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

appendage for Chun Hyang to fulfill the Divide’s requirements; she has barely lifted a finger, and when Ouru died she watched with indifference. Chun Hyang’s glaive piercing the enemy fortress and then piercing the enemy duelist, who died looking surprised. A feat that no doubt AIs back in Shenzhen applauded, a fine spectacle. They’re probably trading calculations on how Chun Hyang accomplished it, fortress integrity against regalia armament. Bets must have been made and won and lost, though she can’t fathom the currency that would be at stake.

Recadat watched Houyi’s Chariot attempt to avenge their duelist. There was love there, or friendship enough that Houyi was stricken when Ouru’s heart stopped. It is not that she hated Ouru, but why should she be the only one to suffer, to be alone. She imagines Houyi—immortal and numinous the way AIs are—always afflicted with this loss, this grief. A forever wound that will be present in every Houyi proxy. She imagines what that is like, to be eternal and permanently in mourning. Recadat will not last anywhere near as long. There’s consolation in that.

She will be done very soon.

When Thannarat breaches the fortress, she feels it physically—a haptic blow to her system. Either a quirk of the override’s configuration or Chun Hyang’s parting shot. She does not flinch.

All along this was the sole possibility, the final gift: to be annihilated by Thannarat. She only wishes Chun Hyang could fall with her; could be made mortal for an instant so that they’d be destroyed together, united in ashes.

Recadat stands—her tigers tense, coiling to spring—and parts the wall. On the other side stands her old partner, a figure in chitinous black, cerise at the joints and throat. She takes in the sight of this, a divine hunter come down to earth, leading a pack of black wolves. Enormous each, made from the same material that her Assembly drones are, and stunning. Thannarat did not skimp on details, spent enough time to imagine the sculpted muzzles, the long whiskers, the cinderous eyes.

“Your tigers are beautiful.” The armor melts away, baring Thannarat’s face. “Do you remember—I used to call you a tiger. A soul like gold, all fangs.”

Her mouth is full of bitterness. “I don’t forget anything. You know that.” And Thannarat has made hers wolves.

For a time they face each other, their drones put in standby, wolves and tigers both commanded to quiescence: against their nature, a prohibition of basal friend-foe algorithms. Recadat puts her hand on a tiger’s head and tries to visualize this woman’s death; she tries to visualize putting a bullet between Thannarat’s eyes or letting her tigers rip Thannarat limb to limb. The largesse of viscera, the practical demonstration of how much fluid a human body holds. But all crumbles before the reality of the person, this representation of what she’s wanted for so long. She cannot imagine Thannarat other than as she is. Impervious. Exquisite. I want to hold this forever, Recadat thinks, this war god, this armored vision.

“Chun Hyang killed Ouru to leave you without choice,” Thannarat says. “If ze were still alive, you would be able to forfeit.”

“Chun Hyang killed zer because I wanted that to happen.” She lifts her hand halfway to her holster. If she were anyone else, she knows Thannarat would already have shot and disabled her. “I’m not forfeiting.”

“Have you seen what happens to the losers?”

“Of course.” Chun Hyang made sure to show her the Gallery, not once but three times, making her visit every exhibit. A lesson for you, my jewel. “If you care so much what happens to me, you could forfeit. Sacrifice yourself for once. Ayothaya is at stake—that should weigh more than your selfish little needs. You must already know what the Divide is really for. You can’t possibly trust Daji. She’ll turn you against humanity one day.”

“The Mandate doesn’t need human collaborators to advance whatever scheme they’re building up. I’m a drop in the ocean, not some great mover and shaker they need to suborn.” Thannarat draws closer, a step at a time, as though she believes Recadat might spook and bolt. “We can do this differently. I’ll make my regalia back off and you make yours. Force the overseer to call it a draw. Neither of us needs to lose and I’ll do my best to help you win Ayothaya. I promise that.”

Recadat draws and fires, a single action that requires no thought. Bullet meets armor and falls off harmlessly, clink clink clink as it rolls across the floor. She fires again, to the same result—the hard lexicon of the gun tamed, the syntax of the bullet broken. Thannarat does not even flinch as she advances and the armor pours back over her face, a mask of garnet-black.

You’re at the end of your rope. Recadat can almost feel her regalia smile against her nape. It is a shame—I can defeat Daji, of course, I always could; you paired up with the greatest regalia in this game. I could have given your victory, clean and absolute. I could have given you back Ayothaya. But it doesn’t look like I’ve driven you to the point where you would have wished for my destruction, the complete charring of my true core. That’d have helped my case for dismantling the Divide—that humans may use it to harm us individually, that it provides a path for them to kill an AI one by one. The Divide must fulfill any desire that doesn’t injure the Mandate as a collective.

She fires a third time. She doesn’t answer Chun Hyang. There is no retort she could make in any case.

This is goodbye. A small pause. I fear I cannot wish you fine fortune, given your immediate future. For you there will be no next time. I’ll see if I can secure you a good spot in the Gallery, hmm? To show my gratitude.

The Divide module notifies her that Chun Hyang’s Glaive has surrendered, then bannering that the duelist Thannarat Vutirangsee and the regalia Empress Daji Scatters