1
PENNY
The Collectors’ hive-ship hadn’t just landed on Wardal, it stabbed the surface like a crystalline knife blade thrust into the bedrock. I doubted the impression was accidental. It threatened death to anyone who crossed its owners, a reputation they worked hard to live up to. They hadn’t always succeeded, but their efforts were still the stuff of legends. Robbing the Collectors had been regarded as a messy way to commit suicide since before humans left Earth.
Around me, socialites from a dozen worldsoohedandahhedat the spectacle, and I made a slow turn to capture their expressions as they stared in wonder. Debbie, my faithful camera drone, turned with me, recording everything I looked at.Yes,I know, Debbie the Drone is a terrible name. In my defense, I didn’t expect it to stick.
Even inside the bubble of environmental shielding, the dying planet’s wind struck hard. That didn’t stop the guests clustering against the deck railing, impatient to see the Hive. Mine wasn’t the only camera drone—visiting a Collector hive was a once-in-a-lifetime event. To many guests, being seen mattered more than seeing the collection.
Other skimmers flitted through the chill air, carrying passengers from Wardal’s mountaintop spaceport to the Hive. Nobles, celebrities, and the excessively wealthy citizens of the galaxy, gathering to a viewing of the Impossible Collection. And, incidentally, to witness the installation of a new Collector, the event I’d ostensibly come to document.
Debbie turned with me, completing a circle to focus on the Hive. A gigantic spire of crystal, glittering under the cold and distant light of Wardal’s sun, it towered over the ruins of a frozen, abandoned city. A dock extended from it, about halfway up, and on the smooth, flat surface a group of the Collectors’ Hive-servitors waited.
Twenty servitors stood lined up along the dock, no two of the same species. I recognized only half of the species; the rest were too obscure for me to identify. They all shared a common uniform. Each wore a red and black uniform, their faces hidden behind identical crystal masks. Only their mouths showed, smiling identical smiles. An amazing display of wealth and power, showing how far the Collectors’ reach extended.
It stood in stark contrast to the ruined city behind it.
The barren planet made a morbid backdrop to this event. Long ago, the planet’s slow spiral away from its sun had robbed it of the warmth and light needed to sustain it, but its death had crept up on it. Each year, it got a little colder, the harvests smaller, the wildlife fewer. Those who could, left. Everyone else died by inches until Wardal became a tomb world. Centuries passed between the last inhabitants leaving Wardal and the Collectors moving in to harvest what art the retreating civilization left behind.
Culture by scavenging.
I shook off the disquieting thoughts and focused on the Hive again, vast and impenetrable. Like most security, it focused on keeping intruders out, and my cover solved that problem.Once the Collectors let me inside, my escape would be easy by comparison.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
With an effort, I plastered a smile on my face and started narrating our arrival as the skimmer’s gangplank extended to touch the crystal dock. We weren’t the first guests, and those who’d arrived ahead of us were admiring either the view or a display of hologram artwork.
The Liil who greeted us was tall, slender, and graceful. His crystal mask gave him the appearance of a robot, an impression his precise bow and lack of other body language did nothing to dispel. “Welcome, gentlebeings, to the Impossible Collection. Today, we honor Collector-Candidate Driin Attrobi’s ascent to the hallowed rank of Collector, in thanks for his contributions to our cause. Witness a small selection of the works he has brought us.”
With a broad sweep of his arm, he gestured to a row of holograms appearing from the Hive’s walls. Each displayed a beautiful work of art, all stolen. I kept my smile in place with difficulty as I scanned them. There wasn’t a single stolen human artwork on display, which was somehow insulting.
Polite applause followed until one young noble interrupted with a question. “What happens to these works after Driin’s, ah, ascension?”
A general chuckle swept through the crowd, and the Bauran youth glared around. I felt sorry for him, but not very—he could have asked that question privately, but no, he’d saved it to embarrass himself in front of his peers.
The crystal-masked Liil servitor showed no signs of amusement, though. With a serene nod, he answered.
“Once this festival is complete, the Collection will return to the interstellar void. There, the Collectors will curate and attend to the artworks until we arrive at our next destination.”
Which, given the Collectors’ aversion to hyperspace travel, will take centuries if not millennia.I shivered at the thought, and I wasn’t alone. The weight of time hung heavy over us until the Liil clapped his hands and continued.
“But that, masters, is the future. Today we celebrate the present and the past! Please mingle, enjoy your drinks, and as soon as our last donor arrives, we shall escort you inside. Tonight, you will dine at a grand banquet in Collector-Candidate Driin’s honor, followed by a display of the living Collection in the arena. Your hosts will pit thieves and looters against their most dangerous creatures for your edification. Tomorrow, the rest of the Collection will open to you, giving you a chance to see Collector-Candidate Driin’s donations in their context.”
The crowd’s pleased murmur started at the mention of the arena, which shouldn’t have surprised me.Of coursethe wealthy and powerful delighted in a chance to watch strange animals and criminals fight to the death. I hid my distaste. After growing up in the ruins of London amidst the wreckage of the Uplink War, I had a dim view of killing for sport or pleasure.
Especially when the Collectors would throw me into the pit if they worked out why I’d come.
Not that anyone cared what I thought. To the guests, I was just the hired help, not worth noticing, and that suited me. Standing back and out of the way, I let them ignore me as I watched and my hovering camera filmed.
The most attention anyone paid me was to pose so that they’d look their best for my camera. Even the Collectors’ servitors didn’t come near me, moving among therealguests to offer drinks and other refreshments. Perfect. The sooner I got them all used to ignoring me, the better. I’d only have one chance at my mission, and the fewer eyes on me, the easier it would get.
More skimmers arrived, depositing guests who got the same welcome message. Soon the dock was full enough to annoy thoseguests used to more personal space. I watched them glare at each other and hid a laugh—no London girl would feel crowded here.
At last, the final skimmer flew in, almost empty. Alone in the icy wind stood a lone figure and what looked like a giant iron sarcophagus. Was that the mystery artist with his contribution?
The artist stepped onto the dock before the skimmer stopped moving. The dim sunlight gleamed and glittered off his silver skin as he moved, his intense gaze flicking across the assembled worthies. Silence spread from him like a wave across the crowd, and heads turned to see who’d kept everyone waiting. Several of them caught their breath as they looked at him, and I didn’t blame them. I stared, unable to tear my eyes away. The newcomer was hot enough to melt steel and drew my gaze like a magnet draws iron.
He stood tall enough to tower over the crowd of aliens, shining golden eyes darting over the crowd and analyzing his surroundings just as I had. A mane of long, loose hair cascaded down to his waist and framed a strong, angular face. His lips showed just a hint of a smile, as though he saw a joke the rest of us missed.
