Now Will Machines Hollow the Beast by Benjanun Sriduangkaew (e books free to read txt) 📗

taken a seat. “May I wait here, then? And another, somewhat minor matter. Have you by chance met any Mandate constituent recently?”

By simply watching her, Seung Ngo will know her denial for a lie: there is no point attempting to dissemble before an AI, but she can prevaricate. “It depends on your definition of recency, Ambassador.” Numadesi keeps her tone light. “We’ve been doing business with you for so long, decades, and in an AI’s eye decades are very recent. In that case my answer must be yes.”

“Your dedication to specificity is admirable. I will await your convenience.” The AI cranes one of their heads sideway. “If I might ask, what do you think of relations between humans and AIs?”

“They are what they are, aren’t they? Ideally of course we ought to all be friends.” She considers whether AIs could be provoked; whether they can be driven to irrational anger and so baited into making mistakes. “Speaking of relations, there are rumors that on Shenzhen Sphere, some AIs take human lovers—that seems incredulous, but social mores in such an elevated country must of necessity be . . . unorthodox. I don’t mean haruspices, I mean actual AI proxies engaging in intercourse with humans. Is there any truth to this?”

Seung Ngo’s faces both turn toward her. “It is sordid hearsay—more so if you believe this normal practice in Shenzhen. Only perverts would agree to such conjugation.”

“You mean human perverts, Ambassador?”

“AIs,” they say, voice flat. “Don’t let me keep you from your repose, Lady Numadesi.”

Numadesi beams at them again and drops into a tiny curtsy.

For good measure she leaves instruction with the commander of Four of Razors on how to contain Seung Ngo, if that what it comes to. Anoushka maintains cordial relations with the Mandate—most polities and armies do—but she has invested resources into proofing Amaryllis systems against interference and infiltration, to varying results. Testing them out is close to impossible unless they create their own AI, but that crosses the treaty line and is difficult to keep secret.

She makes her way back to the shuttle that will return her to Seven of Divide, running scans to double-check that all is as it should be. Fatigue tugs at her: it feels like a full week has passed since her lord’s departure, when in truth it has been merely days.

The shuttle opens. She embarks and comes face to face with the muzzle of a gun. Slate gray, the solidity of it dominating her entire vision. Standard-issue, an Amaryllis pistol whose specifications she knows by heart: what ammunition it takes, its rate of fire, how to field-strip it.

In an instant the pistol disappears. It falls and clatters; the person wielding it likewise drops as Benzaiten lets go of their throat. The soldier thumps against a passenger seat, neck neatly folded, larynx and bones crumpled.

“We’ll have to move fast before Seung Ngo notices I am here.” Benzaiten nods at the body. “Let’s get this shuttle out, Lady Numadesi.”

Her jaw is tight as she authenticates them out of the frigate. Once they pull free, she sets course for Seven of Divide, though already she has to contend with whether she’ll dock into an ambush.

“Give me piloting access,” the AI says. “I’ll take you to a vessel of mine—it’s not far, this shuttle should see us through. Amaryllis ships mightn’t be safe for you right now, and the admiral’s going to be cross if I let you come to harm while I’m about. But don’t fret, Lady Numadesi. Anoushka just came online and I’m about to make contact with her as we speak. As it turns out, leaving a dormant proxy aboard Vishnu’s Leviathan was a fantastic idea. I hope you’ll all appreciate my foresight and accord me the adulation I’m due.”

When Anoushka frees Savita from the containment cell, it is clear the princess has been weeping. Anoushka’s first response is contempt—how easily crisis undoes this woman, this sheltered child. She wants to grip the princess by the shoulders, shake her until her teeth rattle. Do you know what it is to be fed to a machine made of teeth? Do you know what it is to have lost a part of your heart? With difficulty she pushes down this urge, this displaced rage. There is no point in lashing out.

“Princess.” Her voice is loud in the cramped confines. “Do you want to survive?”

Savita wipes uselessly at her eyes. “What do you want now?”

“You can force the leviathan into real space.”

“Not from here I can’t.” The princess’ voice turns acrimonious. “I wish you’d never come. I wish my mother had never . . . ”

Anoushka does not say that the queen is most likely dead. By this juncture Erisant—Erisant, not Xuejiao, she must mind the fact—would have no use for Nirupa, and would take steps to remove anyone with primary overrides to the leviathan. Savita would be next. “If wishes were starships, every person alive would command their own army. On your feet, princess. Captain Erisant of the Seven-Sung isn’t going to have much use for you from this point onward, and if you help me then I’ll do my best to keep you alive.”

“Use,” Savita says bitterly. “That’s the only thing anyone can see in me. That I’m useful. That I’m providing a function.”

“Seeing that your function is to eventually succeed your mother, it seems a luxurious fate rather than one to lament. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

From the harrier’s storage she retrieves more weapons—devourer swarms, ammunition, an implosive gun, several grenades. After a moment’s deliberation she takes an extra suit of armor and tosses it at Savita. The rest she packs into a valise and hefts it up: slim and dense. Instruments of killing are heavy things.

Her priority is egress. Unlike most ships of its size and class, One of Sunder can withstand lacunal pressure, but she requires bearings, orientation data with which to navigate. For that, Vishnu’s Leviathan needs to return to real space, even just for mere seconds. Then it will be a matter of destroying her