Where Machines Redeem the Lost (Machine Mandate Book 4) by Sriduangkaew Benjanun

Author:Sriduangkaew, Benjanun [Sriduangkaew, Benjanun ]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 978-1-60701-548-2
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2021-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Zerjic sits as close to Recadat as ey can. Reconciliation must be possible—ey cannot afford to let her out of sight, and ey has been cursing emself for letting emotion get the better of em. There’s no way to monitor the isotoxal virus—its rate of saturation—outside of observing the woman who bears it, and even then it is a matter of pinpointing physiological signs that can be easily missed. Less code words than code phrases, the sort to emerge from delirium; best practice would have Zerjic watch her every time she rests and listen to her sleep-talking.

And Zerjic should have known better than to take offense. Recadat is more taut wire than woman, and by right should be in pieces; that she is as functional as she is constitutes its own miracle. But what she said struck too close to home, dangerously proximate to the truth. The thought that ey sees in her nothing more than a tool, even if the purpose she intuited is different from the real one. The thought that ey sees her helplessness as a point of attraction.

Ey intones eir part in the orisons. We stand to receive cleansing. We gather the days of glass to make a mirror in which our hearts may be seen. The words have the cadence of religion but lack actual connective tissue to any extant doctrines, barely convey a cohesive message, almost as though they’ve been designed for the sound and rhythm rather than meaning. After a time rote learning numbs the brain. No one cares if they are chanting gibberish. It matters only that it is chanted in sync with others, that it folds each voice into a chorus of belonging.

The prayer ends. Mahiravanan’s great proxy closes its eyes.

Zerjic makes eir way through the crowd, which seems to resist em, congesting where ey needs passage. Ey is pushed back; ey cannot get ahead without shoving bodies out of the way, without bruising other inmates. Recadat is several paces out of reach, and she moves quickly, as though she knows ey is pursuing and she means to get away.

Vishrava steps in front of Zerjic. Xer smile is beatific. “I have a task for you, Zerjic.”

Ey tries not to let frustration show. Recadat will be at dinner, in any case. “Yes? I always love to help.”

By now the crowd has filed past them, stage-directed to make themselves scarce. Recadat is nowhere to be seen. The warden leans close to Zerjic. “There will be an evening prayer tonight.”

“Who’s my opponent?” Victim, rather. It will not change eir plans—plenty of free time between now and then.

“Not anyone you know. I’ve transmitted your schedule for the day.” Vishrava gives her a small, ironic bow. “This time I’m letting you customize the arena. It shall be good for your creative muscles. We must keep our charges well-rounded.”

Ey is to attend several classes that were never required before, and several hours have been blocked out for em to edit the arena. That leaves almost no time to speak to Recadat, who might opt to eat alone in her room.

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