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

of disaster. Even people used to routine crisis don’t always think well during it, and they couldn’t have had warning far in advance.

Unless I was right about the Gallery.

No time to speculate, not yet, and I can’t do anything about the Mandate using Septet as a testbed for human mimesis, for what might grow into full-scale infiltration. We reach my room: I gather my essentials, weapons and spare armor. I travel well but not with excess freight, and so all fits quickly and easily back into my luggage. Daji watches me include the bottle of cologne and cuff-links she bought me, her face tense.

“I thought you wouldn’t be keeping that,” she says quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I shut the suitcase. My lips move but in my mind there’s still the image of Eurydice with her throat slit. The brain’s ability to compartmentalize is tremendous.

“With everything I didn’t tell you.” Her voice catches. “And with what Chun Hyang must’ve told you.”

She is aware of what passed in the virtuality, then, but didn’t stop it or prevent the conversation I had with the enemy regalia. “Did you think I would force you to recreate Eurydice?”

“We’ve only just met. You’ve loved her for a long time and—I’ve loved you for so long, even when I thought I was angry with you, before I met you. One day you might love me the same too, but I’m running out of time. I’ve performed simulations and I know that if I become her, I won’t be able to revert. I’m not going to be able to instance myself that way because she was my human half, and haruspices are . . . made differently from other AIs. If I become Eurydice, there’ll be no more Daji.”

Heat pricks at my face. The entire time, subconsciously or not, I’ve held back. Now I realize why: I wanther to desire me, fixate on me, so that I’d retain the upper hand on this woman who’s made of machine precision and eternity—a creature so far beyond me in scope, tethered to me solely by the ghost of my wife. I want to tip the balance my way; I want to have that choice at the end. Daji or Eurydice. Like picking my bride from a catalogue, custom-made, designer doll.

My wife is long gone. I had one chance to get her back, and that was when she told me our marriage was over; I had that chance to plead, to reconcile and compromise, and I did not take it.

“I’m not making you do that,” I say softly. “Never.”

Daji takes a deep breath and throws her arms around me. “Maybe one day when I grow in capacity and processing power I would be able to instance her. When that happens, I promise I’ll try.”

The silken wealth of her hair against my chin. Her voice small and quiet against my chest. I hold her and say, “I want you just as you are.”

Her hands tighten on my back. “I want you; I’ve only ever wanted you. From the moment I lost Eurydice I’ve sought you, imagined you, thought of you. Every aspect that makes up your being has preoccupied every processing thread I own. You’re my prize from the Divide, Detective.”

To be the prize. That has never happened before. Always I’m the pursuer, the hunter, the one who gives chase. With a machine every stanza must be written anew, the entire rhythm and meter rearranged.

As it transpires, I don’t need to negotiate with Ouru to raise a fortress: by the time we’re out of the Vimana, one has already taken over the other half of Libretto—a slim spire the blue-white of moonstone, mantled in black feathers. Its front parts like curtains to admit us before sealing back seamlessly, as smooth as mercury.

Inside it is brightly lit, a hall of granite stairways and blue chandeliers: teardrop crystals, bioluminescent corals, twisted loops of sapphire vines. Ouru ushers us into a chamber of broad seats and a gold-leafed shrine situated overhead, filled with small Buddhas. Whatever the fortress is made of, it must be extraordinary—the entire structure emerged and constituted within minutes. Material that lies under Libretto, perhaps the foundations of the town itself, has been prepared specifically for this.

“Brief me.” Ouru gestures for us to sit.

“Ensine Balaskas doesn’t exist. Chun Hyang’s Glaive has been using her as a front; the real duelist is Recadat. I reckon she struck a deal with Chun Hyang after you made her destroy Gwalchmei Bears Lilies. What I can’t figure out is why Recadat would go along with a regalia this callous.” I shake myself. My habit of locating a person’s fulcrum will not serve us here, not even when that person was—is—my friend. “My regalia destroyed a Chun Hyang proxy. It must have another.”

“A privilege of the victor.” Houyi vaults over one of the stairways and lands, feather-light. “Any regalia who’s won before may have a second proxy in the next round. The last time ended with a draw between Chun Hyang and Daji.”

Daji crosses her arms. “Stop giving away state secrets.”

“It’s rather late to play coy, Daji.” Their armor ripples and shimmers over their outline, overlapping layers of filoplumes. “Chun Hyang has a head start, so its fortress will arm sooner than mine. I’ve concentrated on erecting defenses for now; we’re good against orbital strikes, I can dissipate those. Chun Hyang and I prefer direct confrontation.”

“What happens,” I say, nodding at the fortification around us, “if the last few remaining pairs hole up in these to wait each other out?”

Houyi emits a low chuckle. If they have a mouth it is well hidden. “The overseer may declare the round null and void at his discretion if it ceases to be entertaining. No, we’re not going to do that. I will breach its fortress. Daji—are you confident in challenging Chun Hyang?”

“Yes. I’ll need to get close. Are you willing to risk your duelist?”

They glance at their duelist and, though it’s impossible to see their expression, I could have sworn theirs is a