I stand in the garden of a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of the city of Foregone. The sky is red, the perfectly trimmed hedges are red, the marble statues of firryans are painted a stunning, vibrant red. Only flowers, imported from some distant world, provide shades of blue or green to the scenery.

The mansion is in perfect condition. Three floors, balconies to every room, black shingles on the roof, and soft red wood providing the exterior. The mansion is built like a hexagon around the large garden, with each point on the hexagon providing a hallway that leads to side buildings, parks, restaurants, or the parking lot which connects to the main road.

But while the mansion is an architectural treat, the real draw comes from the firryans themselves.

Men and women, but particularly women, of ceaseless, inherent beauty. Every alien finds firryans beautiful, without exception. Their skin automatically changes color based on their surroundings, so most of them are shades of red, though some wear just enough clothing that their skin has turned pink, or blue, or any other color. Every firryan has a proud set of solid black tribal tattoos on display. While their skin may change with their surroundings, the black markings -their tribal allegiance- never fades.

Mixed with these firryans are aliens from every species, since this mansion is a rather famous brothel. Cirathans like myself, ayona, zweihorn, even a peldak. Men, women, all being tended to by firryans in varying states of undress.

There are more cirathans than any other. Not only are we richer on average, but out incredible eyesight gives us a more refined appreciation of firryan beauty. Take one of the working girls by the fountain. Holding up a grey pot, her chameleon skin has shifted hues to match the stone grey, and she’s elegantly pouring water-

Two sharpened, curved pieces of bone hook around my neck, squeezing just enough to indent my skin, yet not draw blood. My hands grip the pincers, but I lack the strength to move them.

“[Eyes forward, ‘lawyer’. We have a job to do.]”

I gulp, “[y-yes sir. Sorry.]”

He pulls the pincers away, and I turn to my ‘clients’ to give a slight bow of apology.

They’re five cabella standing there, four men and a woman. Their heads are covered in boney plates similar to helmets, and growing out of that bone are three horns. Two horns in the front, above their eyes, and one horn in the back. The rear horn flows down into a long tail, with the headpiece continuing down their necks and between their shoulders, reinforcing their spinal columns so they can swing their headtails around without fear of something snapping. Their headtails end with various attachments, like maces, drills, or spears, but the leader’s headtail ends with two moveable pincers, each sharpened to easily gouge flesh.

Keeping my eyes to the polished concrete pathway, I lead my clients through the garden. Up a small flight of stairs, I open the door to the main lobby, then hold it open. They’re slow to move in, since they’re ogling all the firryans as they pass. These are fairly young cabella, I don’t think any of them can legally drink alcohol.

But they enter eventually, and I approach the receptionist… She’s really hot. Barely any skin is visible since she’s in a professional suit and tie, but it’s a struggle to maintain eye contact. Even though I successfully keep my eyes locked on hers, I’m almost lost in her bright, ocean-blue eyes.

“Hello!” She says, speaking Cirathan Standard with a bubbly accent, a bright smile, and a viciously attractive Ardennes accent. “How may I help juu and your friends today? Zou you have a reservation?”

“Ah, yes.” I give an exaggerated, deliberate nod. “I’m Vett of- ah!”

The lead cabella, Aitor, grabs my shoulders and yanks me back. “[Speak Leonese,]” he says with a low growl, his elongated canines casually shown off as he speaks.

“[Sh-she probably…]” I shake my head and turn to the receptionist, “[do you speak Leonese?]”

She shakes her head. “I recognize zat as zee cabella language, but I do not understand.”

I look back up at Aitor, and he looks down at me, still gripping my shoulders. “[What did she say?]”

“[She doesn’t know Leonese. I can’t negotiate with someone if you’re going to force me to speak a language they don’t understand.]”

Aitor looks to me for a second, then shoves me forward, my chest hitting the reception table.

“Are you alright?” The receptionist is so hot, showing concern. “Zey don’t seem very friendly. We take abuse and trafficking very seriously here, so if it is zay problem, I can subtly call zhe guards and remove zem.”

“N-no, no. That won’t be necessary, haha.” These aren’t ordinary cabella, they’d probably kill any guard she has. Also, they’re surprisingly rich and I’m going to make a boatload of money from them as clients. “I’m Vett of Devendo. I set up a reservation a few weeks ago to speak to the owner.”

“Aaah,” she says with an amused smirk, “you’re zhose weirdos.”

