"Welcome back to Atlas Eye Evening News. I'm your host, Talca Pan. Turmoil in the Dust market continues, though the waters have calmed slightly. I'm joined now by our market analyst, Sherry "Count" Di Monet. What's going on, Count?"

"You said it yourself, Talca: turmoil. I guess anything looks like turmoil compared to the calm we had during the SDC's reign, but even if we adjust our expectations, turbulence is the watchword. When the SDC was in its terminal decline, lots of startups decided to break into the Dust business, both here in Atlas and abroad. This has caused Dust prices, in general, to reach new lows as supply outstrips demand.

"It's more complicated, though, because of market fragmentation. The SDC mastered all types of Dust, but most of its successors only have a few mines each, so they specialize in only a few kinds of Dust. When different companies are all limited like that, the market for each type of Dust can gyrate wildly. That means we can see action like last week, when the price of Gravity Dust doubled overnight, then gave up nearly all its gains by the weekend."

"It sounds dizzying, Count."

"It really is. I feel like if I blink I lose track of the market."

"Is this the new normal? Should we expect these wild swings from now on?"

"No, we're already seeing signs of stabilization. Several of the new Dust startups went after marginal mines, so they can't afford for prices to stay this low for long. We can expect them to start folding in the next few months. It's not just the bottom of the market, either. The second-largest Dust company, Beyond Energy, has announced it's merging with the fifth-largest, General Dust. Even put together they're not the equal of market-leader Fall Dust, but it gives them a better chance."

"Another mention of Fall Dust, I see."

"Talca, you can't talk about the Dust market without Fall Dust coming up. Fall Dust is the company with the most extensive, widespread holdings. It's the only one of the bunch that trades in every Dust type, basic and complex, which means it stands to profit no matter what happens in each sub-market. Fall Dust recently completed a buyout of the number six Dust company, and my sources agree it's hungry for more."

"It seems like it's just a matter of time before there's only a handful of Dust companies left, then."

"You're on to something there, Talca, and you can expect Fall Dust to be at or near the top when the dust settles, if you'll forgive the pun."

"I'll let it slide this time. Thanks for coming on the show!"

"My pleasure."

"Once again, that was Sherry "Count" Di Monet with an update on the Dust market. In local news…"


Ilia Amitola looked herself over. Appearances were a practical, even tactical concern for her. That was still true for this mission, she supposed, just in a different way than usual. Under other circumstances she might have chosen clothes and accessories that minimized her profile or that made it easier for her to go unnoticed. This time, she had to pass as normal. She'd done it before, as a child; she could do it again.

She was not a freedom fighter, not an Aura-unlocked warrior—she wasn't even a Faunus. Not as far as Schnee Dust Reborn could tell, anyway.

That name tasted like ashes in her mouth. Companies could be created, destroyed, and recreated with the swipe of a pen. People couldn't be. They stayed dead. Well, the White Fang wasn't fooled by some feeble rebranding. The company might change its name, but the people it murdered stayed murdered… and the people in charge were still in charge, too. The ones who cared only about profit margins. The ones who considered safety a trivial concern. The ones that didn't sweat it when people died in accidents because the Dust and the equipment was all insured.

Ilia felt the tell-tale itch of her skin trying to change colors. She suppressed it before it reacted to her emotions too strongly. No. This was a mission. The Schnees mustn't know she was a Faunus, let alone White Fang, until she had all the information necessary to destroy them.

There would be no 'rebirth' for them. It was a fortifying thought.

It didn't do to go into battle unarmed, though. Hence this appearance once-over.

Her long brown ponytail reached down her back in its signature chameleon-tail curl. Freckles were visible even against her default tan skin. She wore black slacks that tucked into boots significantly taller than her preference, along with a white dress shirt and blue blazer. Those wouldn't be visible much, she expected, since she figured she'd be wearing a thick coat most of the time.

Chameleon scales were marvelously useful in her line of work, but they meant she had almost no hair compared to a human, and so had much worse heat retention. She had to bundle up to compensate. Technically she could have used her Aura, but she wasn't supposed to have one, so she had to use more clothes to defend herself from the elements while keeping her Aura lowered.

