Second Dominion (Fourth Age)
Aurean Cycle no. 462 of the Macbeth dynasty, reign of Aldric II
Second Quadrant, Alay (Seat-Planet of House Claw)
"Am I having a déjà-vu?" Amarel commented."Oh? Did I miss something?" Lacrosse, behind them, walked awkwardly while dragging the canister: Law had had to lend him a spare thermal suit that was completely the wrong size. While they were putting them on, shortly after getting off at the station, the air-suction tubes had jammed on the poor boy at least three times. Luckily, Woimar Station was enclosed and heated."Actually, it does feel similar," Law muttered.
Only this time, in the frozen industrial district, it was night. And the temperature dropped even lower, if that were possible. Sure, the thermal suits did their job, but it was inevitable to feel a spectral shiver under the skin. And at that moment, not only from the cold.
A few hours earlier, at Stella Nova, thanks to Jean and a few more EMPs, the group had managed to hide in the hold of a shuttlebus headed to a belt of meteorites a few light-years from the station. It had nothing to do with Alay, yes, but at least they could sit in seats when the next line arrived, without worrying about pursuers.
Snow's black mansion was practically invisible in the night. The only thing that vaguely signaled its presence were the timid warm lights peeking from the walls.
After a bit of waiting, the semicircular gate opened slowly, and behind it the same butler as last time was waiting for them again."Welcome back. I assume your mission went smoothly."
The S'Ari let them in with the same crisp gesture as the week before. The warm light in the wall-etchings followed them like an eye, then dimmed half a tone."You may remove your masks," he said.
The four pushed back the hoods of their suits; Lacrosse took a moment longer: the fabric flapped on him and the chin buckle came off in his hand. The butler looked at him half a second longer than necessary, then turned away as if nothing had happened.
"The master awaits you," he stepped aside, leaving space. Despite the new guest, no search, again. No metal detector, no hands rifling through pockets. Only corridors smooth as blades and that minimal warmth that wasn't enough to chase the cold from your bones."You know, this hospitality thing is starting to grow on me," Amarel murmured."Yeah, I thought he only did it the first time to look cool," Law played along."Maybe the review isn't so lost.""We'll like it if he stops," Jean cut in, holding the canister by the top handle. The cylinder puffed milky vapor at every step.
The platform took them and carried them up, with a slow vertical motion in the silence of the black block. The higher they went, the more the floor seemed to listen to them. Above, the same hall. The guards in the corners, motionless, black blasters already in hand. The long table, two dozen seats, empty. At the head, Snow.
He wasn't eating this time. He was standing, gloved hands in his pockets, skin pale as sunless snow, hair slicked back. Pale blue eyes steady. He didn't say "welcome." He made no comment. He only gave a nod.
--
A few weeks earlier – Second Quadrant, Futura Life HQ (Negotiation Room)
It was a room of glass and cold lights. Inside were three Futura Life staffers, collars buttoned, voices low. Mareque did his best to speak without theatrics, to seem less… Rouge than possible. He even had a shirt buttoned to the neck."There's a way to get you past the frontier more cleanly…" he said. "…add a double check between the Halcyon-3 and Spine-Delta gates. Call it a 'green squeeze.' Looks like a harmless safety step, but audits love it.""How much does it cost?" asked the one in the middle."Nothing you can't sign today…" Mareque replied. "It's just one more line in the documents. You can write it exactly like this: 'green squeeze between Halcyon-3 and Spine-Delta.' It may come in handy if someone asks questions."
The three exchanged glances. A moment later, they nodded in unison. Approved.Mareque didn't smile. Not yet.
--
The door closed softly behind the group. Snow crushed under boots, warm lights in the etchings. Snow waited for silence to spread properly, like a sheet."You brought a canister," he said, resting his thumb on the edge of the table as if to test its temperature."Yes. As agreed," Law said.
Amarel set the cylinder down. Jean stayed half a span behind; she watched everything out of the corner of her eye. Lacrosse didn't know what to do with his hands in the oversized suit.
Snow studied them one by one. When he reached Lacrosse, his gaze didn't move on. Not immediately. No comment.
The guards didn't move, but adjusted on their soles—a short rubber click on stone. It was a tiny gesture, and yet it made the air colder."Set it there," Snow said, indicating a square on the floor that lit up.
Law didn't move. "Payment first, then the rest."A smile, barely there, millimetric. "I will pay. When the job is closed. As promised."
The room creaked. It wasn't the ice.
--
First Quadrant, Zephir, commercial district
At the back of a certain market, there was a counter. An old terminal. It smelled of paper, even though no one printed anything anymore. Mareque left a line on a public circuit where "useful rumors" were traded:
"New biopharmaceutical routes. Green squeeze between Halcyon-3 and Spine-Delta. Tight window. Passage on S-972-b."
