First Dominion (Fourth Age)
Aurean Cycle no. 462 of the Macbeth dynasty, reign of AldricII
Second Quadrant, Alay (Seat-Planet of House Claw)
A week before the score
Law, Amarel, and Jean trudged along the dry, frigid ground of Woimar's industrial district streets. There wasn't a soul around, escept for a few downcast faces on the sidewalks and a couple of vehicles inching through the intersections. The gray factories worked in silence, sending gusts of smoke from their stacks that turned to frost shortly after hitting the open air.
"I really wonder why this isn't in the top 10 tourist spots," Amarel remarked.
Law smirked as he followed the directions on the holographic smartwatch map on his wrist.
"Snow… Snow Claw… a bit redundant."
"Probably a nickname. Think his men call him 'Lord Snow'?"
They snickered again.
Under their heavy coats and pants, the three smugglers wore thermal-insulation suits: garments made of a specialized material that covered the entire body except for the nose and eye area (where a mask would go), rubbery on the outside and velvety inside. They were vacuum-sealed with small suction tubes attached at the back so the suit clung perfectly to the skin. If you wanted to survive on that planet, this gear was essential: without it—unless you belonged to one of the local species—your bodily fluids would likely freeze within about ten minutes of landing.
Alay consisted of five small continents, completely encircled by ice. Studies suggested the ice came from ancient oceans, which once made the planet's ecosystem more hospitable to broad biodiversity. At the end of the First Domain—the Third Age—however, something occurred that severely weakened Alay's core, drastically dropping the planet's average temperature and wiping out roughly 70% of its native species. The remaining 30% had to develop thicker skins, bodily fluids with lower freezing points, and other means of resisting the lethal cold.
That day, the weather was good—in the sense that no blizzards or hailstorms were forecast. High in the bluish-gray sky, among the clouds, you could glimpse the red sun of that system. It wasn't very strong, nor was the light it gave.
The group walked for about half an hour until they reached the location indicated on the smartwatch: at the edge of the district, embedded in a massive wall of ice, rose a black manor. Despite its position, no frost formed on its surface. It was as if the humidity itself avoided the walls. There were no windows; the walls were smooth as metal, made of a black, grainy material that seemed to absorb light like dry sand. Small carvings in the walls emitted a cold glow.
As the three drew near, the semicircular main door rotated on itself and opened.
"I suppose that's for us," Law said, stepping through the threshold, the other two following. Inside, the temperature didn't change drastically, but it rose by a few degrees.
Waiting before the stairs stood a butler of the S'Ari race—humanoids with pale blue skin, pointed ears and teeth, and very light blue eyes with an icy stare.
"You may remove your masks," he said.
Law, Jean, and Amarel took the eye masks off and pulled back the hoods of their thermal suits to show their faces.
Law was kind of below average in height, considering human hybrid standards, just over a lume and a half. His long gray hair, quite messy, fell to the end of his neck and hung over a sharp, pale, rough-hewn face defined by a taut jawline. One of many unruly locks covered his right eye, partially hiding a long, pronounced scar drawn horizontally above it. His left eye, by contrast, was clearly visible—metallic in color, with a wide pupil. Overall, those eyes had a weathered look, accentuated by heavy dark-gray brows knit over his lids. Another long scar ran down his left cheek, two on his lips, one on the chin, and yet another cut across his forehead, hidden among the metallic-colored strands.
Amarel's slender frame vanished inside his coat… seeing his thin, tanned face, you'd instinctively want to offer him food. His thick ocher hair covered his brown eyes, but on the rare occasions when they were visible, you could spot a strong orange sheen in them, as well as diamond-shaped pupils—characteristic of hybrids born on Solstice, particularly in the villages of the Vaire region.
Jean's face, on the other hand, was oval and rosy, with large green eyes which, as she was a Skynt hybrid, emitted a natural glow. Bioluminescence and night vision are characteristic of the race native to the dark planet Lilea. She wore her blonde hair tied back in a small ponytail and always had a soft black scarf with white polka dots wrapped around her neck—left to her by her father.
