Now Will Machines Hollow the Beast by Benjanun Sriduangkaew (read me a book .TXT) 📕

been done differently: send Rajathi or Savita to act in Nirupa’s stead, rent a city on some remote planet as neutral ground, keep the leviathan larva itself back home.

Nirupa emerges from the far end of the hall, dressed in dark silk and a mesh of jewelry that drapes across her shoulders, dripping small platinum flames captured within blue-white shells. Behind her follows a shielded tank ten meters tall, its exterior opaqued, moving on articulated centipede feet.

“It seems things got out of hand, Your Majesty,” Anoushka says. “Were other guests attacked? I trust that you will enlighten me as to that, and as to the cause of this mayhem.” No need for or else: Savita is in Xuejiao’s custody back on One of Sunder. They vacated their guest suite as soon as they could—of all the places on the leviathan, Anoushka’s own ship is the safest.

“There was no other attack. Though some of my servants were killed—I am grateful you kept my Savita safe.” The queen’s mouth is tight, her colors ashen. “Admiral, I’d like to request your protection.”

This is not a ploy she accounted for. She reins in her expression. “From what, Your Majesty?”

“From danger within and without.” Nirupa touches the jewels fanned over her chest. “To show my sincerity, I’ll offer this as compensation, paid once the . . . problems have settled.”

The tank’s exterior turns transparent. Inside floats the leviathan larva, a seahorse curl that might be six meters at full length, as yet smooth and nearly featureless. A scattering of nubs that will grow into protrusions, fins, and anchors for artificial plating. Across its gray palladium-banded hide reside two or three eyes rather than the enormous quantity of its adult counterpart. It must have already been implanted with the circuitry and signal arrays that would ensure its obedience, perhaps an artificial cortex to replace where its brain might have developed. The way servants are implanted, engineered in utero for compliance.

“This seems at odds with the spirit of the auction,” Anoushka says mildly. “How long does this take to grow to any appreciable size, as a point of academic interest?”

“Some time,” Nirupa says. “We mean to accelerate its processes somewhat, but that is a delicate thing. Too fast and this creature will lose much of its lifespan—you want this to last centuries upon centuries. The larva will have no overrides or accesses built in. I’ll give you a brand-new imprint and primary access to its cortex. You won’t need to fear potential backdoor ambushes.”

“Who else have you requested protection from?”

“No one,” the queen says, with the solemnity the answer warrants. False of course: Anoushka can recognize it when someone’s trying to play both ends against the middle. More or less. “The assault drones weren’t mine. That much you could already deduce. The mastermind behind it would see me just as dead as you.”

Anoushka begins to smile. She relishes it: this is intoxicating. “I offer no insult, Your Majesty, but you cannot afford my services. The larva is fascinating, but the promise of it is a thin one. As you’ve admitted, it takes time to grow—as it is now, it’s of no use to me. To anyone.”

The royal mouth stiffens. “It shall be sped up as much as is possible. In just eight years the larva can serve you as a warship. In forty it will be nearly the equal of an adult. But for the present, as collateral, I offer you one of my daughters. My elder, if you wish.”

To Nirupa this is a serious offer: the monarchy here puts everything in their lineage. Nothing is more important than that eugenicist obsession; bloodline is to be defended to the death, and Savita is the designated heir. “How droll, Your Majesty. What use do I have for your princesses?”

“Should you suspect me of foul play, you may take your payment out of her flesh. You can find other uses for her, I am sure, as long as she returns to me whole in mind and body.”

She cocks her head. She could say she has far comelier concubines, wives a hundred times more brilliant than little Savita could ever hope to be, and that next to them Nirupa’s prized princess is mere dross. “What does she think of this?”

The queen flicks her head. “Savita will do as she’s told. A ruler must make sacrifices for the sake of her throne.”

Not that Nirupa has made any, Anoushka reckons. “You can always make more heirs—they take how many years to grow and train? Twenty? The blink of an eye, compared to growing a leviathan. What if I prefer to take you hostage? No doubt my conduct and reputation lead you to believe I prefer nubile women, but in truth my tastes are wide-ranging. I’ve even been known to acquire spoils of war older than myself as long as their qualities strike my fancy, and I’ve yet to capture a queen—what a novelty that would be.”

Terror skitters across Nirupa’s features. It is a fascinating process, the way this emotion slackens the masseter muscles and stretches the extraocular ones. Tension turns every part of the body taut, plumping muscles with oxygen, spiking the endocrinal apparatuses. Adrenaline sweeps through, but the queen can neither run nor fight and so she falls into the third response, paralysis. Anoushka thinks then that this will suffice, that she can grab the queen’s throat in her hand, or she can kick the woman’s legs out, bring her to the ground where Anoushka can crush first the bones in her ankles and sunder the hamstrings, and then move on to the abdomen with its multitude of excellent viscera, its tremendous treasury that she will plunder and despoil. She would take her time.

But no. This is not enough, not yet. She wants to savor this—protract the moment when it comes, make her satisfaction and Nirupa’s fear last.

“Or perhaps not,” Anoushka goes on easily. “Savita’s already with my officer. I promise not to ruin her. So what am I up against exactly?”

Nirupa licks her lips,