The line went out. Usually, in the small virtual fair, a rumor bounced three times and then died. Not that one. It was copied verbatim into a Third Quadrant broker's bulletin. Then into a private list. Then into a virtual table where no signatures were left—only covered crests.
Every copy carried the same tiny scar: "green squeeze." A mark you don't notice until you look for it.
Mareque paid the kid who carried data packages. "And if they ask your source?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow." 'A rumor,'" the kid said. And vanished."Formidable."
--
"Open it," Snow said, curt."Uh… it needs a stable temperature, a cold room," Jean put in. "Otherwise we're left with an expensive puddle, yeah?""I've prepared it," he said, with a quick tilt of the head. "I care about stable things."
He spoke softly. No useless gestures. The guards slid aside, clearing the passage toward a dark door, low lights beyond the threshold.
Law didn't move. "We verify the room first. Then the rest."Snow nodded once. No comment. No hurry.
The butler indicated the corridor. Amarel nudged Law with his elbow as if to say "do I breathe?" Law didn't return the gesture: he kept the room in his sights, eyes and back.
Snow watched everything. In silence. His gaze went and returned, but left no words.
Tension walked with them.
--
Second Quadrant, Crestoria (Opulence Palace, Mareque's Atelier)
Three screens. One with station loops, one with "for internal staff" notices, and one with a map of gates. The line the Master of Sculpture was waiting for finally arrived:
"Futura Life convoy (FL). 'Green squeeze' confirmed between Halcyon-3 and Spine-Delta. Route S-972-b. Internal memo forwarded to external partners."
Same words, same order, no attachable name.
Mareque closed the first two screens. On the third, only the map remained. He had done what he needed: set a mark, a scar, inside a document others would use to feel secure. Whoever relied on it would incriminate themselves later, when someone asked: "What route did the thieves have?" And in the answer would be his word.
He stood. No satisfaction on his face, only that kind of calm that comes when the rhythm is right."It works," he said quietly.
Outside, Crestoria's sky changed color like a breath. Inside, the plan had stopped being an idea.
--
The side door opened onto a bare cold room: smooth walls, a grid of pipes sweating frost, three column indicators pulsing slow. Breath turned to fog in the throat."Temperature?" Jean asked, already bent over the console.The butler merely touched a wall crystal: the three indicators stepped down by half a degree."Okay, it's stable," she said, more to herself than to the others. She latched the canister to the metal cradle, passed her wrist over the reader, waited. The display gave a sharp ping and turned green. "Good. It's on curve. No shock."
No one applauded.
Law remained at a diagonal, shoulder against the wall, the corner of his eye holding everything inside it: the butler, the threshold, Snow's reflection in the glossy pane beyond the door. Amarel moved past him to ease the cylinder's weight a moment longer; when he raised his gaze, it met that of one of the guards. No challenge, only acknowledgment of presence."Ten minutes for settling," Jean murmured. "Then a micro-open and an air sample. If it holds, it's all yours."
Snow nodded. He didn't move. He watched. He did it with a patience one couldn't tell was courtesy or chains.
--
First Quadrant, Zephir, "useful rumors" circuit
A short line slipped from node to node: "green squeeze between Halcyon-3 and Spine-Delta." Someone copied it into a "for logistics personnel" bulletin; someone else tucked it into a route digest. You couldn't see it unless you looked at the edge.
An old man living on digital tips in a backroom of sector 8 opened his mail at three in the morning. His hands always trembled—never when it came to picking signal from noise. He clicked on something he'd seen twice that week already. Read. Rewrote. Forwarded.
Recipient: Listening Office – Woimar.Subject: biopharmaceutical / "green squeeze" / S-972b.A single line in the body: "keeps coming back the same."
--
The ten minutes didn't last ten minutes. They lasted nine and a half, then Jean raised a hand, but stopped her own impulse to open. She waited another half-minute, the way you wait for a word that mustn't come out wrong."Okay," she said softly. "Three seconds."
She unlocked the valve by a finger's breadth, letting the sensor nozzle in. The air stung her fingers through the gloves. The display pulsed yellow, then turned green again."It's stable," she confirmed, louder. "We can close."
Snow didn't give a nod, but the butler moved as if he'd received one. The cold-room door eased shut behind them with a sigh.
In the hall, the warmth returned by a hair—just enough to make the cold feel like an idea, not a blade. The guards in the corners were no longer in the corners. One had moved half a step forward, the other had shifted weight to a different foot. Details—if you watched.
"So?" Amarel said, trying to sound light and only half-managing. "How many stars do we get to swallow?""The job must be closed," Snow said. Quietly. Without edges.Law didn't smile. "Already done."
--
Second Quadrant, Alay (Woimar, Listening Office.)
