Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

enjoying all its many qualities… I do like to examine every detail… close-up…”
    “If he starts to drool, I may puke,” said Suzie, and I had to nod in agreement.
    The Collector scowled at both of us. “ But , once the initial thrill is over, I immediately pack it safely away in here. It’s the thrill of the chase I really enjoy. That, and the knowledge that I’ve done my rivals dirt, that I’ve got my hands on something, and they haven’t. I do so love to crow and preen in all the best newsgroups … And, of course, everything is computer-scanned before it’s put into storage, so I can visit it again at my leisure in virtual mode. After all, some of the more delicate items aren’t up to too much… handling. And it’s so much easier to find an item on a computer menu than try to dig through all this lot looking for one particular item.”
    That was when the first of the robots made its appearance, and Suzie and I immediately lost all interest in what the Collector was saying. The metal figure came striding down the narrow aisle towards us on impossibly slender legs, a tall and spindly thing of shining steel and brass, its clean lines the very definition of art deco. It advanced on us smoothly, unhurriedly, its every movement impossibly graceful. The robot was vaguely humanoid in shape, though the squarish head had been cast to resemble a stylized cat’s features, right down to jutting steel whiskers and glowing slit-pupiled eyes. The long-fingered hands ended in vicious claws. More robots appeared silently out of the many interconnecting aisles, until we were faced by a small army of cat-faced automatons. I thought I could detect a faint humming from them, so high it was only just in the range of my hearing. The seemed to be talking to each other. The Collector smiled on them fondly. Suzie’s shotgun moved restlessly back and forth in her hands, seeking a target.
    “Relax, Suzie,” said the Collector. “They’re only looking you over. Getting used to your presence. Strangers make them nervous. I had them programmed that way. Nothing like a spot of paranoia to keep a guard on his toes. I picked this lot up in a particularly good deal from another possible future. They have basic limited AIs, built around polymerized cat’s brains. Simple, obedient, and marvelously malicious when they have to be. They do so enjoy a good chase … and the torture afterwards. The purr-fect protectors for my collection. They built this whole place for me and run it in my absence. Far better than any fallible human guards, and besides, I don’t care for company these days. I prefer to be alone, with my things. My lovely things.”
    “No offence, Collector,” said Suzie, “but you are seriously weird, even for the Nightside.”
    “For someone who wasn’t trying to offend, I thought you did awfully well,” I said.
    “Is all well, master?” said one of the cat-faced robots, in a thrilling female contralto that made Suzie and me look at the Collector in a whole new way.
    “All is well,” the Collector said grandly. “You may all return to your regular duties. My guests will not be staying long. I’ll call if I have need of you.”
    “As you wish, master,” said the robot, then they all turned smoothly on their steel heels and disappeared back into the many narrow aisles of the warehouse. Suzie watched carefully until they were all gone, then turned back to the beaming Collector.
    “Do they all have to call you master?”
    “Of course.”
    “Doesn’t that get creepy after a while?”
    “No. Why should it?”
    “Don’t go there, Suzie,” I said. “We really don’t have the time.”
    The Collector led the way down a narrow aisle that to the untrained eye looked exactly like all the others, and Suzie and I followed after him, pulling faces behind his back. We stuck close; the hundreds of interconnecting passageways made up a maze it would clearly be only too easy to get thoroughly lost in. I let my eyes drift over the many crates and cases we passed; a few were labeled as well as numbered. One label said Antarctic Expedition 1936; Do not open till the Elder Ones return . The exterior of the crate was covered in frost, despite the uncomfortable warmth of the warehouse. A much larger crate was labeled simply Roswell 1947 . It had air holes. Something inside the crate was growling, in a thoroughly pissed off way. And one crate standing on its own levitated proudly a few inches off the floor. I don’t