The journey to Atlas was the most uncomfortable Weiss had ever made, other than maybe the last trip to Judiciary Square. It took much too long, for one thing, and covered multiple modes of transportation, culminating in this ride in Atlas' subway. But that was a minor thing, a trivial thing, compared to the worst part. Through the entire trip, Winter never once looked at Weiss if she could help it.
Weiss knew that was coming and expected it, but expectation made it no less painful or difficult to deal with, especially when they had to move together. It was like some of the pairs training she'd seen Team RVBY do during downtime. Two teammates would stand back-to-back and go through their katas in synchrony but without seeing each other.
Of course, all the members of Team RVBY were more comfortable with each other than Winter was with Weiss at the moment.
Well, that was why Weiss kept working on this project on her scroll. She kept at it, refining, editing. It had to be as good as she could make it. It mattered too much for her to give any less than her best.
This wasn't something for the meeting. It was something for, hopefully, afterwards. Fortunately, working on it also kept Weiss distracted, which helped speed things up.
All too soon, they were back in Atlas' financial district, with breathtakingly tall buildings all around. Even with the bright whites and grays they used, the buildings felt looming and menacing to Weiss. You don't mean much, you're so small. Maybe she was projecting, but the buildings seemed to her to be less an efficient use of Atlas' limited acreage and more an intimidation tactic.
A tactic that was working, she wasn't too proud to admit. Even having been here twice before wasn't dulling that sensation. These circumstances were so much more desperate that any uncertainty, any discomfiture, counted double.
Winter stepped ahead of Weiss as they walked into the bank, cutting her off in the process. Weiss' silent indignation died when she understood why Winter was doing it. It kept Winter from having to look at Weiss and also kept control of the meeting firmly in Winter's hands.
It was as profound a vote of no confidence as one could make without words.
Winter was treating Weiss as a necessary but unwanted interloper. It made Weiss wonder: how could they possibly give Huber an effective pitch if their teamwork was shot?
The elevator ride was so quick she didn't have much time to interrogate this question or come up with a decent answer. They arrived at Huber's office well ahead of schedule, and so theoretically had time to plan while waiting there, but by that point her brain was so consumed with nerves and anxiety that critical thinking was off the table.
So the last few minutes before their appointment frittered away uselessly. Winter stood as still and expressionless as a toy soldier while Weiss stewed in her own juices.
A gentle sound of chimes came from the desk of Huber's secretary. "Misses Schnee," said the secretary, "Master Huber will see you now."
Winter stepped briskly for the door, once more cutting Weiss off. Weiss muttered "thank you" to the secretary in passing before she entered the sphinx's den.
"Ho ho," said Huber with rotten joviality as the sisters entered his office and moved to the chairs opposite him. "What a delight to see my favorite enterprising sisters back in my office again! Although," he added as his expression turned mournful, "I wish it was under better circumstances."
"You and me both, Mr. Huber," said Weiss.
"Did you really lose all your processing machinery?" Huber asked, showing off how annoyingly well informed he was. Not that the sisters could have held those details from him, they needed to present them to him as part of the business case, but for him to already know meant he already had his negotiating position planned, established, and ready to spring on them.
Sphinx's den, nothing. At least with the sphinx you had a chance to fight it. This was stepping before a firing squad.
"Unfortunately so," said Winter. "The insurance adjuster is looking at the destruction now. We anticipate full payouts, but it will greatly damage our business."
"I bet," said Huber, barely containing his glee. "That will make things difficult for your company, I imagine. No income makes it harder for you to cover my loans."
Both sisters tried to speak to answer his question. Weiss tried to look at Winter to sort out whose turn it was to speak, but Winter had decided it was her's by fiat. "Yes, it does. And your loans aren't our only expenses. We also have lease payments to Skjulte Perle, a contracted payment to the merchant ship Prudence, insurance payments, royalty payments to Atlas, legal fees to the lawyers fending off Fall Dust, and salaries to our employees."
"Just fire your employees and then rehire them later," said Huber flippantly. "You're using mostly Faunus, it's not like those dirty animals can get legitimate jobs elsewhere. They'll have to wait for you."
Winter's face twitched at the casual slur. Weiss could almost see her having to school her tongue, and jumped in to give her time. "That's not how our company works. I know we've explained that to you before. We worked with the employees on a furlough plan, but that can't last long. We need income to pay them or they'll find work elsewhere so they can eat, and then the company is finished. We have no choices."
