"…and that's why we think, if we stand up a third shift and swap ten percent of the workforce over to it, we can boost productivity," came Cristata's voice over a microphone.

"Anything else, Mr. Cristata?" asked Weiss.

"No, Miss Schnee."

"Very well. The floor is open for questions."

A Faunus worker raised their hand; Cristata pointed at them. "Will supervisors be changing shifts to match?"

"One supervisor for third shift is what I'm proposing," said Cristata. "Fewer people across less of the mine means an easier supervisor job, so we only need one to cover it."

Another raised hand. "Extra pay for third shift?"

"Nope," said Cristata, "just extra profit in the end, which I guess is like extra pay."

When fifteen seconds passed without any more questions, Weiss changed the screen being projected on the wall. It went from a graphic showing work-hours to a yay-nay tally screen. "On the adoption," she said formally, "of Mr. Cristata's proposal to stand up a third shift: come forth and be counted."

Ilia tended to the podium where the two-toned voting machine was set up. It had a privacy cover above a screen where people would press their thumbs either for or against the motion; thumbprint identification ensured votes were unique, and also allowed for individuals registered as proxies to have their votes counted for their constituents.

The various employees shambled into motion in a weak imitation of order. Then again, the people in the warehouse were anything but orderly.

SDR's operations hadn't been running long enough to fill the warehouse, so it was by far the largest enclosed space in Skjulte Perle. That made it the perfect place, Winter had told Ilia, to have their weekly company meetings… a concept Ilia was still wrapping her head around.

It didn't help that things seemed such a mess. There weren't enough chairs in Skjulte Perle for all the people packed into the warehouse, even as it seemed that people had brought every available seat trying. Those without sat on crates, whether those crates were empty or full. Others leaned against the wall, a few sat on the floor, and plenty of others stood in clumps, as if following their usual habit of sharing body heat.

That was hardly needed inside the warehouse; with so many people and poor ventilation, it was starting to get steamy.

Ilia stood beside the voting machine until no more employees seemed forthcoming. With a tap, she closed the vote, sending the results to the tally screen above the Schnees. The employees had come out strongly in favor.

"CEOs," Weiss said, turning performatively to her sister. "Yay."

Winter swallowed grimly, then said, "Yay."

Weiss added the sisters' votes to the tally, weighted by their larger amounts of stock; the results were overwhelming. "The yays have it," Weiss said. "Action to Mr. Cristata to amend the work rolls and schedules. Action to Weiss Schnee to work with Cam on equipment loading…"

Weiss was rattling off the action items so rapidly a person might be deceived into thinking the tasks were easy. Ilia knew better and winced.

She wasn't the only one. Winter was wincing too—but Ilia didn't think that was the reason for it. "Are you okay?" Ilia asked her.

"I'm still not used to this," Winter said in an undertone, lest Weiss' microphone pick it up.

Yes, Ilia could understand that. A Schnee would have problems giving Faunus any decision-making power.

"I'm used to a chain of command," Winter said, catching Ilia off-guard. "I'm used to hierarchy, to people giving orders and other people following them. This…" she waved in the direction of the workers. "...democracy… is taking some getting used to."

Ilia's mind tumbled a little. She tried to fall back to another prepared judgement—of course the militarist-fascist would say democracy sucks—but she faltered when she realized something else: Winter's dissonance applied to her, too.

Ilia was in the White Fang. The White Fang was hierarchical. It wanted social equality for the Faunus, but the organization itself… well, it was militant. It needed a chain of command as much (and for the same reasons) as Winter's precious Atlesian Military did. Orders flowed from the High Leader down to the Leaders of the various branches. Those Leaders had broad authority to appoint lieutenants and representatives that reported back to them. Individual members reported to their lieutenants.

Ilia could trace her chain of command, link by link, from herself all the way up to Sienna Khan.

Schnee Dust Reborn was not that.

Cristata's suggestion—which apparently had been proposed a week before, considered, and then re-presented for a vote tonight—had started with him, or with some other employees who were using him as their proxy, not with the Schnees. Yet the Schnees had treated it like they were required to, like that suggestion demanded as much respect as any of their own.

They hadn't just said yes or no themselves. They'd involved everyone.

