Second Dominion (Fourth Age)
Aurean Cycle n462 of the Macbeth dynasty, reign of Aldric II
Second Quadrant, Alay (Seat-Planet of House Claw)
Law, Amarel, and Jean trudged across the dry, cold ground of Woimar's industrial district. There wasn't a soul around, apart from a few grim faces on the sidewalks and the occasional vehicle creeping slowly through the intersections. The district's gray factories worked in silence, gusts of smoke puffing from their pipes only to freeze into frost shortly after drifting into the open air.
"I wonder why this place isn't in the top 10 tourist destinations," Amarel remarked.
Law smirked, following the directions on the holographic smartwatch strapped to his wrist.
"Snow… Snow Claw… a bit redundant…"
"Must be a nickname. Do you think his men call him 'Lord Snow'?"
They chuckled again.
Beneath their heavy coats and trousers, the three smugglers wore thermal-insulated suits: garments made of a special material that covered the whole body except the nose and eyes (where a mask would be placed), rubbery on the outside and velvety on the inside. They had to be vacuum-sealed using special suction tubes at the back, so the suit clung tightly to the skin. It was essential gear if one wanted to survive on that planet: without it—unless you belonged to one of the local races—your body fluids would likely freeze within ten minutes of landing.
Alay consisted of five small continents, entirely surrounded by ice. According to studies, the ice had come from ancient oceans, making the planet's ecosystem once suitable for broad biodiversity. At the end of the First Dominion, the Third Era, however, something weakened Alay's core, drastically lowering the planet's average temperature and wiping out about 70% of its species. The remaining 30% had to develop thicker hides, body fluids with lower freezing points, and other means of enduring the lethal cold.
That day the weather was good. Meaning, no blizzards or hailstorms. High in the grayish-blue sky, amid the clouds, one could glimpse the red sun of that system. Its light wasn't strong, nor was its warmth.
The group walked on for about half an hour until they reached the location indicated on the smartwatch: on the edge of the district, embedded in a massive wall of ice, stood a black mansion. Despite its position, no frost clung to its surface. It was as though moisture itself avoided its walls. There were no windows, the walls smooth as metal, made of some black, grainy substance that absorbed light like dry sand. Small engravings glowed warmly across the surface.
As the three approached, the semicircular gate at the center rotated open.
"That's us, I guess," Law said before stepping inside, the other two following. Within, the temperature didn't change drastically, but it rose by a few degrees.
Waiting for them at the foot of the staircase stood a butler of the S'Ari race—humanoids with pale blue skin, pointed ears and teeth, and pale blue eyes, their gaze icy.
"You may remove your masks," he said.
Law, Jean, and Amarel removed the visors covering their eyes and lowered the hoods of their thermal suits, revealing themselves.
In height, Law was slightly below average for human hybrids: a little over one and a half lumes. His long gray hair, quite unkempt, fell to the middle of his neck and hung over his sharp, pale, rough-textured face, defined by a firm jawline. A rebellious lock covered his right eye, hiding a long, pronounced scar running horizontally above it. The left eye, however, was clearly visible—metallic in color, the pupil wide. Altogether, those eyes bore a lived-in look, accentuated by his thick, furrowed black brows. Another scar ran down his left cheek, and yet another across his forehead, hidden among his metallic-colored strands.
Amarel's frail frame disappeared inside his coat… one look at his gaunt, sun-tanned face made you instinctively want to feed him. His thick ocher hair covered his brown eyes, but on the rare occasions they could be glimpsed, a strong orange glint shone within them, along with rhombus-shaped pupils—typical of hybrids born on Solstice, especially in the villages of the Vaire region.
Jean's face, meanwhile, was oval and rosy, her eyes large and green. Being a hybrid with the Skynt, they emitted a natural glow. Bioluminescence and night vision were characteristics of the race native to the dark planet Lilea. She wore her blonde hair tied in a ponytail, and always kept around her neck a soft black scarf with white polka dots, left to her by her father.