The butler scrutinized the guests for a few seconds, glanced at the tablet in his hand, looked back at them, and nodded.
"You may go up," he announced, stepping aside.
"Not going to search us for weapons?" Law asked as he started up the stairs.
"The boss prefers that anyone dealing with him always have a way to react," the butler replied, moving off.
The three exchanged dubious looks.
At the top of the staircase was a platform that carried the group up about twenty lumes, opening onto a spacious, well-furnished room. In the corners stood motionless guards holding black rifles. In the middle of the room was a long table with two dozen empty seats—except for the one at the head. Seated there, the boss 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 chime of silverware on a plate.
"You didn't tell me about the new arrival," said the man at the head of the table in a low, hoarse voice that was almost a whisper.
Law shrugged. "We met her on the road. She's good."
Snow, the boss, stood. Unlike other members of his race, his skin was completely white. His black hair was slicked back, and he wore an elegant dark blue suit with a black scarf tucked around his jacket collar. The features of his square face were relatively young, but the skin was rough, nearly wrinkled. His small sky-blue eyes scrutinized the smugglers.
After a few seconds, he slid his gloved hands into his pockets. "You two have made a name for yourselves in your line of work. I can't say the same for her."
Amarel cleared his throat and stepped forward. "My apologies, but if you called us, it means you trust our skills, right?"
Snow nodded.
"Our skills include our judgment."
The boss was silent for a moment, then lifted his chin. "Very well. As you wish."
Jean looked at Amarel in front of her and smiled shyly.
Snow motioned for the group to come closer and walked toward a long couch set behind the table.
"I was wondering—why call us in person?" Law asked. "You know, these days there's that site where you can post contracts. Would've saved us the trip."
The boss snorted. "Not for this contract. Even announcing it would be risky."
In front of the couch stood an interactive table whose screen displayed lines, dates, and numbers with no apparent meaning.
"Those are…"
"…Transactions," Amarel said. Snow nodded.
"Between who?" Jean asked.
The boss unbuttoned his jacket before sitting and allowed a near-imperceptible smile. "House Lysander and Futura Life."
Amarel and Jean were struck dumb. Law furrowed his brow. "What does that mean?"
"Someone working at the company let slip information about an agreement between the two. It dates back to about a week ago. Apparently, the Lysanders ordered a delivery to Orenor, their palace planet. I didn't post anything on the site because the company would've immediately detected such a leak, canceling or rescheduling the delivery and making it all pointless."
"Um… do we know what's in the shipment?" Amarel cut in.
Snow nodded. He tapped the tabletop touchscreen, which projected an image of a set of twelve canisters.
"Krava milk," the boss stated.
"Huh? What's that?" Law mumbled.
"It's a substance of… very high value. Corps have plenty of secrets, but Futura Life guards the origin of this one with particular jealousy. Among the clauses of the company's non-disclosure agreement is the Krava's planet of origin."
Amarel and Law whistled.
"And… so…?" Jean asked, swallowing.
Snow raised an eyebrow at the woman. "Second thoughts?"
She quickly shaked her head. "No, no, just asking."
The boss tapped the table again, and the route of a cargo ship appeared. "In a week, the ship departs for Orenor in the Third Quadrant. In the document I'll share shortly, you'll find all the gates it will use. Your contract is to intercept the cargo ship, obtain one canister of Krava milk, and bring it here."
The three fell silent.
"…Come again?" Amarel whispered after a moment.
"Disrupt the deal between the corporation that controls the Second Quadrant and one of the Four Holy Houses. Sure, what could possibly go wrong," Law said.
"Why don't we just—"
"Fifteen million pods," Snow cut in.
"…Okay, but still—"
"Each."
All three swallowed in unison and stared at one another for a good ten seconds.
