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

the window, it looks like a gash. I don’t bother demanding redress for zer attempt to snipe me down. Certainly I’ll take it into account. May I ask why you spared the duelist Recadat?

Ouru’s head twitches. Ah. She’s the one who told you about me. I imagine she didn’t tell you that we had a falling out due to an ideological difference and then she turned on me. Once she understood that she could not take me down in combat, she reached a deal with me: I’d spare her in exchange for her destroying her own regalia.

So much for Gwalchmei Bears Lilies. How did she do that to a proxy?

Ze bites off half the protein bar. An override, how else? If I were you, I wouldn’t trust Recadat. To do this to your own regalia is an act of terrible perfidy.

Never mind that Ouru drove her to it in the first place, though I can see what ze means. A point of honor: your life or your regalia’s. Then again Gwalchmei merely lost a proxy, not his entire existence—the disparity in risk between duelist and regalia is enormous. I press zer for more details on the loser’s fate, but ze is not forthcoming, busying zerself with zer little meal. All ze offers is, Try the Gallery.

We land in good time. Cadenza is a city of gnarled obsidian spires and high robed walls, bracketed by a body of water that brachiates across the ground. Briars and orchids drape the balconies and walkways, striping the streets in green shadows. The Divide system informs me that the sub-contest will begin within the day but nothing more specific. I keep an eye on the duelist and regalia counts, and keep my hand ready on the draw. I’m more vulnerable to attacks than ever, and I have already revealed myself as a duelist while on the shuttle.

The rule against bringing your regalia doesn’t forbid me to stay within a certain radius of you, comes Daji’s voice. In fact, that rule doesn’t kick in until you enter the arena proper. I’m watching over you, Detective. In case you get the idea of debauching some pretty young thing in Cadenza.

“I have standards,” I murmur under my breath. Cadenza’s denizens have a look I can only call swampy—stooped by the indignities of living in this place, perpetually damp, with hair that makes me think of marsh weeds. The climate here is horrendously humid.

The arena could be anywhere—from the city map I would guess either the stadium in the center or the megastructure in Cadenza’s eastern half, an enormous edifice that looms almost as high as the skeletal beasts beyond the walls. I stroll about, sticking to places with good cover where I won’t be easy mark for a sniper. Ouru could make another attempt.

A storefront draws my eye. Mostly antiques, with one panel devoted to jewelry: elaborate crowns and necklaces of dynastic designs, tiny void jewelry settings, miniature tableaus made from semiprecious stones and ivory. What catches my attention is a single fire opal. Six point five carats, according to my overlays, suspended in a little cube without any setting. It reminds me of Eurydice. This would have been to her tastes.

On impulse—not quite yet knowing what for—I purchase the fire opal. The price is not low, but the proprietor is excited with the Vatican bracelet, and in the end I have to pay little.

I exit the shop to find Recadat waiting for me. Reliably punctual: she didn’t board the same shuttle I did—she would’ve been recognized by Ouru and the rest—and so she arrived later, but not by much. She cuts a spare figure beneath a spread of orchids, a single point of efficiency amidst the tropical excess. When I teased her about being popular with women, I meant it—she has the needlepoint look of a stiletto, the trim glistening threat of something slender and utterly deadly. My opposite. When we first got to know each other I was surprised at how squeamish she could be in her philosophy and naivety, because on the field she was savagely competent. Tiger-spirited, almost a different person.

When she looks up, her gaze zeroes in on my purchase. “Who’s that for?” The question is surprisingly sharp before it softens into something more playful: “You did pick up a woman! I knew it.”

“It’s just some bauble. I might wish to look at a fine object in my spare time.” I put the fire opal away. “We should get moving.”

Wonsul’s voice sounds in my ear promptly, directing me toward the megastructure. He specifies the route and adds that any deviation from it will disqualify me. Sensible: each duelist will receive their own instruction, such that our paths will never cross before we reach the arena. I nod to Recadat. She will not enter the sub-contest, but will provide me with support. No part of the rules forbids such cooperation.

Up close, the place is even larger than it looked from above, the dimensions of it so gargantuan that the entire block is cast in jade shadow. Overgrowth swathes the banked walls and the bent columns, frothing out of cracked stone like ichor. I enter through a little gate Wonsul points me to.

It shuts behind me. Past that awaits a cavernous chamber and a single cage; inside the cage, a child of ten or twelve. Sedated. A first-aid kit lies on the ground.

“Duelists.” Wonsul’s voice emits from everywhere, every nook and cranny serving as his mouthpiece. “Be informed that this arena is not a sanctuary zone. One of you will have found a child. That shall be your objective: to win, bring her to the arena’s center. If you lose her or eliminate her yourself, you forfeit the contest. If you leave the arena’s bounds, you forfeit the contest. As with all other ceremonies, this is a duel to the death; all means may be utilized to achieve your goals, outside of using your regalia. May victory find you.”

I open the first-aid kit and fish