The butler scrutinized them for a few seconds, glanced at the tablet in his hand, then back at them, and nodded.
"You may proceed upstairs," he announced, stepping aside.
"You're not searching us for weapons?" Law asked as he started up the stairs.
"The master prefers those who deal with him to always have the means to react," the butler replied, withdrawing.
The three exchanged uncertain looks.
At the top of the staircase was a platform that carried the group up some twenty lumes, opening onto a wide, well-furnished room. In the corners stood still guards, black rifles in hand. At the center was a long table with two dozen empty seats—save for the one at the head. Seated there, the master was finishing his meal.
Jean opened her mouth to say something, but Amarel stopped her. Silence reigned for a good ten seconds, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against the plate.
"You didn't tell me about the new one," said the man at the head of the table, his voice hoarse and low, almost a whisper.
Law shrugged. "We met her on the road. She's good."
Snow, the master, rose. Unlike the others of his race, his skin was pure white. His black hair was slicked back, and he wore an elegant dark blue suit along with a black scarf tucked into the jacket's collar. His square features were relatively young, but his skin rough, almost wrinkled. His small pale-blue eyes examined the smugglers.
After a few seconds, he slipped his gloved hands into his pockets. "You two have made a name for yourselves in your trade. I can't say the same for her."
Amarel cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Forgive me, sir, but if you called us, it means you trust our skills, right?"
Snow nodded.
"Our skills also include our judgment."
The master was silent for a moment, then lifted his chin. "Very well. As you wish."
Jean looked at Amarel in front of her and smiled timidly.
Snow gestured for them to come closer, then moved toward a long couch behind the table.
"I was wondering, why summon us in person?" Law asked. "Y'know, nowadays you can just post contracts on that website. Would've spared us the trip."
The boss scoffed. "Not for this contract. Even announcing it would have been risky."
Before the couch was an interactive table, its screen filled with phrases, dates, and numbers with no apparent meaning.
"Those are…"
"…Transactions," Amarel exclaimed. Snow nodded.
"But between who?" Jean asked.
Unbuttoning his jacket before sitting, Snow gave a nearly imperceptible smile. "House Lysander and Futura Life."
Amarel and Jean fell silent. Law frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Someone working at the company let slip information about a deal between the two. Dated about a week ago. Apparently, the Lysanders ordered a delivery bound for Orenor, their seat-planet. I didn't post anything on the site because the company would have immediately caught wind of the leak, canceled or rescheduled the delivery, and rendered it all useless."
"Uh… do we know what's in the shipment?" Amarel asked.
Snow nodded. He tapped the table's touchscreen, projecting the image of twelve canisters.
"Krava milk," the master declared.
"Huh? What's that?" Law mumbled.
"It's a substance of… very high value. Corporations have many secrets, but Futura Life guards the origin of this one with particular jealousy. Among the clauses of the company's non-disclosure pact is the Krava's planet of origin."
Amarel and Law whistled.
"And… so…?" Jean asked, swallowing.
Snow raised an eyebrow at her. "Second thoughts?"
"No, no, just asking."
The boss tapped the table again, revealing the route of a cargo ship. "In a week, the ship will depart for Orenor in the Third Quadrant. In the document I'll give you shortly, you'll find all the gates it will pass through. Your contract is to intercept the cargo ship, obtain one canister of Krava milk, and bring it here."
The three froze.
"…I'm sorry, what?" Amarel whispered after a moment.
"Breaking an agreement between the corporation that controls the Second Quadrant and one of the Four Holy Houses. Yeah, what could possibly go wrong," Law exclaimed.
"Why not—"
"Fifteen million pods," Snow interrupted.
"…Okay, but still…"
"Each."
The three swallowed in unison and stared at one another for a good ten seconds.
"Well… in the end…"
"…If we're careful…"
"…Yes, after all, we know what we're doing…"
The three nodded thoughtfully in unison.
"One thing. Why?" Law asked.