"Well… actually…"
"…If we're careful…"
"…Yeah, we do know what we're doing…"
The three nodded thoughtfully in unison.
"One thing. Why?" Law asked.
"…," Snow sat in silence for a few seconds, legs crossed.
"…My House, like the other seven, is organized into two Circles: First and Second. The First enjoys all the power—real power. While we're left with… crumbs."
If these are crumbs… Jean looked around the wide, opulent manor and kept the comment to herself.
"The division of circles is decided at birth. There's nothing one can do about it," Snow continued. "We're children jealously admiring the adults through the shop window, with no chance to ever be big."
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; Law did so more decisively.
"Then you'll understand. That shipment is my chance. Do this for me, and with your reward you might have the same opportunity."
"…," the three once again looked at one another.
--
"Well, fifteen million is a lot," Law observed. The three had headed back on one of the regular line shuttlebuses that stopped at the station just outside the industrial zone. They were already out of the atmosphere.
Now that they'd left the planet, they could take off their thermal suits. Law wore a long-sleeved black shirt. His right hand showed many scars and calluses, while the left was extremely pale—almost grayish—and well kept: a synthetic limb.
Jean wore her father's company work jacket, and Amarel had on a beige tunic that was a bit too big for him.
"We could buy so many e-books…" the latter chimed in. "…A roomy, comfy ship…"
"The ship comes first," Jean cut him off. "Pulling this job off using public transit seems a bit difficult."
"We wouldn't even be talking about this if someone hadn't wrecked the shuttle," Amarel shot back, raising an eyebrow at Law.
He grunted in response. "Oh, come on. We've already been over that."
Amarel shrugged. "And anyway, we need to grab our stuff back at K-7."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. We sell'em back quickly."
Jean rested her head against the window and stared at the stars, eyes determined. She would pull this off. She had to.
After a while, she turned to the other two. "What did he mean by 'true power'? I don't think he was just talking about money. Political power? How does milk give him that kind of leverage?"
"Mmh, I've got a couple ideas," Law said, opening his laptop (not exactly his—he and Amarel had pooled money to buy it) and checking his profile on the well-known contract site, BreedOfUnderworld.gala.
"You connected through the bus's public network? Has the cold gone to your head?" Amarel blurted.
"Chill out, I set up a hotspot," Law replied. On the site you could post contracts and accept them, and contracts could cover any kind of request: smuggling, theft, murder, rescue, protection, and other more… personal things. The principle was the same as the IGO (the Inter-Quadrant Guild Office), where you could request a contract that a guild would accept; but unlike the latter, BreedOfUnderworld.gala had no guidelines for contracts and was certainly not government-approved.
"Have you thought about changing your profile picture? And the username while you're at it," Amarel commented beside him.
"What do you have against swords?" Law shot back with a pout. He seemed genuinely wounded by the offense. "And besides, 'The_Shifter' is intuitive. In the job market, clarity matters," he declared, satisfied.
The ocher-haired youth turned to Jean in exasperation; she just shrugged.
Suddenly, Law noticed a notification on the icon. "Oh, another invite. Check this out," he turned the laptop towards Amarel.
One of the site's least-used features allowed the person posting a contract to send an invite for a live conversation—exactly what Snow had done with Law. It was seldom used because, given the site's illegality, anything could go wrong. With a member of House Claw who had to maintain his reputation, that was obviously another story.
Amarel opened the invite and read: "From someone called 'Corbin_ROuge69'… uh, okay… the time is in twelve hours, and the attached location is—" Amarel stopped, incredulous.
"The Opulence Palace on Crestoria?"
"Eh?!" Law's eyebrows 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. ≈ €1.10/$1.20
Lume: The universal unit of length approved by the Galactic Measurement System. One lume ≈ 1.10 meters/3.6 feet
Days: "Days" refers to a complete day on the planet Vala, the capital planet. Vala takes about 24 hours and 30 minutes (Earth time) to complete one full rotation.
Years: the universal conception for a year is 360 Vala days