That made her twitchy. She didn't like feeling defenseless in enemy territory. Sure, she could raise her Aura instinctively in the blink of an eye, but it was always possible someone could strike before she brought her defenses up. Deliberately exposing herself to potential harm, even as part of a mission, didn't sit well with her.

There had been some discussion about these points when she was nominated for this mission. There were other missions she could have taken, and there were other White Fang agents that could have done this job.

Ilia had overridden those concerns. She wanted this assignment. She didn't think she could face the memory of her parents if she didn't take it.

Ilia's journey into radicalism had begun with the Schnees, and it would end with them, too.

A light dusting of makeup, unusual and unwanted though it might be, completed the look. There. She was just a timid-if-earnest wannabe secretary. She wanted the succor of being close to power without having to shoulder real responsibility. Maybe, if everything went well, she could luck into a good marriage and retreat into the anonymity she deserved.

Ilia was used to wearing masks. Her White Fang mask was a literal one; this persona was a figurative one; but she put them on and took them off just as easily.

Grabbing her scroll and a notebook, she went to start her first day of work.


"Your primary task will be managing my schedule."

Winter had barely acknowledged Ilia's presence when the latter entered the former's office, the converted upstairs common room in the town's hostel. Those cold blue eyes had stayed focused on some scroll message or other.

That was about what Ilia would have expected, really. A Schnee didn't see another person as a person, only as animate machinery.

"I will invest one hour this morning in discussing my recurring meetings and important individuals," Winter went on. "After that, when I need to schedule meetings or events, I will direct people to you as my point of contact."

"Yes ma'am," said Ilia.

"If you have other abilities or subject matter knowledge, those can be put to use as well."

Put to use. Ilia didn't like that phrase. "I don't think I do." Not in any subject I'd share with you, at least.

Disappointment rolled off Winter in waves. "Very well. Hopefully you will be helpful enough with these duties."

"I hope so," said Ilia, not grinding her teeth. She'd passed as human for years as a child, she could survive more than a few minutes here.

Winter looked up at last. "So why are you still standing there?" she snapped in a voice like an arctic blast. "Are you waiting for direction? Fine. Grab your scroll and a calendar application, if you have one. If not, get one and inform me when you have it."

That jolted Ilia clumsily into action. It was hard to focus when her head was buzzing with frustration.

When she'd gotten her scroll prepared, she pulled up a chair to the side of the table where Winter sat. Winter—who'd become absorbed in her scroll again—turned to talk to her… but was cut off by a clang sound effect that made her start.

She raised her scroll to her ear.

Rose in a rush so quickly her chair fell down behind her.

"Do not engage, I'm on my way," said Winter urgently, to Ilia's confusion. Without sparing Ilia any thought whatsoever, Winter threw open the door and was down the stairs in two steps.

It took Ilia a few moments to react, given how out-of-nowhere this all was. When she did, she followed Winter down to the hostel main room, but Winter was already out the door. By the time Ilia emerged from the hostel, Winter was gone—the only trace of her a bulky white shape soaring off into the distance in the direction of the mountain.

If this was how the Schnees operated, Ilia thought with a sinking sensation, then managing their schedule would be her most demanding job yet.


"Hold on, Weiss," Winter said, though no one could hear her. The wind was tearing past her as she pushed her manticore summons faster, recklessly pumping Aura into it to push it to its limits.

Grimm were coming. Weiss had yet to demonstrate she could handle a grimm attack solo. Winter had to get to them first.

"Faster," she whispered.


"We've got grimm!"

Weiss and Winter's scrolls were set to monitor an emergency channel anyone in the area could use. (They'd had to chastise only one group of loudmouths before everyone understood 'for emergencies' really meant that.) When that warning came across, it seized Weiss' attention immediately. Guiding the Dust mining was nothing compared to guarding against grimm.

"We're on the road headed northeast towards the mine, we've got Sabyrs—Sabyrs coming!"

