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

of things. Less than a speck of stardust—this is no great tragedy. “Give me a heart that doesn’t feel. Can you do that?”

“There are augments you can acquire that’ll deaden your emotions, delay the surge and sink of your brain chemistry. It’s trivial and you do not need the Divide for it.” Their breath is cool; the snakeskin sheathing their hands closes around her throat. Gently as yet, a loose hold. “Surely you can put the prize to better use.”

“There are only two things I want.”

“The love of a woman who does not love you back. The salvation of a world that—oh.” They smile down at her, beatific, the same smile they wear when they are about to take her; about to hurt her and make her plead for more. “I’ve asked you before. What do you think Detective Thannarat is after?”

At this moment Recadat does not want to think of anything. She wants sensual obliteration. She wants an asphyxiation of her consciousness. “The same thing I am, she’s said as much. What else would be pressing enough?”

“Recadat.” They kiss her brow, feather-light. “Has it occurred to you that she might have misled you and lied by omission? Does it seem like Ayothaya is on her mind?”

She sits up, nearly dislodging them. “You know what she actually wants.”

“I’m no mind-reader, jewel, merely good at guesswork, at deductions. You bore witness to how she reacted to the sight of her dead wife.”

That stricken look. The first and only time she’s ever seen Thannarat bent nearly to the point of breaking. “You mean she’s—going to ask the Mandate to give her an AI proxy who’ll replace Eurydice? That’s ridiculous. She knows it’s not the real thing. And no one could possibly be that selfish when their homeworld is at stake.”

“You’re a novice at selfishness. She is a veteran. Why is that so hard to believe? You’re obsessed with her and she is obsessed with her wife. Detective Thannarat is not given to nobility. She’d never have risked life and limb for Ayothaya.” They run a sharp fingernail down her throat, between her clavicles. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to try being selfish, my jewel?”

Chapter Seven

A long, narrow avenue. Deep night, the wind cool on my face. It takes me entire seconds to orient myself and realize I’m in a virtuality. Not one I’ve entered myself—my overlays have been annexed into another’s domain. My skin burns as though it’s being pricked by needles. This has never happened to me before, and within the Divide’s confines Daji should proof me against such intrusion.

The sky swarms with lanterns: topaz, citrine, amber—every color that natural flame can be. So incandescent that the stars have been outshone, expunged from their own fabric. From far off I hear the noises of a night market and temple songs, cymbals and hand-drums. This is Ayothaya before the invasion, before the Hellenes brought their pantheon and demanded we convert. Colonization follows a predictable procedure, bureaucratic almost, the steps as ancient as the invention of the written word—first the violence, then the erasure, then the replacement. Left unopposed, they would have Ayothaya’s population call ourselves Hellenic within a few generations; that or they would begin a program of ethnic cleansing and transplants that would leave us diminished and eventually extinct.

A figure bearing a paper lantern draws toward me. It is dressed in gold, and when it is close it puts a finger to its lips. “This is a sandboxed virtuality,” Chun Hyang says, in a voice like the rumbling of a large cat, jaguar or panther. “I made this so I could reach you without Daji or my duelist knowing. You may leave any time, Khun Thannarat, though I’d like to talk.”

“Why?”

“My current duelist does not suit me. And your regalia could not possibly suit you.”

I watch the lantern-light flicker across Chun Hyang’s eyes. One of them is the normal black, the other is compound, alternating between red and yellow cells. Disturbing once you discern what you’re seeing. “An interesting assessment. I was under the impression you and your duelist were in utter harmony.”

It cants its face, which is composed from the fragile planes of a passerine skull. Daji’s features are all strong lines and bold cheekbones; Chun Hyang is faint brushstrokes, perfect but less distinct. “How do you feel about carnage, Khun Thannarat?”

“Regrettable. But if you’re seeking a gentle pacifist, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“You relish the mechanisms and techniques of violence—the pump of adrenaline, the practical demonstration of your power, those are what you delight in. Isn’t that the case? You don’t like mess for the sake of it. If I offer up a hundred tame buffalos for you to slaughter, you’d spurn it because you don’t enjoy butchering as its own end. You want a fight, a challenge. To you it is a sport.”

“And to Ensine Balaskas it is otherwise?”

“She wishes to exert herself upon the universe. If she had her way she’d find the jugular of space-time and puncture it, and drench the galaxies with their own gore and marrow for her own satisfaction.”

“Physically impossible,” I say mildly. “Are you saying that if she wins she’ll ask for an extinction event?”

“Of a particular world, yes.” Chun Hyang sets the lantern on the ground. Around us a crowd streams past, ghostly, ephemeral. “That should interest you somewhat, considering.”

Balaskas is a Greek surname, but there’s no Hellenic commander called that. I had not made the assumption, and when I saw Ensine none of her phenotypic markers struck me as common to the Javelin of Hellenes. “If her goals are so incompatible with yours, why not throw the game? It’s not as if she can engage the services of another regalia.” There being none left other than mine and Ouru’s.

“That would bring dishonor to my name, Khun Thannarat. Such things have meaning to me. I’ll tell you that while Daji may be a fine fighter one on one, she is young and has never been at