particular, one scene in which he sets up and does what djinn do best, grant wishes (for a price . . .).  Yet in the end, he's aghast at the things these people ask of him.  Settling grudges, murdering relatives, people have some pretty fucked-up requests.  He's not into it:

“Poor old Pops,” ReGi said. “I thought this was your oeuvre, you elder djinn granting wishes in a fucked-up way . . .” 

“Yeah, that’s like when someone asks for a bucket of gold and you put the bucket down a well full of poisoned snakes, and laugh at him while he gets bit,” Melek Ahmar said. “That’s time-honored fun. That’s in the Lore. This shit? This is just dark. These Humes are crazy. What happened to asking for money and houses and young lovers? What happened to asking for a bigger dick or bigger tits, eh?” 

ReGi laughed. “They got that shit already, Pops, don’t you see? They just need you for the bad stuff. Funny thing is, after this is all over, I bet they’ll all say you made them do it.”

I loved this book because of the way it purposefully subverts its own story.  In the midst of a dramatic story about the illusion of perfection, the irrevocable nature of humanity, and yada yada yada good lord, why do you people take this stuff so seriously?  You do it to yourselves, you know that, right?  Even given every opportunity to just have a good time, somehow you always manage to fuck it up.  These Humes are crazy

It's fantastic that Hossain managed to fit so much into such a short novella, only 176 pages.  You could read it in a day or two, and you should.  Go hang out in Katmandu, meet the earnest and honest Hamilcar, the cunning and inscrutable Gurung, and Melek "'I’m the djinn king Melek Ahmar, Lord of Tuesday, you old fuck! I can drink this entire city dry and still walk out. I’ll fuck every man, woman, and goat in this miserable place and still be hard'" Ahmar.  Worth your time, I promise

That and, listen, no spoilers, but . . . if you can read the last two chapters of this novella without getting a massive grin on your face . . . well, there's maybe just no hope for you

I loved this book

“He wants his wife’s ashes scattered on the Kanchenjunga.” 

“Is she dead already? Or do we have to take care of that as well?” 

Gurung gave him a weird look. “Yes, yes, she’s passed already.” 

Melek Ahmar shrugged. Who knew, with Humes?