"En route," said Weiss.

"Do not engage, I'm on my way," came Winter's voice.

Oh, good. Weiss relaxed for a moment. Winter would take care of it. She could count on her sister.

But Winter was in Skjulte Perle, and the call came from the road… possibly far… too far…

Something twisted in Weiss' guts.

Using two platform glyphs, she swiftly ascended to the mining site's watchtower. There—she could see a truck below, following the road as it curved along the mountains on its way to the mining site.

And behind it, a shifting mass of black and white.

Weiss froze.

Winter had told her to stay, to not engage. She had to obey—Winter knew best, Winter was the expert Huntress, division of labor demanded Weiss let Winter take the lead here—

Winter wasn't here. She might not be in time.

Those people were about to die. Her people.

Weiss tightened her grip on Myrtenaster's hilt. A voice came to her that sounded like her dimmest memories of Grandfather.

Are you a Huntress or not?

She drew Myrtenaster. She pulled her Aura to the surface, felt it thrum against her skin. She did rapid mental gymnastics, then gestured and concentrated. Glyphs sprang into being, glowing white in mid-air.

Weiss leapt into the sky.

Any traffic following the road had to follow the mountains, had to curve as they did, and so had to cover anywhere from one and a half times to twice as much distance as a line straight across. Weiss had no such limitations.

From glyph to glyph she bounced, letting the glyphs behind her fizzle out, drawing new ones with every leap, always keeping the next three landing spots illuminated. It was an extravagant use of Aura, but speed was everything. A pinball would not have bounced amongst the glyphs faster than Weiss Schnee.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

All while keeping her eyes up, plotting an intercept course, finding the spot on the road where she'd meet the truck.

A splitting headache mushroomed in her mind—she'd never done glyph work this intense, even under Winter's demanding eye. A glyph ahead flickered. She lingered for half a heartbeat on one of them, refocused; the glyph stabilized, and she launched again.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

There.

Her last leap put her high in the air over the road. The truck was approaching; six Sabyrs were gaining on it with every leap; the lead Sabyr was even with its back wheels.

Another glyph, this one in the side of the mountain; another spike of headpain she ignored, spinning Myrtenaster through the haze.

From the glyph erupted a fist of stone. Two Sabyrs were struck in the side by it and ejected from the road, sent spinning into the valley below. Four left.

But the truck was still going, the Sabyrs still following, and Weiss was being left behind.

More glyphs, faster and faster, ping ping ping, cutting across the open air from one bend of the road to the next. Weiss spun Myrtenaster's chamber again and drew a glyph in front of the truck. The moment the truck cleared it, Weiss flicked skyward. A column of flame erupted, consuming a Sabyr in an instant.

Three down, three to go.

The glyph beneath Weiss flickered warningly and her eyes almost crossed. She was at the limits of her concentration. She had to take this fight to the ground.

Intercept course. There.

She was barely able to draw the next glyph ahead of her. Each leap went into empty space until she could conjure her next landing spot. There. There. Ping ping ping.

Cutoff.

As she screamed through the air, tears streaming from her eyes from concentration and the wind both, she could see the lead Sabyr tearing into the truck's wheel. There was a squealing sound; the truck's speed died; the Sabyrs closed—

And Weiss landed amongst them, blasting wind in all directions from Myrtenaster. One Sabyr slammed into the side of the mountain but shook off the blow; the leader went tumbling along the side of the truck; the third roared as it sailed into the abyss.

Two to go.

Weiss panted, took a split second to catch her breath as her headache slowly receded.

And then she was reacting reflexively, badly, desperately as a Sabyr pounced. Myrtenaster flicked and danced, directed by the lowest parts of Weiss' brain well below where her consciousness was still reeling from her efforts.

Claw swipe, another with the other claw, parry parry in response, giving ground, giving ground—

You should be hunting it!

One more glyph, headache intensifying until it was almost impossible to hold, beneath the grimm, turned black, pulling it down, and Weiss didn't make the same mistake she had before with this trick, she struck immediately, no hesitation, sailing above the grimm as it hit the ground and plunging Myrtenaster through its head directly behind the bone mask. Perfect precision, instant kill.