"Did you have to bring it to a vote?" Ilia whispered as Weiss addressed the company on another topic.

Winter scowled at her, making her bristle inside. "Did you even read the contract you signed?"

Ilia hadn't. Why would it matter? She was just here long enough to determine how the Schnees could be ruined and the Faunus they were trafficking could be freed. She was a revolutionary, and revolutionaries broke the system. Why would she bother reading its rules when she'd never play by them?

To maintain cover. Obviously.

Winter looked away, as if she couldn't stand the sight of Ilia, and Ilia burned in her shame. "All of our employees are stockholders," Winter said. "You will be, too, if you stay with us. All our stockholders have the right to make proposals about the company, and they all have a say in many company decisions. Weiss and I have the most stock, but that just makes us first amongst equals."

She grimaced and added, "With how many proxies Mr. Cristata represents and the influence he has with the rest, he has almost as much power as either of us."

Ah, okay. That restored some order in Ilia's head. Of course the Schnees would have issues with a Faunus—especially someone so obviously Faunus as Cristata—being able to challenge them.

That still didn't answer why the Schnees let that happen in the first place. Atlas in general and the Dust companies in particular kept a very firm grip on power. They took pains to ensure the Faunus were kept leashed and collared, in their "proper place".

Were the Schnees somehow bad at something the typical Atlesian did subconsciously, by rote and habit?

Those two ideas didn't go together. It was impossible that a Schnee couldn't be Atlesian enough.

Ilia felt like she was missing an awful lot. It was uncomfortable, like an itch in her skull.

She shook her head. She wasn't paying enough attention to the here and now. Her specialty was supposed to be blending in, and she was failing at that. She made a note to read her contract when she got off work, then refocused on the meeting.

The younger Schnee seemed to be finishing a presentation. "As you can see, there is a business case for re-exports and direct sales to the coastal villages," Weiss was saying. "It's especially important for getting us revenue now, when we're at our weakest.

"But this isn't just good business. I think you'll find, if you think about it, that it's like SDR's whole approach." She'd stood and was in tight posture, elbows flush and hands clasped, but her voice came through clean and clear. "These villages, these people, were overlooked by the other Dust companies. They were too small to matter. They were a rounding error.

"They aren't to us.

"This is a chance for us to do good business by doing the right thing. That's our brand. If there's a reason SDR exists, this is it."

She said it without any shame Ilia could detect. Either she was a talented actress, or she really believed what she said. Ilia's brain itch intensified.

There were a few scattered murmurs when Weiss finished, but mostly quiet. This seemed to unnerve her; before Ilia's eyes, her composure wavered. "That's my opinion, at least."

Winter came to the rescue. "We put forth all the data, proposals, and contracts last week. You've all had a chance to review it. Now's the moment of truth. Barring any closing or clarifying questions, it's time we vote." She paused only a moment; no questions came, and she barreled right along. "On the expansion of SDR business into reexport and direct sale, to include the contracts, leases, and loans required for this expansion: come forth and be counted."

Ilia snapped to her assignment, resetting the voting machine and watching the employees shuffle into line. Cristata, even in line on the way to vote, was in heated conversation with two other people. Some sort of last-second deliberations?

The Schnees were watching him, too. A lot rode with him and they all knew it.

He was the very last in line to vote, jabbering with another employee right up until he got to the voting machine. It seemed to take him an inordinately long time for him to press his thumb into his chosen chamber.

When he cleared out, Ilia swallowed despite herself, and closed the vote. When she tapped to throw it onto the main screen, all eyes- including those of the Schnees- went to see it.

The employees were in favor by a substantial margin, a margin they could have only secured with Cristata's concurrence.

The sisters proudly beamed at each other. They'd won and they knew it.

Ilia was predisposed to believe that Schnee success was inherently bad. But if Faunus were willingly buying into it...

What kind of devilry were these Schnees up to?

Winter paused on a middle rung of the ladder. It put her eyes at the same height as the deck. She could almost hear General Ironwood's voice in her ear: Look at things from different angles. People can't hide from every direction. Instead of looking down at the deck while standing, and only seeing what was visible from above, she could look at it from the same level and see all that was visible across the plane.

She was pleased with what she saw.

"Up ladder," she said, and finished climbing up.

