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

“It is a finicky affair, as you have said.” Numadesi rises, dislodging the particulate parrot, and retrieves vitrified-jasper cups from the serving drone. She pours them peach liquor, filling Anoushka’s glass to the brim and Xuejiao’s half-full. Each of them enjoys this particular drink to varying degrees. “The lord wishes to oversee it herself therefore—no other will handle it as she may. You will go with her to ensure optimal results.”

“That’s much better.” Xuejiao rubs her hands together, the decorative ball-joints in her wrists clicking. “I haven’t been on a mission with you for ages, Admiral. That’ll be a treat. We’ll enact acts of supreme daring. I shall split skulls and open up guts in the most fashionable manners, and possibly assassinate somebody in your honor.”

“Your performance is always a joy, Xuejiao.” Anoushka makes a small gesture. “Queen Nirupa requires each bidding party to be no larger than three. No ships greater or more well-armed than a hornet may dock into the leviathan. She clearly has concerns about her own safety. As for us, we’ll be keeping an eye for any representative of the Nova Legion or the Seven-Sung Fleet.”

Xuejiao cocks her head. “The Seven-Sung Fleet was before my time. What grievances do those two have with our admiral? The usual, Lady Numadesi?”

Numadesi resumes her seat. Under the table she slides her hand onto the admiral’s white-clad thigh, feeling the thick muscles under armored fabric. There are times when she can’t quite stop herself, and the memory of Anoushka sheathed deep in her is very fresh. “The Nova Legion hemorrhaged a great deal of client contracts to us and they hold a grudge. The Seven-Sung Fleet was more . . . thoroughly ruined. They clashed with us over ownership of some energy wells and the conflict dragged on beyond a reasonable point, so the admiral torched their planetary base, most of their troops and their intelligence assets. Word’s that their commander, Captain Erisant, escaped. Eir confidantes and husband didn’t. We’ve been keeping an eye on news of Erisant since.”

The lieutenant lets out a derisive huff. “It sounds beneath notice—what can one person do? The Nova Legion seems to be faring well these days. Would they have the funds to bid on this?”

“Likely not. But they may acquire a client who does.” The admiral drums her fingers on an armrest. “We’ll be vigilant. Both of you, review material on our enemies and on Vishnu’s Leviathan when you can, and see to your outstanding responsibilities. Delegate at your discretion, as always. Xuejiao, I’ll go take a look at those spies you quarantined—best to sort it out now.”

The admiral kisses Numadesi on the brow before she leaves. Numadesi gazes after the door, then turns to Lieutenant Xuejiao, who remains in her seat rather than adjourn to her own duties.

Numadesi makes an inviting gesture. “Lieutenant. Was there something you required?”

Xuejiao blinks, once. Her brow creases. “The admiral is really the sun to you. The center of all things.”

“Should she not be? Is she not the center of all things, the heart that pumps so that all of us may breathe, the gravity well into which we must fall?”

The lieutenant studies her with eyes that look almost strange compared to the rest of her, in how unmodified they look, how plain: wide and dark, but nothing more. “And to her you’re the absolute complement, Lady Numadesi. The votary who completes her divinity. The satellite that jewels her orbit.”

Numadesi stands and crosses over, leaning over the lieutenant, making Xuejiao crane her head back to look up at her. “We all devote ourselves differently.”

The lieutenant opens her mouth, almost snorts. “I feel like you’re threatening me, Lady Numadesi.”

“You’re well-armed and a soldier of the Amaryllis, Lieutenant. Your martial prowess is exceptional. I’m versed in self-defense but not much more. Of course I cannot threaten you.” She places her hand on the divan’s back, not quite trapping Xuejiao. “It is only that I wish to have forthright dialogue, and you weren’t getting to the point.”

“I was surprised you didn’t insist Anoushka take you with her.”

“Ah.” Numadesi draws away. “I’m not much of a combatant, whereas you are deadly. Do you feel you have something to prove during the forthcoming operation?” Being the newer wife and much younger than either herself or Anoushka. She looks Xuejiao over again, at the gleam of porcelain and celadon patterns that make a doll of the lieutenant, the appearance of something other. A charming choice, she’s always thought, the trim of artifice encroaching on flesh. But under that she is young, barely sixty. For recipients of telomere extension, six decades are no time at all.

Xuejiao’s mouth tightens. “Not precisely. I have been chosen, haven’t I, I am one of her treasures now. My combat records speak for themselves. And I adore her, who doesn’t? There are soldiers on this ship who’d move solar systems to make her look their way.”

Left unsaid that Xuejiao was one of them until recently, yearning for the same, an agony of desire that went unabated for years. Numadesi is not without sympathy. “When I met my lord, I wanted her on sight: here is a god on earth, war itself made flesh. I wanted to be taken, to be craved, to be had by her not just once but again and again. If there is anything I’ve learned, it is that she loves you as you are, whether or not you feel adequate. She doesn’t take a wife to mold into a shape of her preferences. There’s something in you that has intrigued her, caught her, delighted her. Does that suffice?”

The lieutenant flushes. Against the ceramic patina the reddening is bright. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t expect you to be kind about it. The way you’ve been with her from before she was even the admiral. The way she comes to your bed, not take you to hers.”

“A small difference. The rest is the wages of a long marriage.” She lightly pats Xuejiao’s cheek: it is