One left.

It stalked around the edge of the truck, and while Weiss still had plenty of Aura even though she'd burned gross amounts of it, she was too mentally exhausted to make more glyphs…

The Sabyr padded around, circling her, growling low.

…she could barely stand…

…oh.

Then don't.

The Sabyr roared and pounced.

Weiss crumpled like a puppet whose strings have been cut—with one exception.

Her sword arm.

The Sabyr's own momentum impaled it on Myrtenaster; its claws came to a stop just outside Weiss' Aura boundary. Then they dissipated.

None left.

Weiss heaved breaths, her slight frame feeling suddenly heavy. Her sword arm hit the ground, though Myrtenaster stayed in her hand as if welded to it. Her head throbbed. Her Aura wasn't spent, but she didn't have the mental wherewithal to maintain it raised. It drifted away from her; cold rushed into the gap.

Well.

So that was solo grimm slaying.

That's… annoying.

The light of the sky dimmed. She frowned and tried to focus on what was above her. Several heavy, lumpy shapes…

Oh. The workers from the truck in their heavy overcoats. Four of them—maybe five? Hard to tell.

"That," said one of them, "was the damndest thing I've ever seen."

"You were amazing," said another.

A Schnee must show proper social graces. "Thank you," she managed.

"No, thank you. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Weiss groggily considered this. Well, despite her exertion, she had lowered her Aura, so… "I'm cold," she said.

Above her, five people made to shed their overcoats for her sake.

Weiss chuckled.

It hurt her head, but she was okay with that.


From her manticore summons above, Winter watched the workers bundle Weiss up and get her back into the truck, just as one of their number finished some rudimentary repairs—enough to get it up to the mine, at least.

Winter had told Weiss not to engage. It had all happened so fast—Weiss had gone in so furiously that the battle was over before Winter had even gotten there. Winter had no chance to help or protect her.

But, maybe…

Maybe it was better this way.

Weiss had gotten the solo experience she needed, and she'd shown off for those miners, who would surely spread the story… and their gratitude.

Winter remembered back to her own first solo mission. It had only come after years of training, but it was still energizing afterwards. She'd felt like she'd really accomplished something.

As much as Winter longed to ream out Weiss for such a reckless charge against orders… maybe she should let her sister have this moment.

Winter angled her summons back towards Skjulte Perle.


Winter was surprised when she got back to the hostel office and someone was there, waiting for her.

Oh, right. Ms. Amitola. They had been interrupted.

"Ma'am," said Ilia as she stood, "I'm glad you're back, I was beginning to wonder…"

Winter held up a hand to silence Ilia. She was in no mood for this. Her nerves were more shot than if she'd taken those Sabyrs herself.

And she was doubtlessly an hour behind schedule by now.

"Take lunch," she told Ilia. "We'll reconvene to discuss your duties this afternoon."

As she tromped upstairs to her office, she missed that this response made Ilia more outraged than if she'd said nothing.


As Weiss probably should have expected, the story of her (reckless, amateurish, nearly disastrous) rescue of the truck from the Sabyrs got around, traveling faster than she could. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed to change how people treated her. She received both more respect and more comradery. It was a curious combination.

She got nothing from Winter. Each night they called to share experiences, information, and decision-making. Each night, they concluded the call without Weiss' insubordination coming up.

The suspense started to get to Weiss. The other shoe had to drop sooner or later, didn't it?

At last, after the end-of-week company meeting, the sisters went to do their hand-off of responsibilities. Weiss' week at the mine was over; now she was shifting to Skjulte Perle, while Winter headed to the site office.

Winter had insisted on making a ritual of it—a holdover from her military days, no doubt—and while Weiss considered it a bit puffy, she'd filed it under "battles not worth fighting".

"Anything else?" Winter said.

Weiss caved. "Why haven't you yelled at me yet?"

Winter raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"For charging into those Sabyrs when you told me not to," Weiss said. "For pushing myself past my limits killing them when there were plenty of safer options, and for being entirely too theatrical about it all."