"Up ladder," came the call from below her as the skipper of the KAS Prudence followed her. The man had a glorious and thick salt-and-pepper beard, doubtless to help protect his face from the savage cold and wind of the Solitas Sea. His thick wool sweater and hat surely served the same purpose. "You wouldn't happen to be ex-Atlas Academy, would you?"

Winter stiffened involuntarily. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, your insistence on inspecting my ship before finalizing our contract, for one thing," the skipper said keenly, "but also how you're going about the inspection. It all reeks of military."

"Yes, I went through the Academy. I'm not in the military anymore, but it's been pointed out that I act like I still am sometimes." Winter clenched her teeth. "I'm working on it."

"Well, it doesn't bother me any," said the skipper affably. "I'm ex-military myself. From the Fleet branch—the wet Fleet, in fact, before Atlas went all-in on airships."

Winter nodded. She'd remembered reading about how the last of the Atlesian Navy's vessels had been decommissioned before she'd arrived at the Academy. It was the SDC, oddly, that had facilitated the shift: it had uncovered and exploited enough Gravity Dust to drive its price down. Surface warships were still cheaper than airships to operate, but at lower Gravity Dust prices that advantage wasn't as overwhelming as it once was, while the flexibility advantages of airships over surface warships were inarguable.

On the other hand, if economy was your primary consideration, then seaborne merchantmen were still the best option. Hence, this charter. Hence, Winter's inspection.

"Why didn't you transfer to the Air Fleet?" Winter asked as her tour of the engineering spaces neared its end.

"Well, it wasn't for the romance of the sea or some fealty to tradition, if that's what you're thinking. It's simpler than that. Acrophobia. My stomach just couldn't stand being so high up in the air."

"How did you survive Atlas Academy, then?"

"I convinced myself we were on solid ground and spent four years avoiding windows."

"Hm." Winter paused near a hydraulic accumulator. She ran a finger underneath it. There was only the slightest slick there; her finger came away mostly clean. The area had been wiped up recently.

That was good. Winter's first impression of the KAS Prudence was that the ship needed a new paint job, and her first impression of its insides was that it needed to be cleaned more. To her relief, those concerns now seemed overblown. The crew had its priorities straight. Every piece of machinery and gear was well taken care of; it was non-essential places that were given short shrift.

"Going topside," she announced. Winter hadn't been in the Air Fleet, but she'd worked with it occasionally on exercises, and the Academy had rotated its students through the different branches of the Atlas Military for "enrichment". Winter had musty memories of how to behave onboard a ship, and she was retrieving them as she went, like putting on old clothes that were stiff but still fit.

When she and the skipper were both on the weather deck, she walked forward towards the fo'c'sle. The housing for the ship's main cannon was lowered to permit inspection. It was well above the minimum required armament for a vessel this size, and in splendid condition for a weapon subjected to the whims of the sea.

As she looked it over, she saw a parade of grimm silhouettes stenciled in red along the barrel of the gun. Kill markers, if she had to guess—and a good number of them, too. "Is this your ship's battle record?" she asked.

"Nope," said the skipper smugly, "those're the kills that gun has made. It doesn't count what we've brought down with the smaller weapons."

Winter wasn't sure she believed that—she knew the old joke about the difference between sea stories and fairy tales. (One begins, "Once upon a time", the other begins, "This one's a real no-shitter.")

Still... "That seems like a very active career, then."

"You're telling me!" the skipper said jovially. "Y'know, that's half the reason I wanted to take this route when I saw your job listing. Little hops up and down the coast? No major population centers? No deep-water routes where the real bigguns are? How very boring—sign me up!"

His grin turned wry. "Not that I mind blowing grimm to hell, but it gets old having to fight 'em off every time I put to sea. I'm okay with a little less excitement in my life, you know?"

"I think I do." His words were reassuring all the same. He was right: the route they were proposing was a safer one as sea routes went. That he'd assessed this properly was a credit to his judgement. The ship was in good order, and if even seventy percent of its battle record was accurate, that was a successful career thus far—more good signs.

"You understand that we won't be able to provide you additional protection, right?" she said.

"I figured," said the skipper. "Job this small, route this small, and—don't take this the wrong way—a client this small, well, I can do the math."