"Quite the pickle," said Huber unsympathetically. "Quite the pickle."
"Which is why we need a third loan," said Weiss. "We need to be able to make payroll or the company will cease to exist."
"And why ever would I give you a new loan?" said Huber.
"SDR can be profitable," said Weiss, not thrown out off by his sudden demands; she was starting to get used to his style. "We can make money if given half a chance. Circumstances are against us now, but they won't stay that way."
"Circumstances?" Huber repeated dubiously. "Your machine shop tears itself apart and those are 'circumstances'?"
"We suspect industrial espionage," said Weiss, and in the corner of her eye she saw Winter jerk in surprise. "We haven't seen the fruit of that investigation yet, but we have strong reasons to believe in it. Our insurance fully covers that, and a 100% claim will let us rebuild our operation."
"At which point," Huber said, "you will be more cash-strapped than ever, carrying a larger debt than ever, and with less collateral than ever. At least before I could lend against your machine shop and all of the dreadfully expensive equipment inside it. Now you don't even have that, just hopes of being bailed out by your insurer."
Nothing he said was untrue, but it was still hard for Weiss to hear and accept it. She found herself strangely lacking in words. When the silence stretched out, Winter interjected. "Whatever happened to Hubers and Schnees working together? Whatever happened to 'Schnee innovations and expertise backed by Huber capital'?"
Huber snorted. "Expertise? What expertise? It's looking more and more like old Nicholas was the fluke. He was the only person in your family who knew anything about running a business. We have two generations of incompetence now as counterevidence."
Once, Weiss might have bristled against such an insult. Now, she could only wonder if there wasn't perhaps some truth in those crushing words.
"Although," Huber said, growing thoughtful, "now that I think about Nicholas, I do see one possibility…"
"What possibility?" said Winter clinically.
Huber's expression had become one of naked greed. His eyes dropped to Weiss' waist and stayed there. "Your weapon, Miss Schnee. I believe it used to be part of Nicholas' weapon, correct?"
"The raw material was, yes," said Weiss, startled by the question. "Before he passed, he gave me permission to reforge parts of his weapon into Myrtenaster."
"So, one could say it's the closest thing to Nicholas' weapon that exists today, correct?" said Huber, openly leering.
Weiss' hand found the pommel of her sword. "Why do you ask?"
Huber licked his chops. "Put that up as collateral, and I will offer SDR a very generous loan."
Winter made an outraged noise next to her, but Weiss barely noticed. So many things had just come into focus. "You were after my sword all along! You got grandfather's armor, but you didn't get his weapon. My weapon was the next-closest thing, but you didn't get that in the bankruptcy, either."
Winter stood. Weiss plowed along, uncaring. "That's why you were willing to give us a loan when most banks wouldn't give us a meeting. That's why you gave us another one, but on even worse terms. That's why you kept pestering me about getting new loans. You never cared if SDR succeeded. All you wanted was for us to be in your debt, in your power—so you could make this specific demand. So you could get my sword."
"My father never would shut up about him and Nicholas," said Huber, not looking away from the sword. Weiss turned her legs sideways to block his view of it; it forced his eyes up, and they quickly grew ornery. "I've already earned more money than he'd ever dreamed of, but I could never surpass him when it came to Nicholas, because Nicholas was dead. Well, now I can. I can make everything left of Nicholas mine."
"Which is why you dragged me to that party, where you knew Cinder would be, and ensured we crossed paths," Weiss said, the dots connecting as she said them. "You wanted to goad us into a confrontation to put me on Cinder's enemies list, knowing I'd lose a straight fight."
"You weren't going bankrupt quickly enough for my taste, so I accelerated the process," Huber said baldly. "Or, rather, your recklessness and her wrath accelerated the process."
"All so you could put the screws on me now," said Weiss, not disguising the hate in her voice.
"Well done, well done indeed," said Huber with slow, mocking claps. "You put it together, only a few months too late. Too bad that changes nothing. You still need my money. I still want your sword. I'm not asking for you to sell it to me, only for you to put it up as collateral for my loan."
"Which you'll offer at usurious rates," Weiss said, understanding the game now.
Huber's face got stony. "Or you can watch SDR fail. I'm fine with that outcome. What's it to me? I'll get a nice tax write-off and then never have to see you two again. I see no downside for me."
"Other than the embarrassment of sponsoring failure," said Winter.
Huber gave a shooing motion. "Most venture capital ends in failure. Nine out of ten new companies crap out in the first two years. What's one more?"
