The room was already busy, with more of the Reach’s wealthiest assholes appearing as I explored. I amused myself looking at the jewels they wore, picking out the real from the fake, the valuable from the worthless. The best forgeries cost more than some of the cheaper gems.
It distracted me from the shadow of loneliness creeping into my heart. None of these nobles were my peers—they were marks, targets. There was exactly one person in the Hive I could confide in, and I’d locked her out of the party.
Idiot. She could have buried me.I kept the snarl off my face with difficulty.I had to show her that stealing from me comes with consequences.
Not that I’d confide in her. We weren’t friends, and we weren’t allies. We were rivals, and while I enjoyed our sparring, I wouldn’t make the mistake of trusting her.
I moved through the party on autopilot, saying the right words, laughing at the terrible jokes, trying to find anything todistract myself from Penny. Impossible—the bewitching human had a hold on me I couldn’t shake.
“Ah, Varok, my esteemed rival.” A jocular voice intruded into my thoughts, and I turned with a fake smile on my lips. The speaker was a Bauran dressed in the Collectors’ black-and-red, though instead of the crystal mask that marked their servants, he wore a crown made of the same material.
Like the masks, the crown grew into his skull. Part of the process of bringing him into the Hive and making him a full Collector, I presumed. I glanced at one of the insectoid crystal aliens and suppressed a shudder at the thought.Give me death before transforming into one of those.
“You must be Collector-Candidate Attrobi,” I said, bowing. “The reason for this gathering. Congratulations on your coming immortality.”
Short, stocky, muscles under the fat, he must have been a formidable fighter in his prime. Scars across his face and bare arms confirmed he was no stranger to combat. Even now, he wasn’t someone to take lightly.
Which suited a member of the Bauran military aristocracy well enough. I’d done my homework on the man and the private art collection he’d put together from the spoils of his military career. A life of constant warfare, putting together a gallery worthy of the Impossible Collection.
He was the person with the most to lose here—if I, or Penny for that matter, brought down the value of his collection enough, he’d lose his invitation to join the Hive. He wasn’t likely to receive another in his lifetime.
Narrow eyes, pupils wide from some narcotic or other, stared up at me. “Your own triumph is hardly less impressive, Varok. A life-size sculpture made of antimatter? Amazing.”
I laughed. “A single piece, General. I’m proud of my work, of course, but it pales compared to the treasures you’vecurated. Re’Hind paintings from before the exile? Halveran light sculpture, Prytheen texture art,andhuman pre-space works? No wonder the Collectors have offered you a place.”
As I’d hoped, the suspicion vanished behind arrogant pride. “It is my life’s work. Work I gladly commit to the Collection, where it will live forever.”
And where no one will ever experience it,I added. Waging decades of brutal war on a dozen worlds to steal their art was a horrific crime. To then hide it away in the darkness of deep space? Madness.
“A pity,” I mused, “that no one will see my sculpture after this. Preserving it forever is worthwhile, of course, but I enjoy seeing people’s reaction to it. Still, in the Hive my art will live forever even if I do not. I can take comfort in that.”
“Ah, blessed,” the Bauran said, the last hint of suspicion fading from his eyes. “I will ensure your work gets pride of place when next the Hive emerges.”
He clapped me on the arm, smiling, the heady prospect of eternal life distracting him from whatever doubts he may have had. I followed in his wake, happy to let him bask in the lion’s share of the attention. This was his triumph, and while I loathed the man, I appreciated the cover he gave me. But as we circulated, I found my gaze flicking to every new arrival, wondering whether the human female had made her entrance.
5
PENNY
Without my ID, getting into the party was a tedious and nerve-wracking affair. I ended up following a Liil couple, letting their invitation open the way for all three of us. If anyone asked to see my invitation, I was stuck. For most guests, an ID check would be a minor embarrassment. The Collectors weren’t so paranoid that they’d execute anyone who misplaced an invitation.
But if I gave them reason to investigate me, what would they find? I wasn’t willing to risk finding out, and that asshole Varok knew it.
So when I stepped into the party, I was stressed, hungry, and angry. Worst of all, I didn’t dare show any of that.
We stepped through the door, and the sight greeting us washed those worries away. The pair of Liil stopped and stared, and I joined them. Impressive as the guests’ travel gear had been on the skimmer, now everyone had changed into their fanciest outfits.
The combined effect was stunning, literally overwhelming. So many styles clashing and fighting for dominance made it hard to focus on any one person. Beside me, Debbie gave a wearybeepas her limited AI brain tried to work out where to point the camera first.
I couldn’t help; I had no idea where Ishould start, either. There, a Halveran nobleman stood in shimmering, multi-colored robes, his swinging tail decorated with ribbons tied to catch the light just right. Beside him, his wife was drab by comparison in her gleaming formal black. The pair were deep in discussion with a floating crystal the size of a human torso. A remote proxy piloted by someone far from here? One of the weirder aliens of the Reach? Or was a tiny alien driving it around?
Everywhere I looked, I faced questions like that. The aliens I’d arrived with were less mysterious but no less fancy, and the gold gown I wore seemed shabby in comparison. I froze.
Somehow, across the room, Varok spotted my arrival, and the smug bastard turned andgrinnedat me. A bright red flare of anger washed through me, breaking the spell and letting me stalk into the room. As soon as possible, I turned away and put him out of my sight.
I wished putting him out of my mind was as easy.
No one else noticed my arrival or my hesitation. Appreciating the advantages of my cover identity, I took a deep breath—the air tasted of perfume and narcotic smoke—and started circulating. Three seconds later I decided that, no matter how useful a cover it made, I wasnotcut out for journalism.