"My sister and I provide the security for the rest of our business. If there was one more of us, we'd be able to protect your ship, but we're out of sisters, I'm afraid. You're on your own."

"Fine by me," said the skipper. "Huntsmen eat too much anyway."

There was zero chance that was a genuine complaint, so Winter ignored it. "I'm ready to sign our contract if you are."

The skipper grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"And once that's done," Winter said, "we'll start cargo onload."

For the first time, the skipper showed surprise. "Really?"

Winter gave him her tiniest smile. "I valued efficiency before I went to the Academy, skipper. Is your crew prepared to on-board cargo now, or am I going to have to dock your very first payment?"

The skipper stared for a moment, then roared in laughter. "I think this'll work out for all of us, Schnee."

The Schnee sisters were sharing a meal in the mining site office.

Weiss was becoming more and more comfortable with treating that office as her place. Because whichever sister was on guard duty had to stay there overnight, they'd added sleeping and dining arrangements to it in addition to its office functions, arrangements Weiss didn't have to (or want to) share.

Maybe she was too used to solitude, growing up in an ever-emptier Schnee Manor. Maybe she spent so much time butting heads with people on the job that by the evening she was peopled out. Regardless, when it came time to sleep, she much preferring being away from everyone (except Winter).

When it was her week in town, she begrudgingly moved back into the hostel. The rest of the time, she much preferred to stay in the mining site office. Other people didn't go there (except Winter).

It was good to have something to call her own.

"…Which is when Cristata invited himself into the conversation," Winter was saying, and at that she pinched her own nose, as if talking about it was causing her headache to pop up all over again.

"I'm sure that made things much better," Weiss said sarcastically.

"It had the advantage of confusing my assistant."

"That's an advantage?"

Winter looked up, as if trying to visualize something. "It's… odd. Amitola seems very curious about some things, very engaged, and then on other subjects she just… doesn't understand anything. I feel like she must have come from another part of the Kingdom. Maybe even another Kingdom altogether."

"She'd hardly be the only one," said Weiss. They both knew that plenty of their workers were immigrants—and a fair few of those were involuntary immigrants.

It was a sobering thought. The sisters fell quiet for a moment as they considered this.

Winter reached for her water bottle. Weiss saw her opportunity. She watched, trying to time it just right, and…

"We were served a lawsuit today," she said.

Winter Schnee did not, in fact, perform a spit-take. She did almost choke on her water, and her cheeks bulged for a second as water and air fought to go in opposing directions. Still, it was as close as Weiss had come to breaking her sister's unflappable composure. She graded it as a win.

"What was that for?" Winter demanded, a touch hoarsely, once her throat was clear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Weiss, taking a modest sip of her own to conceal her treachery.

Defeated, Winter had to fall back to the subject at hand. "A lawsuit? What lawsuit?"

"From Fall Dust," Weiss explained. "Fall Dust bought most of what was left of the SDC, including its survey records and mining site claims. Well, Fall Dust is now alleging that those records and claims include the Skjulte Perle area."

"That can't be right," said Winter, and Weiss could see her sister doing the same thing she'd done: mentally review the survey paperwork. Weiss had followed that by reviewing the digital copies on her scroll and by running those copies past the on-duty supervisor as an idiot check. "I know we looked for that. We wouldn't have come out here if another company had an active claim."

"You know that, and I know that, and, frankly, Fall Dust probably knows that, too. That didn't stop them from launching the lawsuit. It's not just us, though. Fall Dust filed two dozen lawsuits just like it against other Dust companies worldwide."

Winter visibly tensed, trying to rein in her temper. It was better than Weiss had done; when she'd found out, she'd kicked up such a racket some passing miners had thought she was being kidnapped.

Winter shut her eyes. "Why is Fall Dust doing this?"

"To kill its competition, obviously. Fall Dust is the biggest culprit in flooding the Dust market right now, which is bumping off some Dust companies and forcing others to take painful steps to survive. Even Fall Dust can't sustain prices this low forever, though. I think maybe only two or three more companies will fold before supply and demand even out, and then Fall Dust will have to cut production to support prices. At that point, anyone who survived will still be in the game."

"Including us," Winter said.