"Most venture capital isn't the Schnees," said Winter.
"And the Schnees are nothing, now," said Huber, his eyes flashing with anger. "Rule 173: a man is only worth the sum of his possessions."
"Your rules are stupid."
"So are you if you ignore them, or if you annoy me. My patience is not inexhaustible." He folded his meaty hands together. "I've given you your choices, Miss Schnee. If you want that loan, you know what I want as collateral. Now choose."
Weiss was out of maneuvering room. She was stuck.
What could she possibly say? What could she possibly do?
All her objections sounded flimsy in her head. She'd committed everything to this course—years of her life, every lien in her accounts, every scrap of goodwill, every relationship, there was nothing she hadn't thrown into the pot… except this one, last thing.
Was this what Winter had been trying to tell her? If she was going to be in, she had to be in all the way? What could she hold back?
Her breath caught in her throat.
She would sooner put her arm up for collateral than Myrtenaster. But… but if… that's what it took…
"She will not."
Weiss almost fell out of her chair in surprise. Her mind washed out with confusion, she looked up to Winter and saw her sister's face set in its legendary stoniness.
"I believe Miss Schnee can speak for herself," said Huber.
"You attacked her with your words. I will answer that attack." Winter rested her hand on Eiszahn's pommel. "Do you know why you didn't get Myrtenaster in the bankruptcy?"
"The Huntsman Weaponry clause of the bankruptcy code," said Huber promptly. "It's a dumb law."
"You say so because you understand nothing of Huntresses." Winter's hand clenched so tight the pommel creaked. "A weapon is more than just a Huntress' tool or a way to make her living. It is her soul made manifest. Our Auras—ourselves- go into our weapons when we forge them, and again every time we wield them. Did you imagine 'a Huntsman's sword is his soul' to be mere poetry? I tell you, it is the gods' own truth.
"You have no idea," said Winter with genuine, unabashed disgust, "what a perverse demand you just made, what an obscene suggestion that is. If you'd asked Weiss to whore herself out on the streets it would have been more decent.
"And…" she paused a moment, as if hesitating, but her visage firmed again. "And for some of us, our weapons mean even more. Because Myrtenaster is not the only weapon forged from Nicholas' adamant."
Winter drew her saber and rested its point on Huber's desk. He made a discomfited noise, a sort of squawk at odds with his size, which didn't faze Winter at all. She flicked something nigh-invisible. Her parrying dagger popped free from its hidden position within Eiszahn's curve and into her hand, where she presented it to all.
"This was my first weapon, made with my own sweat, labor, and soul… and some metal reclaimed from Nicholas Schnee's own broadsword. It is my ultimate defense, the weapon I turn to in my direst moments, my last, greatest, truest protector."
She held it aloft, looking at her own eyes reflected in its blade.
"I named it 'Family'."
Weiss felt a tear slip down her face.
Silence stretched out, like no one dared disturb the sanctity of Winter's words. Eventually she gave a shudder. With efficient motions and only a little trembling, she returned Family to its place within Eiszahn.
"Maybe you have some inkling, now, of what you asked," Winter said. "Maybe not. But understand this: there is nothing you can ask of a Huntress as outrageous as asking for her weapon."
Huber took a deep breath of his own, then turned away from them and stood. His gaze went to the window, to the cityscape beyond. Weiss realized it was a covetous view. It showed things he had, yes, but there was more that he didn't have, that he might never have. There were some things beyond his grasp—perhaps forever.
"Outrageous, you say?" he muttered.
Weiss dared to hope that Winter's words had reached him.
He turned back, but his face was neither compassionate nor understanding. It was shrewd. "Those are bargaining words. I understand. Rule 98: Every man has his price. We simply haven't reached yours. Not yet."
Winter's mouth was open to respond, but he gave her no chance. "I will extend you a loan to the amount you request. Seventy-five percent interest. One year term."
"That is illegal," Winter snapped.
"Illegal would be 75.1 percent, I know the law better than you," Huber said, face curling in a sneer. "We'll see where you are in a year. And if you need another loan at that time…" He looked down at Myrtenaster one more time, his greed grosser than ever. "…we'll have this conversation again. I look forward to seeing what your definition of "outrageous" looks like then."
"We—"
"Take it or leave it."
Winter shuddered beneath the ultimatum. She could go no further.
