Shall Machines Bite the Sun by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

Author:Benjanun Sriduangkaew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2022-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

To Recadat’s surprise, Eurydice is adept at her cover story: the local academics seem flattered by her interest, especially when she claims—and forges—credentials from some prestigious university on Da Nang. “You know how the publication rat race is,” Eurydice says, slipping into the role as though it is a glove bespoke to her hand. “Multiple papers every semester, as if anyone could possibly have the time! I’m lucky I am not teaching anymore, so I can do as much research as I please, but back in the day . . . “

The linguists agree with her: undergraduates are terrible, yes, there’s the rare bright exception but teaching is such an ordeal. The unreadable essays, the disinterest in learning—what a purgatory, anathema to everything the scholar stands for.

Within the hour, the academics act as if Eurydice has always been their colleague. They take her—and by extension Recadat—to the university cafeteria, an expansive food court lined with different vendors. Nearly everything can be had: sushi, kaya toast, nasi lemak, all sorts of curries and noodles. The academics drift away to make their orders and Eurydice’s.

Recadat hasn’t had to do much talking—nor do the academics seem interested in any case, given that she doesn’t speak fifty languages and know the etymology of twenty more—and she breaks her silence to say, “Do professors really hate teaching that much?”

“Depends.” Eurydice reaches for the peach tea that has come early, delivered by a drone. “Some are in it to teach. Others are biding their time until they can switch to pure research. Have you ever tried to keep the attention of an entire classroom, most of them teenagers who’d rather be making out or doing virtually anything else but read the assigned syllabus? It’s enough to make anyone misanthropic.”

“Well,” she points out mildly, “surely they can choose to pursue another profession?”

“As if you didn’t have complaints about your work on the force?”

“Fair.” Recadat surveys the broad hall: students chattering in groups with the occasional loners, and a clear line between them and faculty members—no mingling. Faux-wood ceiling; several windows look out to an outdoor-simulating deck with a postmodern fountain looping currents inside its circle of gold and black. From a certain angle, the feature looks like two lovers entwining. But maybe she’s just missing Zerjic. “This place looks so normal. Relative to the rest.”

Eurydice shrugs. “As long as you don’t bring up the Rose Empress. Apparently she’s due to hold some rite today.”

Still. Recadat has spent too long on Mahakala, where virtually everyone knows her face; there she cannot blend into the crowd, cannot enjoy the normalcy anonymity brings. Jabalpur may be enemy territory, but she does appreciate being left alone. “I’m sorry about how I behaved on the way here. The altercation I almost had with Thannarat, I mean.”

“Inspector, I wouldn’t have minded if you bruised her. She’s a behemoth of a woman, she will live.”

She tries not to chortle. “No, it’s not that. I have gotten better, mostly, since I . . . “ Her throat thickens.

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