Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

robots as fast as she could work the pump action. The robots shattered under the bullets’ impact, flying apart in showers of steel and brass shrapnel that had us all ducking for cover. Suzie kept firing, grinning fiercely as robots blew apart before her. Either she’d found a whole new kind of ammunition for her gun, or they didn’t build robots to last in the future.
    It helped that the narrow aisles meant the robots could only come at us a few at a time. Suzie and I put our backs to the wall of crates, while the Collector danced back and forth in the background, crying out miserably as some of his crates were inevitably damaged or destroyed by the exploding robots. Suzie pulled grenades from her belt, and lobbed half a dozen where they’d do the most good. Robots and crates blew apart in bowel-churning explosions, and for a while it seemed to be raining machine parts. The Collector cried out for Suzie to stop, and when she didn’t, he ran from crate to crate, prying them open and looking inside, searching for some weapon or device he could use against us. He didn’t seem to be having much luck. Suzie reloaded the shotgun from her bandoliers and went back to blowing robots apart like metal ducks in a shooting gallery. She was grinning widely now, her eyes hot and happy.
    But the robots kept pressing forward, forward, and there didn’t seem to be any end to their numbers. The Collector must have got a job lot. One of them go close enough to take a swipe at me with a clawed hand, and I decided enough was enough. This far from the Nightside, I didn’t have to worry about the angels seizing my soul again. So I opened my third eye, my private eye, and used my gift to locate the automatic shutdown commands in the robots’ minds. I knew they had to be there. The Collector didn’t trust anyone, not even his own creatures. He had to have a way to shut down the robots in case they ever turned against him. I hit the commands I’d found in those clever polymerized cat’s brains, and all the robots froze suddenly in mid motion. A few of them had got worryingly close. Suzie slowly lowered the smoking shotgun, took a deep breath, and turned to look at me.
    “You could have done that at any time, couldn’t you?”
    “Actually, yes.”
    “Then why did you wait so long!”
    “You looked like you were having fun.”
    Suzie considered that for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “You’re right. I was. Thank you, Taylor. You always did know how to show a girl a good time.”
    “All vicious gossip, rumors and lies,” I said. “Collector… Collector? Where are you?”
    We found him not far away, slumped exhausted and weeping over another open crate. Whatever it held was buried in plastic packing pieces. The Collector stirred them miserably with one hand, then looked up at us. He spat at me, but his heart wasn’t in it.
    “Look at what you’ve done … so many lovely things destroyed… It’ll take me weeks just to find out how much I’ve lost. Bullies, both of you. No respect for art, for the treasures of centuries… And I have weapons here! Great weapons, that would stop even you! I have the Horn of Jericho, Grendel’s Bane, even the legendary lost Sword of the Daun. But I can’t find them!”
    “Show us the Unholy Grail,” I said, not unkindly. “The sooner you hand it over, the sooner we’ll be gone.”
    The Collector nodded a few times, sniffing back tears, and finally dug his hands deep into the packing pieces before him.
    “I was packing it away when Merlin grabbed me. It is my greatest prize, but… the dark chalice is too disturbing to have around. The air’s always cold, the shadows have eyes, and I hear voices, whispering… things. Ah. Here.”
    He brought out a small beaten copper bowl, gleaming dully in the subdued lighting. It was dented and dull and not at all impressive. We all looked at it for a long moment, then the Collector offered it to us. I hesitated to touch the thing.
    “That’s it ?” said Suzie. “ That ’s the dark chalice, the Unholy Grail? The cup Judas drank from at the Last Supper? That miserable-looking thing?”
    “What were you expecting?” said the Collector, smiling just a little at one last chance to show off his expertise. “You thought perhaps it would be some great silver chalice, studded with jewels? Romantic medieval claptrap. The Disciples were a bunch of poor fishermen. This is the kind of thing they drank out of.”
    “It’s the real deal,” I