A long room. Four screens. Three chairs occupied by S'Ari with almost transparent eyes. Their hands moved over keyboards that made no sound."You see it too?" asked the first, without raising his voice." 'Green squeeze.' Third time it pops up. Same phrase, same punctuation," answered the second. "It's not their jargon. It was put there on purpose.""It maps to S-972b," added the third, touching the map with a nail. Small circle, two jumps from the border. "Futura's route. And…" he scrolled a list "…escort note 'internal memo forwarded to external partners.'"
They looked at each other a second longer than necessary. Then the first prepared a packet: three lines of text, a reduced map, a note.
To: Dorian Claw (aka Snow) (internal).Subject: "green squeeze" / S-972b / biopharmaceutical.Note: recurring. If true, it's today.
In the mansion, the butler took the tray as if it were full of glasses. It wasn't. He carried it up.
Snow read the packet standing, before the window that had no view. The message took up a minimal corner of his eye. He said nothing. He touched a point on the table. A tab appeared on an invisible screen, open on BreedOfUnderworld.gala:
Reserved invite – live conversation.Attached location: Woimar, Alay.Recipient: The_Shifter.
--
"Now… well…" Jean said, nervous. "Here comes the best part. For us. Payment, receipt, and we're off, okay? Pods for us, power for you…"
Snow lifted his chin slightly toward the butler. The latter stepped away for a moment, then returned with a tray holding three black cards. He set it on the table.
Jean, Law, and Amarel stepped closer.
–
Crestoria – Artists' Council Archive
A dark hall, lit only by rows of thin screens. Green text scrolled fast, dissolving like smoke.Lucienne Rouge calmly followed a series of logs coming from BreedOfUnderworld.gala. She couldn't read the contents, but the movements were clear: accesses, times, ciphered signatures."You see it?" she asked.Corbin nodded, pointing to the blinking line. "A Second-Circle Claw just sent a reserved request. Masked name, but the exchange address is Woimar. Perfect timing!"Lucienne let her lips curl into a small smile. "The 'green squeeze' did its job. If Snow is seeking manpower now, it means they've taken the bait on the convoy. Send it all to Mareque."
Corbin brushed the panel, and the log was archived into a compact packet. In the note he wrote only three lines.Client: Dorian "Snow" Claw.
Hired group: suitable.Insertion of Lacrosse: feasible.
–
"Check them if you like," Snow said.
Jean took one of the cards, turned it A dark hall, lit only by rows of thin screens. Green text scrolled fast, dissolving like smoke.
Lucienne Rouge calmly followed a series of logs coming from BreedOfUnderworld.gala. She couldn't read the contents, but the movements were clear: accesses, times, ciphered signatures."You see it?" she asked.Corbin nodded, pointing to the blinking line. "A Second-Circle Claw just sent a reserved request. Masked name, but the exchange address is Woimar. Perfect timing!"Lucienne let her lips curl into a small smile. "The 'green squeeze' did its job. If Snow is seeking manpower now, it means they've taken the bait on the convoy. Send it all to Mareque."
Corbin brushed the panel, and the log was archived into a compact packet. In the note he wrote only three lines.
Client: Dorian "Snow" Claw.over in her fingers, and checked the figure. The display projected an amount. Fifteen million, as agreed. All it took was entering the code into a specific function on one's account platform, and that was that. The girl made no comment and put the card away.
Amarel took his, gave it a quick look, and slipped it into an inner pocket. Law did the same.
Lacrosse didn't reach out a hand. Snow didn't offer him one. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you," he said, even, measured.
Jean gave a quick nod and took her card from the tray. The other three turned and began to walk.
It was done. Fifteen million.I did it, Jean rejoiced inwardly.
Amarel let out a breath. "Now we should be able to pay the Fortwin's parking at the station," he joked.Law even let a grin slip. "Screw it, I'm leaving it there."
"…Unfortunately…" Snow said suddenly. "…they didn't tell me about your arrival, boy."
Who was he talking to? Who did he mean? Lacrosse. Of course he meant Lacrosse.
The latter shrugged and chuckled."Yeah, we found him on the road too. He'll live," Law snorted."Oh, I'm sure…" Snow replied. "Just make sure you bring him back to Crestoria safe and sound."
The group nodded in unison, already turned, waiting for the platform."Yeah, we'll just have to put up with a few more bus rides," Amarel muttered."At least we're not in the hold," Jean replied. "And then…"
Oh.Shit.
They realized too late. Law's petrified face was only further confirmation. He was the first to turn.Then Amarel.
Law's reflexes were too slow, though.
Click.
It was such a quiet sound for a pistol. How long had he had it in hand? Had he pulled it out the moment they turned? How long had he known? How did he know?
Too late.
"NO!"
Law shifted Amarel by a few centimeters, but it did nothing. The shot just hit a little further left, on the forehead.
The blood came after. All at once. The sound was short, muffled. Ozone and metal in the nose. On the floor the blood steamed, as if the cold wanted to drink it immediately.
Silence. No—heavy breathing.A smoking pistol.A gesture.All the guards in the hall raised their blasters.