I recoil slightly, “what?”

“Nothing, nothing. Follow me.” She gets up and walks us through the mansion. She’s so tall, and putting an exaggerated sway to her hips, and… yeah, so we reach the officer of the brothel’s director. “The director izz right through here,” she says with a gorgeous smile as she holds the door open for us.

I can’t even bring myself to say anything to her, I just smile and vaguely nod as I walk inside.

On the right side of the room is a window overlooking the west pool and all of the… I’m not going to look over there again. The man behind the main desk is a firryan, the owner. He’s tall, objectively handsome, and muscular. Hidden under his desk is an automatic pistol, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be able to see that off the reflection in his eyes. He’s wearing a sharp business suit that, based on the pleased look of my female client, does him a lot of favors. The rest of the room is occupied by books, office materials, and a few paintings that I need to quickly look away from. In front of his desk is a padded luxury couch with beautiful engravings.

“Ah, it’s you.” The man’s name is Laamipet (pronounced lahm-ee-pay), and he has an Ardennes accent to, though far more subtle. He gestures to the lone seat before his desk, and Aitor grabs me and shoves me into the padded seat. “You didn’t tell me much about this business proposal in your reservation, but you said we’d make a lot of money. So, please,” he rolls his hand, gesturing me to continue. Firryans maintain their youth until age 90, and then they begin to rapidly age until they expire a few years later. It’s hard to get exact ages, but Laamipet looks like he’s in his 70s, which resembles a cirathan’s age 19, but it means he’s a veteran at this business, and has run this brothel for decades.

“…” I take a deep breath, then look back at the cabella. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder, towering behind me and staring my way. Each bares his fangs as my gaze turns to him or her. When I turn back to Laamipet, I still feel their hostility down my spine. “Well, you see, I’m representing my clients here. They don’t speak Cirathan Standard, and they don’t really understand business, but they have clear wants, and money is no object!”

“If you’re asking to buy some of my employees as slaves, I’m going to call the authorities.”

“No! No, not that. That’s not needed. Technically.”

Laamipet narrows his sharp brow. In response, Aitor moves his tail around his leg, slipping it under the couch, and pinches my ankle.

“N-no, just..! Okay. Let me set the stage,” I give a grand, sweeping gesture with my hands. “300 years ago, the Protectorate annexes Cabellan Space, right?”

Laamipet nods, “I know basic history.”

“Then, vampire shows up out of nowhere. Hundreds of millions are dead, tens of millions are abducted and turned into mindless ghouls. Some of those ghouls are then captured by the peldaks and reformed, or something. Point is, no longer ghouls, but normal, thinking cabellas with only a moderate desire for human flesh. Right? So those former ghouls have kids, and fast forward to today,” I turn around to them, and they bare their fangs at me, “as you can see, they got the elongated canines, like a ghoul.” I turn back to Laamipet, “but they’ve got all their sanity! And they like hunting.”

“What does any of this have to do with anything? Get to the point.”

“The… the point, you see, is that they have a sort of instinctual need to hunt. There’s a whole society of them on one of those worlds, Quintara, and they call themselves the Cazador… and she’s a Cazadora,” I gesture behind me to the one girl.”

Laamipet keeps his brow narrowed. “You’re avoiding the subject. Why are you here? What’s your business opportunity? This is a brothel, so I can almost guess what you want, but I don’t know why.”

“Well, whatever you’re thinking is probably wrong. Technically. Uh…” I run my hand through my soft golden hair. “I was hired by these young cazador to form a contract with your fine establishment. A sort of… reproduction contract.”

“…Reproduction contract.” Laamipet repeats with a touch of disapproval in his eyes.

I crack a smile, “I’m sure I’m not the first one to come to you with this proposal.”

“You’re not.” He leans back and interlocks his fingers, “but let’s see if you’ll be the first to be accepted.”

“Well, so, what’s the reason behind the desire for a reproduction contract, I’m sure you’re wondering? The answer is the desire to mix genetics,” I lean forward and press my elbows on my knees.

“That’s the same reason everyone has.”

“Yes, that’s… true, in a sense. But! These guys aren’t interested in gene that makes you all viciously attractive. The goal for these guys is that their children will inherit the chameleon skin!”

Laamipet raises his chin, slightly intrigued. There we go! An opening!