"It sounds like you know what you did wrong without me saying so," said Winter.

Weiss grimaced. "I… suppose?"

"Then there's nothing more for me to say. The purpose of discipline is to help the recipient understand their error and correct it. If you're already there, then additional discipline is superfluous. Unless you want it for some reason," said Winter with a threatening air. "Which can be arranged."

"No, no, not at all!" said Weiss, waving her sister down.

"Very well." Winter snapped to attention. "I am ready to relieve you."

"I am ready to be relieved," said Weiss honestly.

"I relieve you."

"I stand relieved."

Winter half-turned, but stopped to look back at Weiss, something dangerous in her eyes. "By the way, you know those discussions we had about selling to local customers? And how we agreed we'd need a loan to make it work?"

That was an ominously heavy topic to be treated like an aside. "Yes?" said Weiss warily.

"Well, I arranged for a meeting with Friedrich Huber to get that loan. Unfortunately, as I'm now on duty at the mine, I can't go to that meeting." Winter gave a small, cruel smile. "You'll have to go, instead."

"Wha—you stuck me on Huber duty you arranged?! How dare you! You tricked me!"

"I outmaneuvered you," Winter said, still smiling. "You're a big girl who can handle the grimm on her own, aren't you? You can certainly handle this."

"I thought you said I'd been disciplined enough," Weiss said, crossing her arms.

"This isn't discipline. This is sisterly revenge. It's payback for how scared you made me with that stunt. Do we understand each other, Miss Schnee?"

"Quite well, Miss Schnee."


"I'm surprised to see you here," said Friedrich Huber.

I'm surprised to be here, Weiss thought but didn't say. "An opportunity presented itself. We'd like to seize it, but we can't do it alone."

"Speaking of alone," Huber said, ostentatiously looking to Weiss' side, "you came solo, without your sister."

"Any arrangements I make have to go back to the company for a vote anyway," she said, "and we need one of us on-site at all times."

"Of course. Your… unique security arrangements." Huber gave an oily smile. "Doing it all yourself is right in your grandfather's mold. Would you like his old armor to complete the image? I'd lease it back to you at reasonable rates."

Forewarned is forearmed. Weiss knew from previous encounters that psyching out the other party was one of Huber's negotiating tactics. Huber must have gleaned from last time that comparing Weiss to her grandfather was a pressure point.

Too bad knowing that didn't make her immune to it.

So he's the one who got grandfather's armor!

"That won't be necessary," Weiss said, trying to transmute her hiss of anger into a dignified sniff. "I'm sure it's in the custody of someone who will take good care of it."

"Indeed," said Huber. He waited and hummed contentedly, letting Weiss stew in her own juices, before continuing. "Aside from granting you that peace of mind, what can I do for you?"

"Schnee Dust Reborn has seen some opportunities, now that we're in the field," she said, and she took the seat on the opposite side of his desk. Her motions were herky-jerky; she couldn't purge her anger that quickly. "There are plenty of under-served customers along the fringes of Solitas. We think we can do a better job meeting those needs than the other Dust companies, and so capture all that business."

"That's splendid," said Huber, but his eyes seemed both knowing and greedy. "Does that mean you'll be repaying your startup loan back more quickly?"

"Not exactly," Weiss said, opening her briefcase. "It means…"

"None of that," Huber said, waving away her papers and graphics before they even emerged from the suitcase. "Talk me through it."

Weiss tried her best to stifle her indignant "hey", and partially succeeded. A blast of an exhale escaped her, nothing more. "Everyone needs Dust. These towns are getting it infrequently, expensively, and in limited forms, because they're too small on their own to merit the attention of the big companies. We're talking about a number of towns that together use as much Dust in a year as the Atlas military uses in weeks. If you're a big supplier, you go after the big customers. The small ones aren't worth your time."

"But you're a small supplier, so they're worth your time," Huber said keenly.

"Exactly."