But she'd given Weiss the strength to take over. "We have to take it back to the company," she said. "We'll let you know what we collectively decide. In one week."
Huber stared at her, as if mentally weighing and measuring her sincerity. Presently he gave that oily smile of his. "One week."
Weiss rose, knowing when to take her victories and run. "Thank you for your time," she said as graciously as she was able, which wasn't much but she still made the attempt. "We shall contact you in due course."
Leading the way, hoping Winter had the wherewithal to follow her, she left.
Winter was having trouble maintaining her composure.
The train from Mantle to Junction was sparsely populated. Junction wasn't much of a destination by itself. For that matter, many of the rail lines Junction serviced were cargo destinations, and so didn't see much passenger traffic either. Accordingly, the Schnees had a room in a passenger car all to themselves.
On the way to Atlas, Winter had been able to keep her focus well away from her sister. It helped her to maintain the distance she'd put between them for her own safety and well-being. But that distance, and so that safety, were compromised. They'd had to work together against Huber, and it had been a reminder of how much they could accomplish when they did so. But much worse was that, caught up in the fever of the moment, Winter had revealed far more then she'd ever intended to. She'd never told anyone, except her first smithing instructor, about Family's name.
Now Weiss knew that detail, and there was no telling what she might do with it. It was a startling, alarming thought, but Winter was afraid of what her sister might do to her. She'd only ever worried before about the damage Weiss' choices would do to herself.
So, when Weiss finalized something on her scroll and started to gather herself, Winter could only brace like a seashore community braces for a hurricane.
"Those are the second most ridiculous lease terms I've ever heard of," said Weiss.
The topic caught Winter wrong footed, though on reflection it really shouldn't have. "I'm inclined to agree," said Winter, before she frowned. "Second most?"
"The most ridiculous was when he demanded Myrtenaster as collateral," Weiss said. "But you put a stop to that. You were magnificent."
Winter's conflicting emotions jammed her throat and kept her from responding in any manner at all. That just poured embarrassment into the mix. Where was her discipline? Where was her version of the General's stoicism?
Weiss raised her scroll to eye level, apparently so she could read from it. "During times like these," she recited, "I often find myself needing a new form of..."
"Is this what you've been working on all this time?" said Winter. "A speech you prepared to give me in this moment?"
"Yes," said Weiss, but instead of looking annoyed at being called out or thrown off, she looked up from her speech and met Winter's eyes. There was something conflicted there, something straining. Weiss put her scroll down. "But I suppose I'll do better if I just say what I'm feeling and thinking."
"Okay," said Winter, though she of course was not okay at all. She mentally hunkered down a little more.
"I love you," blurted out Weiss.
It would have been less surprising if Weiss had punched her in the nose. The impacts were comparable. "What?" said Winter dumbly.
"You're my sister, my family, and I love you as my sister and family," said Weiss fiercely. "It has occurred to me that those words aren't ones we say often, likely because we never heard them. But they're accurate, and right, and honest, and I need to say them as much as you deserve to hear them."
"Oh," said Winter, voice all a-tremble.
"And that's why..." Weiss averted her eyes, pain clear on her unguarded face. "When I said... what I said, it was a mistake. I knew it was untrue even as the words left my mouth. I know because afterwards, I looked at all we've said and done together. I reviewed what you did for me and to me, and what you tried to do for me and to me.
"As near as I can tell, you've never had ill intentions towards me. When you quit the military and came back to me, you changed, and for the better. Since then, you've always been trying to do what was best for me, even when you weren't sure what that was. Sometimes you were trying to be a big sister. Sometimes you were trying to be a mom. Other times you were trying to be a commanding officer, and other times a business partner, and having all those roles confused you.
"But I understand this more important point. Even when your methods were wrong, or you were trying to play too many roles, or you overreached, it was never because you craved control like Father. It always came from a place of love."
Winter wanted so badly to jump in and say, Of course, of course! Yes, she had been doing all of this for Weiss, trying to advance what Weiss said was important to her, trying to equip her with the tools to survive a brutal, uncaring world.
She couldn't say anything, though. The words at the end stalled her completely. Would she ever have used those particular words? Especially that four letter 'L' word that might never have been said in Schnee Manor?
"You leaving hurt," said Weiss bluntly. "It left me on my own with Mother. That was hard. For a long time after, even when you came back, it was hard for me to believe you loved me that much. I couldn't quite believe it. Well, I believe it now.