Snow was silent for a few seconds, legs crossed.
"…My House, like the other seven, is divided into two Circles: First and Second. The First enjoys all the power—the real power. To us remain… the crumbs."
If these are crumbs… Jean thought, glancing around the spacious, lavish mansion.
"The division of circles is decided at birth. There's nothing one can do about it," Snow continued. "We're children, jealously gazing at the adults through the glass, never given a chance to grow."
The three listened in silence.
"But now, I have a chance to be one of them. A taste of true power. Have you ever wanted such a chance?"
Jean nodded hesitantly, while Law did so with more resolve.
"Then you understand. That shipment is my chance. Do this for me, and with your reward you may find the same."
…The three looked at each other again.
--
"Well, fifteen million is a lot," Law commented. The three had left aboard a shuttlebus line running regularly from the station just outside the industrial district. They were already beyond the atmosphere.
Now that they had left the planet, they could remove their thermal suits. Law wore a black long-sleeved shirt. His right hand bore many scars and calluses, while the left was extremely pale, grayish, and well-kept: a synthetic limb.
Jean wore her father's work jacket, and Amarel a beige tunic that hung a bit too loosely.
"We could buy a lot of e-books…" the latter added. "…A wide, comfy ship…"
"The ship comes first," Jean cut in. "Pulling this job with public transit sounds a bit difficult."
"We wouldn't be talking about this if someone hadn't wrecked the shuttle," Amarel retorted, raising a brow at Law.
He grunted in reply. "Oh, come on. We've been over this."
Amarel shrugged. "Ah, and anyway, we still need to pick up our stuff on K-7."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. We'll grab it and sell it right away."
Jean leaned her head against the window, staring at the stars with a determined look. She would do it. She had to.
After a while she turned to the others. "But what did he mean by 'true power'? I don't think he just meant money. Political power? How could milk give him leverage like that?"
"Mm, I've got a guess," Law said as he opened his laptop (not exactly his—he and Amarel had pooled money to buy it) and checked his profile on the well-known contract site, BreedOfUnderworld.gala.
"You logged in with the bus's public network? Has the cold frozen your brain?" Amarel snapped.
"Chill, chill, I set up a hotspot," Law replied. On the site, one could post contracts and accept them. They could cover anything: smuggling, theft, assassination, rescue, protection, or more… personal matters. The principle was the same as the IGU (Interquadrant Guild Office), where one could request contracts for guilds to take on; but unlike the IGU, BreedOfUnderworld.gala had no guidelines for contracts—and certainly wasn't government-approved.
"Ever thought of changing your profile pic? And your username while you're at it," Amarel commented beside him.
"What's wrong with swords?" Law replied with a pout. He seemed genuinely offended. "And anyway, 'The_Shifter' is intuitive. In the job market, clarity is important," he declared proudly.
The ocher-haired youth turned toward Jean in exasperation, but she only shrugged.
Suddenly, Law noticed a notification on the app's icon. "Oh, another invite."
One of the site's least-used functions allowed contract posters to send invitations for live conversations—just like Snow had done with Law. It was rarely used, since being an illegal site, everything could go wrong. But with a member of House Claw, who had to maintain his reputation, it was another matter.
Amarel opened the invite and read: "From someone named 'Corbin_Rouge69'… uh, okay… the date's in twelve hours, and the attached location is…" Amarel trailed off, incredulous.
"... the Opulence Palace of Crestoria?"
"The fuck?!" Law's brows shot up.
"Crestoria?!" Jean exclaimed. "'Crestoria' as in 'Seat-Planet of House Rouge'?!"
Glossary:
Pods: the universal currency used in the galaxy, approved by the Macbeth government. Equivalent to about €1.10.
Lume: the universal unit of distance, approved by the Galactic Measurement System. One lume is about 1.10 meters.
Days: here, a "day" refers to a full day on the capital planet Vala. It takes about 24 hours and 30 minutes (Earth time) to complete a full rotation.