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

Ey regains eir balance, barely stumbling and hardly acknowledging the pain. Shock jabs eir features as eir overlays report the intrusion, the plague-payload that spreads and seeks the augment-to-organ links, a cascade of logic fluxes and gibbercrypt. Erisant freezes: stupefied, stunned at this breach.

Then ey braces emself against the ground and rips off eir knee. A gyroscope falls free.

Anoushka draws her gun but by then Erisant has hurled emself into the wall, which has yawned wide and swallowed em whole. Her bullets bite deep into leviathan tissue, bead on the surface as the beast rejects it, then clatter off harmlessly. The carrion feeders close their mouths around the wasted ammunition.

She waits until the wall is seamless. The ischemic knife glistens with coolant—Erisant has more of that than blood. The blade has slimmed down, tiny crescents bitten out from where it discharged its contagion nanites: it is smoothing over, restoring its shape. She’ll need to recharge it, though it is good for many uses yet. Experimental still, but it has advantages over a gun—the blade’s core provides structure that stabilizes the anti-cyborg nanites better than a bullet, and there’s no risk of ricochet in close quarters.

Anoushka sheathes the weapon. The intoxicant that is battle drains away, the soldier’s ataraxia receding. She was invulnerable a moment ago, untouched by the truth. She no longer is and now revelation worms into her stomach like a gut wound, piercing her just as she pierced what was once her wife. What she believed was her wife, what she loved, what she might have already killed if Erisant cannot purge the viral disruption in time. Her spring song.

I want to belong to you forever.

For long minutes she half-expects the wall to reopen and disgorge Xuejiao. But it remains smooth and mute. The leviathan stinks of rot and she is alone.

Chapter Seven

The AI Seung Ngo has come modestly: two proxies rather than a small battalion, a show of numbers. Both proxies are tall with impractically long hair—down to the back of their thighs—and have the poreless skin that makes Numadesi think of Xuejiao, ivory lightly swirled through with strands of aquamarine, peridot, turquoise. One body has honeycombed eyes in bright gold, the other has rippling eyes in lavender and harsh fuchsia.

“I apologize for the short notice,” they say in a voice like velvet and cryogenic fumes. “But the Amaryllis has long been a friend of ours, and as ever the commission I have in mind is sensitive.”

For prudence’s sake Numadesi has chosen to receive Seung Ngo on a different ship, a frigate detached from the rest of the fleet, designated Four of Razors. The AI has not objected that this is not Seven of Divide. In truth she doubts it will do much good—if Seung Ngo wants to look for Benzaiten in Autumn, they can find traces of xer whether they’re here or on Seven of Divide. But Numadesi assumes xe can erase xer presence, logs and evidence that xe has ever boarded an Amaryllis ship or interacted with the Amaryllis network. The least she can do is stall, give xer time.

The boardroom she’s picked is airy, furnished in pastel tones that again steer her thoughts to Xuejiao—she thinks of that one bead of red pearl. How could she not tell. How could she not realize. But she bows and applies herself to the veneer of a perfect hostess, a votary dedicated entirely to her duty. “The admiral is presently preoccupied, but it is always my delight to welcome the Mandate. I don’t recall if we have met before, Ambassador?”

One of the proxies regards her with shifting, mobile eyes. “We have, Lady Numadesi. You were there when the Alabaster Admiral accepted the Pax Americana commission. I’m sure you remember, though I wore a different proxy then.”

Numadesi titters at her most high-pitched. “Was that you, Ambassador? Indeed you appeared quite different—my pardon, you cannot expect humans to have memory as accurate as yours! My thoughts so often escape me, my lord frequently chides me for this penchant I have for daydreams. Yes, I think you were much shorter, plumper, a little more ordinary to look at, with black eyes? Is that a drift in fashion in Shenzhen, Ambassador? Oh, I love to hear about fashion. I spend all my time in the fleet, you see, I seldom get a chance to keep up with the latest trends, and by all accounts Shenzhen is the land of tastemakers.”

Seung Ngo gives her a bland smile. “I’ll be happy to accommodate you once we’ve concluded our business. If you wish I can fabricate a wardrobe containing the most recent haute couture in Shenzhen, my vessel has the equipment. Where might the admiral be, if that is not classified?”

She simpers. “I think that is classified? Yes, it is rather. But you can tell me what you require, Ambassador. I’m all ears, especially if you do deliver that wardrobe. Mine has become so dull, I just don’t have enough style templates to experiment with. My lord is most loving but she can be so negligent of such concerns, her tailoring is handsome yet not what you might call varied. And should I not look my best for her at all times?”

“I recall,” the AI says, “that you’re vested with the authority to approve commission requests. What we need is a small escort from Shenzhen to Mahakala—quite a distance—and use of your relays.”

“I have the authority.” Numadesi beams. “However, I must first consult my lord. Will you be able to wait eighteen hours or so?”

“Eighteen hours seems an unusual communication lag, Lady Numadesi. Is she so far abroad?”

“Possibly,” she says cheerfully, “and unlike you we must sleep; even my lord requires it. My constitution is much weaker than hers and I’ve had a long day—you must permit me a little rest. I’m so grateful for your patience, Ambassador.”

Seung Ngo’s expression does not change. Both bodies are as still and straight as statues; neither has