Shall Machines Divide the Earth by Benjanun Sriduangkaew (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

I drink. The vodka goes down like cold fire. “Only because I have an advantage.”

“Benzaiten is the thorn in the side of all upstanding machines.” Daji uncoils her fox proxy and sets it on the ground; it pads over to the corner and curls up. “Luckily I’m upstanding in no way. I assume that even though you acted in contravention of the Divide’s laws, you’re familiar with them. The first clause in the duelist-regalia pact is that I will not reveal any information to you that may injure or expose the Mandate. The second clause is that I will not reveal any information that’s privy to the Divide system, meaning that I’m not disclosing the names of other regalia or duelists, nor certain corollaries and secrets.”

“Very fair.” I draw up the Divide module and project it on the wall. The data it yields is scant—just the number of duelists and regalia still active, and a count of aspirants. Aspirants: one. Regalia: five. Duelists: eighteen. “This is much fewer than I expected.”

“One of the pairs has been on a killing spree.” Daji puts her index finger to her lips. “The duelist of that pair you’ll need to discover for yourself. The regalia is the one I fought on your behalf.”

“How potent are you in combat, compared to the rest of the surviving regalia?”

“My, I could take that question as an insult.” She holds up her hand, examining her fingernails. “Five times I’ve participated in the Court of Divide. Two times I’ve guided my duelist to victory; two times I’ve guided them to survival, sparing them the loser’s fate. As regalia go, I’m a true prize, Detective.”

I look at her, taking in the entirety of her. Machines may lie. She could be boasting and I will never be able to verify it. “My understanding,” I say, “is that as the game progresses, duelists may compete in ceremonies that grant them or their regalia access to Septet’s offensive systems. Armaments, orbital scans, long-range artillery.”

“And you think I’ve missed out on those, putting me at a disadvantage. I plan to surprise you.” The AI steps close, taking the empty glass from my hand. She turns the rim of it along the line of my throat. “I plan to surprise you a lot. Oh, and you did make contact with a defeated duelist, didn’t you? Wring her dry for information—I recommend it. As long as you don’t seduce her all the way into this room.”

An oddly chiding tone. “Because you value privacy?”

“Oh, Detective, you can be so coy. Will you want to shower and rest? It must’ve been a long day for you.”

I could say that I’m not tired, but the truth is that I’m far from fresh and in any case Daji is already sliding off my overcoat: she’s made the decision for me. The way she removes my coat is deliberate, as though she’s unpeeling a gift she’s long anticipated. Up close, the difference in height between us is even starker. I’m a hundred eighty-nine centimeters and her proxy is barely one sixty, perhaps to have a small profile in battle. But at a glance she looks delicate, and her pale fingers—gliding over the armored panels of my shirt—belong on a pianist or harpist.

“I can undress myself.” My voice is a little thick. Ridiculous. She is an AI.

Her hand pauses on the buckle of my belt, thumb hooked into the waistband of my trousers. “You’re sure you don’t want me to join you in the bath? I imagine there are things in your luggage and wardrobe you don’t want me to poke at.”

“You can peruse whatever you like.” Not a single spot on Septet is hidden from the Mandate: the contents of my luggage have already been scanned and recorded by the Vimana’s surveillance and therefore visible to Wonsul’s Exegesis. Whether Daji finds my specialized ammunition offensive I will discover in time.

By habit I shower thoroughly and quickly, the product of a profession where I was often roused out of bed in the middle of the night to attend urgent cases. Once I’m clean, I put on a touch of cologne. Mildly absurd before bed, but I am vain in my own ways.

I return to the bedroom in boxer briefs and a Vimana robe—deep brown with hints of garnet, the fabric silken—to find Daji has taken up the bed, reclining half-covered in the sheets. What I can see of her is bare entirely. No more diminutive sheath, though the choker remains.

“Should I gallantly offer to sleep on the couch?”

She raises her head from where it is propped on the pillow. “Certainly not, you know I don’t need to rest. I’ve been keeping this warm for you. Climb on in, Detective. I’m excellent at providing comfort in bed, you can think of me as a sleep therapy device.”

I stay where I am, crossing my arms. “Why this?”

Her head cranes from side to side; I’m treated to the spectacle of the cords in her throat in motion, the way they draw the eye to the siren song of her neck. Where it descends to join the shoulders, where the collarbones bloom like fruits that must be tasted, licked, bitten. “For the duration of this contest, Detective, I want you to belong to me entirely or to no one at all. And when I say entirely, I mean that. In all possible ways.”

My pulse rises. My imagination sparks; I tamp that down—here more than ever I cannot let my libido do the thinking. “Machines don’t congress with humans.” There are rumors, naturally there would be.

“A handful does. Am I not comely in your eyes?” She tosses her head; again that tactical accentuation of her throat—here is her invitation, come get it if you dare.

I do not, as yet, dare. “We’ve only just met. And I do need the sleep.”

Her gilded mouth pulls into a moue. “I shall be patient. I may remain in bed?”

First the demand