My voice grows slightly bolder, and the words begin to flow. “The interest of these Cazador is their ability to hunt. To stalk prey. To blend into their surroundings. The best method for that, which we’re hoping you can provide their children, is your skin which naturally blends into your surroundings. The attraction gene is completely unneeded for them.”

“Hmh. So you want those four to impregnate one of my employees, and for her to get impregnated by one of my employees. The end result, I assume, is a baby which has the three horns and the strange head tail, but also skin that changes shades.”

“Exactly!” I say with my best smile.

“And what if they don’t? Let’s say that the baby has chameleon skin but no horns, or has horns, but instead they grow up substantially more attractive than others. Or what if they more so resemble we firryans, and aren’t even noticeably cabellan at a glance? Will they abandon the child with us? Are we forced to take care of it?”

My clients… are stupid. I had these exact questions in mind when I tried to do prep work, but Aitor dismissed all my preparations and said ‘just get us babies with good skin. I don’t care.’

“One moment,” I say with a smile before turning around to address my clients. “[Don’t worry guys, this is going great! Just as planned.]”

One of the men speaks up, “[for your sake, I hope it is.]”

The girl’s face is so much softer, and she’s blushing, staring at Laamipet. “[Did you negotiate the thing? When can we get started? I’m fine with right now, if he is.]”

I shake my head, “[no, not yet. It’s a negotiating tactic. He asked a question, and I’m pretending to consult you about it. I can go into the science of why the tactic works, but I imagine you don’t care.]”

“[You’re right,]” Aitor says with a sneer. “[Did you ask him how much money he wants?]”

“[You don’t seem to realize how difficult it is to ask for what you’re asking. I haven’t gotten to that part yet.]”

Aitor snarls, “[then stop wasting time talking to us and get to it.]”

“[I… I’m working on it. I just told you it’s a tactic to-]” Aitor uses his pincers to pinch my leg further, [-gah, nevermind!]” I turn back to Laamipet. “Sorry about that, just had to clarify some things.”

Laamipet stares at me for a moment. “[I understand, they don’t seem to be the easiest people to work with,]” he says in perfect leonese.

My eyes round, “y-you speak their language?”

He shrugs, “[if a firryan is kidnapped, nine times out of ten they’re sent to those shithole cabella worlds. It’s useful to know the language.]”

Aitor hops over the back of the couch and approaches Laamipet with his fellow hunters. “[If you knew leonese, why didn’t you say so in the first place!?]” He leans forward, slamming his palms on the table. “[Now get to the point! How much money does it take for you to sell us some children?]”

I grip the bridge of my nose, “[that’s the worst way you could have possibly phrased that…]”

Aitor looks back at me, “[how? That’s exactly why we’re here.]” He turns to Laamipet and swishes his head tail, raising his proud pincers to show them off. “[Just give us four women, and one guy, we’ll get to baby making, and in about a year, we’ll come back to collect the kids. I’ve already consulted with blondie over there, we have enough to cover the costs of the women missing a year of working.]”

Laamipet leans forward, his hands together, but his face steady. Despite there being five cabella in front of him, baring their fangs, he’s unconcerned. “[And what will you do if the child can’t change their skin tone?]”

Cabella don’t have eyebrows, their headpieces are made of scales, many of which can be moved independently, so the scales above his right eye raise. “[But that’s what we’re paying you for. We have no interest in your other trait.]”

“[Yes, I understand that, but what if the baby doesn’t have what you want? Will you pay us regardless? Will you dump the baby on the mother and leave her to take care of your child?]”

“[What? No, we wouldn’t pay you. Just tell the mom to pass on the skin-changing gene, and that makes your question pointless.]”

“[That’s not how genetics works.]” Aitor recoils in confusion, and Laamipet turns to me, “[these people managed to sign a contract with you?]”

“[It was a… verbal agreement.]”

Aitor shakes his head, “[explain to me what your problem is, so we can settle this already.]”

Laamipet sighs. “[Genetics are completely random. There’s a 50-50 chance that the child would be born with changing skin-tones. The mother has no more control over that than she does about the gender of the child. Additionally, they might have the skin-changing gene, but it’s random if they’d have your famed cabella horns, or head-tail. It’s a complete gamble. Do you understand?]”

Aitor stares for a second. Because Laamipet shows no sign of worry, Aitor is forced to consider his words. The cabella leans back from the firryan’s desk, grabbing his chin as the end of his head-tail taps against his leg. “[So, it’s a random chance. We could get the combination we want, but there’s also the chance we wouldn’t.]”