"Including us," Weiss agreed. "We've got revenue coming from our re-export business now. That's pushed our bankruptcy point back another few weeks."

"Our what now?"

Weiss blinked. "I calculated when we'd run out of money with Dust prices this low. It was… well, terrifyingly close. But the reexport business helps a lot, here. That's a moneymaker regardless of prices. That revenue makes all the difference—it lets us stretch out the dregs of our startup loan."

"Long enough that prices will have to come up, which saves us," said Winter thoughtfully.

"That's right. Anyone who hasn't broken by then, Fall Dust will have to try and squash in other ways. Like lawsuits."

"But they'll lose those lawsuits," Winter said. "There's nothing to them."

"We'd hope that, right?"

Winter frowned. "Except that Fall Dust doesn't need to win," she said slowly as she came to understand. "It just needs to fight."

"Fall Dust has more and better lawyers than us," Weiss agreed. "They can make this very difficult, very long, and very expensive. If we can't afford our legal fees and have to shut down because of it, it doesn't matter whether they win or lose the lawsuit. We're dead either way. And if any of those lawsuits actually succeed, it's found money."

"Okay. How do we beat it?"

Weiss shrugged.

"You don't know? You were in courtrooms for months," Winter said.

"The lawyers on this case have been in courtrooms for years," Weiss replied. "I don't really know how to compete with that. I don't know all the rules or laws."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Winter said, "but… if you knew some way to start, or some way to challenge it…"

"Or maybe we miraculously know some skilled but down-on-his-luck lawyer who'd be willing to help us out for cheap as part of his rehabilitation?"

"That would seem to be the sort that's helped us so far," said Winter. Her look sharpened. "Do you know anyone like that?"

"…no."

It was as lighthearted an exchange as they could manage with a threat of this magnitude hanging over them.

"We know the last time a survey was done," said Winter slowly. "Fifty years ago, as part of the founding of Skjulte Perle."

"Which means Skjulte Perle should have records about it," said Weiss. "Including a record of payments made, if anyone actually paid for the claims like the lawsuit says. That's a good place to start, I think. I'll check with Leif tomorrow."

"It's something." Winter had crossed her hands in her lap. Probably only Weiss could have detected those hands clenching hard together. Winter's tells were subtle—they'd been largely trained out of her—but Weiss knew them better than anyone.

But precisely because they were so subtle, they were more unnerving when they appeared.

"What is it?" Weiss asked.

"Does this feel strange to you?" Winter asked. "We expected the large Dust companies to try and destroy the small ones, we planned for that. This feels… not like a business maneuver. This feels like an assault."

Weiss hadn't thought of it in those terms. "It seems like a pretty standard business strategy," she said. "If you can ensnare your rivals in legal problems, it's a lot cheaper than trying to beat them in other ways."

"If that's so, why is it only Fall Dust doing it?" Winter said. "Why is it only Fall Dust attacking its rivals this way, instead of everyone suing each other?"

Weiss opened her mouth to answer, and let it hang when she realized she had no answer.

"And Fall Dust is the main company flooding the Dust market, didn't you say that earlier?"

"Yes," said Weiss carefully. "They're the biggest producer, and they're doing the opposite of holding back or being economical, even when it's obviously hurting them."

"Didn't you say Fall Dust bought a lot of the SDC's old holdings?"

"By overpaying from one and a half to three times their value," said Weiss, getting in-line with Winter's thinking. "And they were making splashy acquisition moves even before that."

"How can they be affording all this?"

"That… is an excellent question," said Weiss. "I'm sure all the other Dust companies are asking it, too."

Winter made a circling "go on" gesture with her fingers.

"Well, I don't have an answer!" Weiss huffed. "Honestly, the other companies have far better odds of finding out than we do, given that they have all the resources of Atlas and we're stuck, mostly-broke, out in the boonies."

Winter looked up at the ceiling. "All the resources of Atlas," she repeated distantly.

Weiss crossed her arms. "Now who's being vague?"

Winter's eyes refocused and returned to Weiss. "I was just thinking about what we might do if things get worse."

"Contingency planning. I get that."

"Things can get worse, right?" said Winter, betraying some anxiety.

Weiss laughed harshly. "They can always get worse."

Next time: Thrown For a Loop