"Well, go get 'em," said Huber. The words might have sounded encouraging, but his tone and expression showed he knew it wasn't that simple, and delighted in the fact.

"We would," Weiss said. "We have most of what we need. We can do imports with our train, we can reprocess with our own equipment…"

"That my loan paid for," interrupted Huber.

"…and we can, of course, sell them our own Dust for those types we mine," Weis said, doing her best to fare through his commentary without losing either her concentration or her temper. "What we don't have is distribution to those other towns."

"Quite a pickle," said Huber.

"It's trivial, really. We just need a Class A freighter."

Huber raised an eyebrow. "I'm not familiar with the classification system."

It sounded like a lie, but Weiss was prepared. "Class A is the smallest class of commercial freighter, capable of docking on almost any pier. Minimum armament of two anti-air guns and a 70-millimeter main gun, minimum displacement of 500 tons, maximum of…"

"Yes, yes," said Huber, waving her down—ha! She knew he knew about merchant ships! He was just testing her, the jerk. "Will you be trying to buy one?"

"That would require a vastly larger loan than we're prepared to ask for," Weiss said. "We're looking to charter one. Two-year contract with option years."

"Hm." He regarded her thoughtfully, tapping two sausage-like fingers together. "Do all of those micro towns even have piers of their own?"

"Most do, since fish is so important to their diets. Those that don't are so small their deliveries can be made by a boat the freighter can carry."

Huber hummed. "You came prepared."

"Always," she vowed.

His fingers stilled. "I will offer a loan for the amount you requested. The interest rate will be the same as your last loan, plus five percent."

"This is a lower risk endeavor," Weiss protested.

"And you are already over-leveraged," Huber volleyed back. "If this had been your first request, you would have gotten better rates, but instead you already owe me a large sum and you're asking me to double down."

"On something with better prospects," she said, fighting as best she could. "Plus, this makes it more likely you'll get your money back. If we can get some revenue from this stream, it buys us more time to wait out this low-prices Dust era. Eventually Dust prices will come up again, and if we can survive until then, our main business will become profitable. This side business will help with that."

"Then you can afford to pay more interest on it," said Huber mercilessly. "But please, if you think you can find anyone else who will lend to a Schnee at a better rate, be my guest."

Weiss held her tongue, difficult as that was.

He waited, as if expecting her to lose control. It was with slight disappointment that he continued. "You will insure the ship up to the value of the loan."

It was more than Weiss had planned for, but the logic was inarguable. Huber would be made whole, one way or another. "I understand."

"One more thing." His oily smile seeped onto his face again; Weiss resisted the urge to gag. "Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that you don't go insolvent in the next six months."

"Yes, let's," Weiss said, unwilling to entertain the alternative.

"In that case, once you start turning a profit, you will attend a social event of my choosing as my guest of honor."

Weiss couldn't help her eyes darting to the wall, where pictures of Hubers and Schnees together were so very prominent. Of course. That was the big reason why Friedrich was willing to have these meetings at all: He valued that relationship. In which case…

"I will agree to that," said Weiss, "if you lower the interest premium to 4%."

"Ha ha, what cheek!" he said, and slapped his own thigh. Then his smile disappeared like a candle being snuffed. "Four and a half. Final offer."

It was the best she could do. "Deal."

He rapped his knuckles against his desk. "Well. With that settled, I'll have the papers drawn up. When do you think you'll be ready to sign?"

"After the weekend," Weiss replied. "This has to be approved at our stockholders' meeting."

"Yes, yes," said Huber with a frown. "Your peculiar company governance scheme. It's even stranger than your security plans."

"I prefer 'audacious' over 'peculiar'," Weiss said as she rose.

"Those are hardly mutually exclusive," said Huber, and he did not stand with her. "I'll see you next week, then. Go on."

For a moment, Weiss reacted to the rude dismissal. It made her want to stay just to spite him.

Then she realized that doing so would mean spending more time around Friedrich Huber.

Even someone as reckless as Weiss knew when to pick her battles, and staying around Huber put her in far more danger than any Sabyr.

She retreated.


Next time: Oversight