"I realize I'm not acting much like a Schnee right now," said Weiss wryly, "but I'm about to act even less like a Schnee. Because I regret my actions. I realize that my words did you harm, not only because they weren't true, but because they made your good intentions look wrong. I caused you true pain." Weiss' eyes locked with Winter's. "And for that, I'm truly sorry."
Apologizing was not the Schnee way.
But if this was the carnage the Schnee way wrought, maybe the Schnee way was as bullshit as Huber's pet rules.
Because Weiss' words rocked Winter, slammed through the barriers she'd erected between the sisters like a tidal wave and left wreckage behind them. Weiss hurting Winter had caused Winter to raise those barriers in self-defense. Now here Weiss was again, tearing down the borders between them, opening them to that kind of damage again... and saying it was love.
It was bold. It was emotional. It was more than a little reckless. And it was through-and-through sincere. It was vintage Weiss, in other words, Winter thought fondly.
It left Winter with only one possible response, a response even less common in Schnee Manor than what had come before.
"I understand," said Winter in a frail and fragile voice. "And, my beloved sister, I forgive you."
"You do?" asked Weiss, and it might have been funny except for the genuine apprehension and surprise on her face.
Winter reached for her trademark dryness. "You made an apology without expecting forgiveness?"
"I wasn't sure if what I said could be forgiven," murmured Weiss, looking down. It made Winter feel somehow even more affectionate towards her sister.
"Well, so long as you don't make a habit of this, or go testing my boundaries, I think I can be forgiving here. After all," Winter went on, and her voice weakened a bit in sheepishness, "apparently I've made my share of mistakes with you, too."
"Oh, you bet you have," said Weiss, with certainty but no rancor.
"I wasn't giving you license to criticize me all you like," said Winter.
"You've taken that license plenty in the past."
Winter frowned. "Are you trying to start another fight?"
"I'm trying to help you understand why we had that fight," Weiss said, and Winter was impressed with how diplomatic she sounded. "I know you think you were being helpful, but you appointing yourself my authority figure all day, every day is really hard for me. It got so hard for me to take that I… well, I lost my temper, and said things I truly regret. I didn't mean them, but can you understand why I felt that way? Why I felt like I needed to defend myself?"
"I… didn't think I was attacking you," said Winter. "You pointed this out to me before, after our Plant Dust discussion, and I tried to get better."
"You just got more erratic," said Weiss. "Sometimes you were trying to be a sister, and sometimes you were trying to be a military officer with me as your recruit, and sometimes… sometimes you were trying to be Mother."
Another taboo broken, another wall fallen down. It freed Winter to speak. "I… wanted you to have a mother. Someone better than you got. I had a mother for a while, before she well and truly lost herself. I thought, if I could give you the best parts…"
"But you're not my mother," Weiss pointed out, and though her tone was gentle it also brooked no disagreement. (Not that Winter could muster any.) "Acting like it just confuses things."
"Well, do you realize how confusing you are?" Winter replied. "You are so much. You're child and adult, miner and huntress, partner and mentee, all the things all at once. That's the problem."
Before Weiss could respond, Winter gasped as realization hit her. "No… that's not the problem. It's my problem."
She blinked and looked at Weiss with new eyes, as if seeing her clearly for the first time. "Whenever I was confused, I defaulted. I styled myself as an authority figure."
Weiss smiled wryly. "And you yourself pointed out that I don't do well with authority figures."
"That's my psychological need," Winter said, her knees buckling. "Not yours."
"That's a completely different can of worms, but sure."
Winter closed her eyes, trying to regain focus, falling back on her calming techniques even as her thoughts ran wild. She'd done so much damage, been so callous, so unfeeling, for so long… trying to stay in her comfort zone, trying to help Weiss in ways that Winter understood, even when those ways weren't what Weiss wanted or needed.
She knew many people never got the chance to fix the things they broke. Her parents didn't; they'd died first. That Winter would have a chance was miraculous… and she owed that miracle to her sister.
"I will try to get better," she said, trying to inject the words with as much sincerity as she could.
Weiss smiled wryly. "I believe you, but we both have got to work on our communications skills. We're pretty awful at relationships."
Winter was struck by a blinding insight. "You're right," she said almost insensibly. When Weiss gave her a curious look, she added, "And you and I need to talk more, too."
Weiss' look of confusion intensified.
Winter coughed into her fist. "Yes, you're right. We should focus on this for now. I do want to work on revising this so we can be a better family."
"Me, too," said Weiss, "which is why, if we're trying to make changes..."
