Shall Machines Divide the Earth by Benjanun Sriduangkaew (list of e readers txt) 📕

that she’s predictable—if she wants someone dead, she sends a calling card to invite them to a match. You could have a field day building her criminal profile.”

The kind of killer who fancies herself an artist: the disembowelment and mutilation must have been a part of that conceit. “I look forward to receiving mine. I assume she’s the likeliest to come for me first.” Given that I eluded her regalia out in the energy wells. “Say—you’re staying in the Vimana, aren’t you? It could be useful if we’re close by. Would you consider relocating to my floor, maybe to an adjacent suite? We should be able to open an interconnection.”

Inside my robe, the fox grazes my elbow with its teeth. Extremely sharp, a promise.

For no reason I can discern, Recadat looks down and away. Gaze darting anywhere but me. “I’m only a couple floors below yours. Proximate enough—I’d make a terrible roommate. Have you seen how I deal with my laundry?”

“As you like.” The fox settles. My arm is safe for the moment. “Would you mind telling me the name of your fallen regalia?”

She gives me a look. “You want to have the entire picture—you always did. His name was Gwalchmei Bears Lilies. My bad luck to have acquired a regalia so poor, but here we are. Better luck with yours, Thannarat.”

Two overrides appear in my Divide module as she leaves. I give them a cursory look, wondering why Recadat turned so short with me. Perhaps Gwalchmei—what a mouthful—is a sore spot.

I turn my attention back to Ostrich’s notes. He has recorded previous victors here and there, names unfamiliar to me, like Captain Erisant of the Seven-Sung Fleet and some soldier from Mahakala. I focus on the regalia. Daji appears several times, as does Chun Hyang’s Glaive. The comprehensiveness of his files—almost a cheat sheet, encyclopedic—makes me wonder why no duelist has killed him to prevent competitors from obtaining this, but then I realize he must live under the overseer’s protection. For one reason or another, his faithful chronicling serves the Mandate’s purposes. His accounts corroborate Daji’s boasts: that she’s fought many times and most of her duelists have won or at least survived.

Seven times Chun Hyang’s Glaive has joined the Divide. Seven times it has won.

Improbable. Not that Ostrich has a reason to lie, and yet like any other information I gather on Septet it is challenging to verify. I may pay him another visit, just in case. He has not recorded anything on Houyi’s Chariot or Gwalchmei Bears Lilies—this round might be their debuts.

I put the file away and review Recadat’s. The folder includes what Ensine Balaskas and Ouru look like. I compare those to what I saw at the tearoom. No match, either in patrons or staff; a shame.

“I don’t imagine you could organize these files for me,” I say to Daji. “A little indexing assistance.”

The fox twitches against me. Coral petals flutter through my overlays. I only do that for duelists I’ve gotten very, very close to, Detective. And we’re not close, are we? As you said, we’ve just met. Now that Recadat, you two must have been awfully close. You should ask her to index her files better.

“Did you practice sulking or are you a natural at it?”

She does not dignify that with an answer; the fox proxy darts out of my robe, disappearing back into the suite.

An announcement unfurls in the Divide module as I’m browsing the Vimana breakfast menu. Wonsul’s Exegesis has declared the final sub-contest to obtain an override, to take place in the city of Cadenza. Duelists who wish to compete are prohibited from bringing or receiving direct assistance from their regalia.

I order my food and finish eating quickly. There is a shuttle to Cadenza leaving in a couple hours. Daji remains in bed, her back turned to me, her head artfully arranged. I stop by, run my hand through the dark tributaries of her hair, and kiss her shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.” If she wants me to treat her like a human woman, I can oblige. Maybe even AIs enjoy roleplaying.

The fox proxy licks my hand, rubbing its velvet face against my palm. All is forgiven, for now.

Chapter Three

The shuttle to Cadenza is more crowded than I would expect, filled with people who look ordinary enough, just commuting. I find my seat and settle in, surveying the other rows. Eighteen duelists remain, seven without regalia and five with. A fair number would be aboard this shuttle; many would know each other’s face already, and Ouru would recognize mine through zer regalia.

Ze does a good job of appearing nondescript—a honeyed complexion undecorated by dermals or scars, a face that could belong anywhere, plain well-fitted kurta and pants. Southeast Asian, I’d say, and therefore ze might have come from any number of polities; we have that in common. Tiny earrings, white gold or electrum; no rings or bracelets that would get in the way in combat. Zer hands are spatulate, lightly callused around the thumbs. Ambidextrous.

I lean across my seat. “I’m Thannarat.” My name offered as goodwill. “I don’t suppose we could talk?”

Ouru doesn’t pretend surprise. “More privately, please.”

We open a link. I fold my hands and make a show of looking out the window, to a view of Septet’s ruinscape. There is not much forestry in this part of the equator, and the land is a vastness of jaundiced earth broken up by those impossible skeletons. A few look reptilian while others look like they could have been chimeras, horned and long-hoofed but with inexplicable primate features.

You’re the new duelist. The last one. How did you survive Chun Hyang’s Glaive?

The usual way, I inform zer, by not dying. I trust Houyi’s Chariot is well?

Ze unwraps a protein bar—it smells surprisingly good, savory with shallots and dried meats—and begins to eat. Houyi is the only remaining regalia who stands a chance of contesting Chun Hyang. That should inform your forthcoming decisions.

My smile is slow. In my fogged reflection in