“I’m sure they are marvelous,” I said, spearing a slice of unknown meat with the skewer provided. “No amount of improved sight would make up for losing taste. At least not for me.”
He chuckled at that. “Perhaps now, blessed, when you are still young. I see the black tide rising in my future—I can choose to drown in it, or to build a lifeboat.”
The prospect of death would make immortality more appealing, I supposed. The Collectors traded away so much that I didn’t see myself ever taking their bargain.
Driin ate with the endless appetite of someone who planned to trade in his body before he had to pay for the calories. I was more sparing, sticking to foods marked safe for Argentians. The codes were on a spectrum, from ‘safe’ through ‘narcotic’ to ‘potentially lethal.’ There were other dishes, but the servitors didn’t allow me to touch those.
Every dish was delicious, perfect in its way. Another reason to love a career in art theft—I spent time around people with expensive tastes, and that meant eating foods I’d never afford otherwise.
Even by those standards, the Collector’s banquet was a marvel. Conversation died down as we ate, though it never quite stopped.
“The human journalist,” Driin said between bites. “Do you have a history? You’re both trying very hard not to look at each other, and neither of you is doing a good job of it.”
I nearly choked on a mouthful of white, sweet fruit and shook my head as I recovered. At least that gave me a moment to think about my reply. Inspiration sizzled in my veins as I swallowed.
“No, I simply didn’t realize someone so influential was here,” I told him, speaking just loud enough for others to overhear.
“Really?” He gave me a skeptical glance. “Earth News Central is hardly animportantnews site.”
“Ah, but that’s just the network she tells people about. It gives her a chance to get interviews where the target’s guard is down.” I smiled, warming to the theme. “No, she writes profiles for, well, I probably shouldn’t tell. People would kill to be featured, though.”
A near-imperceptible shift worked its way through the diners near me as whispers spread the word. Before anyone could ask me more, another soft chime sounded. Perfect.
One long crystalwall slid up, revealing the arena beyond. Silver sands gleamed under bright lights, making sure we’d see every detail of the struggle below.
We made our way over as seating rose out of the floor, and servitors brought drinks around as a Collector stepped out to speak. Primitive weapons rose through the sand, ready for use and worthless for a serious challenge.
“Honored guests, you will now have a rare opportunity to witness the living art of our collection. For your edification, we will display them as they destroy a pack of thieves who attempted to rob the Hive.”
The crystal being saidthieveswith a level of disgust and hatred I’d rarely heard. Cold and angry and dangerous, a glaring hypocrisy when they welcomed Driin’s stolen artworks.
Down on the sands, the thieves made their way out into the arena, some shaking in fear, others grimly determined. A few even looked confident, either an amazing act or a sign of grave stupidity. The Collectors weren’t looking for a fair fight, only an execution.
They were a mixed group, twenty would-be thieves from all over the Reach and beyond. Some clumped together, seeking safety in numbers, though they’d be more likely to get in each other’s way. Others struck out on their own—a wiser tactic, though just as futile. And one group of four looked like they’d practiced fighting side-by-side. If anyone stood a chance, they did. Two lean and competent Prytheen, a fluffy ball of hair taller than I was, and a smiling, skinny, green-skinned male, all long limbs and attitude. The four stayed clear of the rest, pushing away a few brave souls who tried to join them.
Those four might surprise our hosts,I thought, though with little hope.
“I’ll wager a Cruithan soul-egg on the quartet,” a sibilant voice said next to me. I turned my head with a frown to find a grinning lizard-woman standing next to me. Her eyes gleamed, slitted pupils wide to drink in as much of the show as possible. Gold fabric wrapped around her, clinging to her and artfully revealing strips of skin whenever she moved.
Duchess Ssyll,I remembered, putting a name to the face.Rich and famous with estates throughout the Reach, and arumored interest in blood sports. I guess I can call that confirmed.
“You think they’ll survive, Your Grace?” I tried not to sound incredulous, watching the Prytheen female. She moved with grace and skill, lifting a pair of axes from the sand with grim confidence. The fluff ball chose a spear, the green male a mace, and the male Prytheen disdained any weapon but his claws. Obviously experienced at fighting as a team, would that give them victory against the Collectors’ pet monsters? No, I couldn’t believe it.
Neither, it seemed, could the Duchess. She laughed as though I’d made a hilarious joke. “Oh, no, no. I bet they’ll be the last sapients standing. Who do you think will survive longest?”
She sipped her cocktail, the movement baring slices of skin in an ‘accident’ that was anything but. Ignoring her flirtation, I replied. “Alas, I have nothing to match your bet with. I am but a humble artist.”
“No, no,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “Youare an artist with a person’s weight in antimatter, with an artwork impressive enough to deserve inclusion here. And I’ve heard you speak—there’s nothing humble about you. You’ll have something to offer, surely?”
“Ah, but even then, I’d bet on the same team,” I said, resisting the urge to heave her over the balcony and into the arena.I have a cover to maintain,I reminded myself.Killing another guest won’t help anyone.
To my relief, the gong sounded again, and the arena sands opened up to reveal a broad passageway sloping down. Out of it came creatures built for slaughter.
First into the light was a scaled beast on four limbs, standing tall as me at the shoulder. Its tail, long and studded with vicious spines, lashed around it as it bounded out. Stopping on thesands, it howled up at us, an eerie sound that chilled the blood. A crystal crown on its head marked it as part of the Hive.
Behind it, a massive creature lumbered out. Six heavy limbs extended under its segmented shell, and spikes of black chitin threatened anyone who got too close. A pair of birds flew out past them, though ‘bird’ scarcely did those things justice. Their wings spread wider than I am tall, edged with razor-sharp glass feathers. Wicked beaks looked fit to tear open a hardsuit, and none of their targets wore more than a cloth tunic.
Discreet hologram interfaces appeared beside each guest, letting us see the monsters’ statistics. What animals they were based on, how they’d been modified, numbers of kills. Alongside those were the stats of their ‘riders.’