I jump up from the chair and step to Aitor’s side. “[Yes. Which leads to the question: if you spend all this time and money on a child that doesn’t end up having the traits you want, what would you do with that child?]”

Aitor looks at me, then glances to Laamipet, then turns to his followers who each seem stumped. Finally, he wraps his arm around the back of my neck and pulls me away, keeping his voice to a whisper. “[What answer gets us closer to buying the kids?]”

“[Uh, well,]” I raise my voice a little to make sure Laamipet can hear, “[as your lawyer, I recommend you tell the truth. Which is that you would of course care for any and all children that come out as a result of these negotiations, and you wouldn’t abandon any of them no matter the genetic traits they have.]”

Aitor releases me and turns back to Laamipet. “[I would of course care for any and all children that come out as a result of these negotiations, and I wouldn’t abandon any of them no matter the genetic traits they have.]”

Laamipet rubs his chin, “[that’s not exactly reassuring.]”

“[That’s exactly what blondie told me to say though! How was it not reassuring?]” He looks down at me, snarling his fangs as if I’m the one who steered him wrong.

I clear my throat, “[as these are official negotiations, and the contract will be notarized by an accredited lawyer from the University of the Golden Suns, you’ll have the full backing of the Pel League’s legal department should the other side renege on their obligations.]”

“[The University… of the Golden Suns…]” With his elbows on his desk and his hands together, Laamipet starts tapping his fingers together. “[Isn’t that one of those scam universities?]”

All five cabella shoot their gazes to me, ready to tear my head off for tricking them.

“[No! N-no, it’s not a scam! I-it-it has history! It has famous alumni! It was made as a joint venture between the Pel League of Ciratha, and the Asean Empire of Monsoo!]”

Aitor narrows his boney-brow, raising his tail and gently running the edge along the back of my neck, applying just enough pressure to not cut me. “[That’s a lot of words, blondie. All you’ve done is say a lot of words since we hired you, and yet we still have no contract.]”

“[W-well I’m trying to-!]” I glance to Laamipet, and notice the smirk for just half a second, before he catches himself and returns to a stone-faced expression.

So that’s the deal. This is a tactic, he’s flexing his verbal muscles. These cabella are stupid, easily misled, and quick to anger. What he’s doing is showing that, at any time during these negotiations, he could manipulate them into killing me. I clench my jaw, and he lets off a faint smile. He knows that I know that that’s his plan.

But what does this mean? Since Laamipet has been the director of this brothel for years, I know he’s a rational actor, looking out for the best interest of his employees. He won’t sic the cabella on me willy nilly, that’s strictly a threat. Having the cabella kill me, then be arrest, would be bad for his business.

However, because he isn’t refusing me outright, that means he is interested. There’s no need to put a metaphorical gun on the table for a negotiation that you aren’t interested in. There is a pathway to make this deal happen, so long as I maneuver correctly.

“[S-so, let’s get down to brass tacks. The payment for this contract. Four of your female employees will be out of work for upwards of a year, so we need to at least pay their salaries and compensate you for the loss of business.]”

Laamipet leans back, “[so how much money are we talking?]”

I raise my chin and speak confidently. “[My clients, despite their looks, are quite the higher earners.]”

Aitor just looks down at me, “[despite our looks?]”

I ignore him.

Laamipet nods. “[Fair enough, but how much money is that?]”

“[Well… How much money do you want? We could go by a percentage system. Pick the women who will be out of work, then we’ll look over her average monthly earnings, then give a percentage increase over that.]”

He narrows his brow. “[And what would that percentage be?]”

I smile, “[what percentage would you like?]”

Laamipet frowns. “[Why are you avoiding this question to start the negotiations?]”

I smile politely, but don’t answer.

Laamipet shakes his head, then turns to Aitor. “[Now I see why the University of the Golden Suns is considered a scam-]” he’s activating the metaphorical gun! I have to answer or these cazador will rip me apart!

I clench my teeth and cut him off, “[we are prepared to offer you various hunting goods which have personally been collected by my clients! Pelts and hides and animal bones, and high-quality preserved meat.]”

“[…Are you serious?]”

“[In Cazador culture they hunt a lot, placing point-values on various beasts across the worlds of the Protectorate. My clients are experienced hunters, and they have some of highest points in their society, for their age.]”