"Yes?"
Weiss gave a half-chuckle. "I know this may seem childish and not the Schnee way, but since we're happily committing arson with every bit of the Schnee way already, I suppose we can add this bit on top. Could I..."
"Yes?!"
"…have a hug?"
The look Weiss gave Winter made her seem very different from a CEO who just stared down the most formidable banker on Remnant. It cut her apparent age in half.
Winter almost laughed. Here was the exact problem that had been thwarting her before. Once again Weiss was throwing Winter emotionally into the ocean without a life jacket.
Weiss' arms, which she had slightly raised in anticipation, slumped by her side as Winter ruminated. "It's okay if that was too much," Weiss said tremulously. "It has been an emotionally taxing-"
She didn't get to finish her sentence because Winter had wrapped her in so tight a hug it would have endangered someone without Aura.
"I promised I would try," Winter said.
"Mmph," said Weiss against the front of Winter's shirt.
Winter smiled, and felt the brokenness between them starting to come together again.
"I love you, too."
Three more SDR employees had been shipped off to Atlas for deportation hearings. Two of them had families; their families were incarcerated, too.
To Weiss, each time felt like failure. She had to track down Cristata and talk to him about it, come up with some sort of strategy. Except the old grouch wouldn't answer his scroll.
Weiss was just walking away from the machine shop, where she'd been to get an update on the investigation from Penny and Cam, when by chance she caught sight of Cristata. "There you are," she said in exasperation.
"No, I'm not," said Cristata.
"We have a lot of work to do," said Weiss, undeterred, "and it would be much easier if you'd actually answer your scroll."
Cristata showily drew the battered piece of plastic from out of his coat pocket. "Huh," he said, in unconvincing surprise. "I guess my battery ran down."
"You haven't answered a call or message from me in four days," said Weiss sternly. "Has your battery been dead for that long?"
"Maybe," said Cristata indifferently. "It's not exactly an important tool for me."
"Really?" said an excitable voice.
Weiss half-turned to see that Penny had invited herself into the conversation with some eager claps. "That means that your scroll went offline before the machine shop collapsed, correct?"
Cristata's brow furrowed in suspicion, and he shrank back a little. "Maybe," he hedged.
"But it was connected to the CCT network before then, correct? You were getting message and call traffic?"
Cristata looked at Weiss. "What's this about and what's she about?"
"She is our investigator, looking to see if what happened was industrial espionage," explained Weiss.
"I'm forensics ready!" said Penny with a smart salute.
Cristata shot Weiss an is-she-for-real glance. Weiss answered with a yes-really nod.
Penny missed those gestures completely, or at least acted as if she did. "And you said your scroll is not an important tool for you, so it would cost you nothing to give it up."
"Now hold on," said Cristata, growing visibly nervous. "This may be an old POS, but it's my old POS."
"I promise you it will not be permanently damaged," said Penny. "I am just going to be performing a sweep for potential viruses."
"Pfft, I know viruses are on that thing," said Cristata. "I know my own browser history, I don't need you to tell me that."
"Perhaps," said Penny without breaking mental stride, "but even the least secure adult-oriented picture site would not have viruses targeting type M-27 motor controllers, and that is all I'm really interested in."
Weiss had fallen out of the conversation, trying to figure out what type of 'browser history' Cristata might have meant.
Cristata still hesitated. "Are you sure that's all you're looking for?"
"I am 100% certain," said Penny. "As an asexual being myself, what you choose to view on your scroll is of zero interest to me."
Finally the puzzle pieces connected for Weiss. "Ew," she said.
"What do you think the scrollnet was invented for?" said Cristata with raised eyebrow.
"Information sharing and fostering inter-Kingdom relations?" Weiss recited weakly.
"That's cute." Cristata's mirth faded as he looked back to Penny. "Are you sure this is necessary? It's good for SDR?"
"If our suspicions are correct," said Penny, "it could be the most important thing for SDR."
Cristata heaved a sigh and reluctantly handed over his scroll. "Fine."
"Sensational!" said Penny. "I will be sure to set up a heavily quarantined dummy drive before I attempt to connect with this device."
"You don't have to rub it in."
"Ew again," said Weiss. "I'm going over here now. Please don't talk to me again unless it's about the investigation."
Cristata and Penny looked after her. "All of that was about the investigation," Penny said. "What is she so upset about?"
"Don't worry. She'll hit puberty someday."
Next time: Faith