All five of them beam at my words, soaking in the acknowledgement.

“[So they have stuff, but no money.]”

“[Well, you could sell it and convert it to money! In fact, for a modest percentage fee, I could even sell the items myself, delivering to you the remaining profit as compensation for the temporary loss of four employees.]”

“[No offense, but I know at least three girls that could sell anything for a much higher price than you could.]”

“[That’s… probably true, fair enough.]” I hate when firryans understand how easy it is to sucker aliens with their natural charm. Usually that’s the role of a cirathan, but firryans are our natural rivals in business.

But then Aitor steps in, “[wait, hold on. You’re going to sell our hunting trophies? Why?]”

Laamipet only spares him a sideways glance. “[Why would I not?]”

“[We’re giving you good stuff! Rare stuff! We’ve got the pelt of a latarniak in there, do you know how difficult it is to sneak past the peldaks to hunt one? If anyone caught us in the act, that’s instant execution by their forest wardens!]”

“[Wow, interesting. I don’t care. I have no use for a pelt like that, and you’ll shut your mouth unless you want these negotiations to end right now.]”

Aitor bares his fangs for only a second, then backs off.

Is this an opportunity to put them against each other? “[Geeze,]” I say to the cabella, “[I can’t believe he disrespected you like-]”

“[Shut up, blondie.]” Aitor snaps.

I purse my lips and don’t try further. “[It’s a good deal. You may not have a personal connection to them, but all these items are extremely valuable to the correct buyer. If we were to give you an exact pelmark offer, we’d probably be underselling exactly how much you can make from this.]”

Laamipet keeps his gaze steady, and looks to each of us in turn. When he speaks, he raises a finger for each point he makes. “[So your offer is to pass me a truckload of crap which I have to then resell, put four of my employees out of commission for nearly a year, basically buy their babies from them, and I have to hope that you won’t leave them as single-mothers if they don’t have the genetics you want.]”

I lean forward in the chair, raising a finger for each point I address. “[Our offer is to pass you a variety of exotic goods you can’t come across elsewhere, with each possessing a fluid value so you could theoretically make far more money than a solid pelmark value to this contract. We’re buying a year of your employee’s time. It’s more similar to surrogacy or adoption. You’ll have a copy of this contract so there are methods of legal recourse should my clients try to back out, and one provision will include continued financial support.]”

“[Let’s say my girls grow attached to the baby in their womb, and they don’t want to give their children up. What then?]”

“[If they’re not cabella with the shifting skin-tone gene, the mother will be allowed to keep the child, AND she’ll get to keep all the money regardless of outcome. If the child does have the correct genes, we can arrange visitation rights.]”

Laamipet looks at me for a moment, sizing me up. “[…Very well.]” He stands up and puts his hand out, “[your base terms are acceptable enough. We’ll be taking all the treasure you brought with you, and we’ll arrange more concrete details when we draw up the contract.]”

I stand and bring my arm forward, but before I can grab his, Aitor pushes me aside and shakes the man’s hand himself. “[About time you two are finished. Now when do we start?]”

Laamipet snorts, “[calm down, kid. This brothel is one of the more famous on Foregone, do you know what that entails? First, we’ll pick out the girls. Next, we’ll have to take them off the schedule, so they aren’t assigned more clients. After that they’ll have to go through their currently set appointments, then we’ll need to wait a month to ensure they aren’t already pregnant. Only after all of this can you have sex with them. Even then, it’ll only be a realistic amount to ensure pregnancy, and you’ll be paying for every attempt.]”

The boys look disappointed, but the girl cabella perks up, “[since I know I’m not pregnant right now, can I get started?]”

“[No.]” Laamipet’s voice is commanding and deep, instantly shutting her down and making it clear he’ll suffer no opposition on matters of his business. He then looks down at me, “[add this to the contract. I don’t trust any of you. You’re a slimy cirathan, and the ghoulish blood that runs through their veins leads me to believe they’ll be irresponsible parents. If the firryan gene that determines attractiveness is passed to any of their offspring, they’re staying here, on Foregone. And no, they won’t get a refund.]” He puts his hand out my way, “[if my terms are acceptable, so be it.]”

I glance to the cabella, who take only a second to nod. They have no interest in non-skin changing children anyway. So I shake Laamipet’s hand, and the deal is done.

I write up a more formal contract in the following days, and Laamipet accepts volunteers from his brothel. Half a year later, the four firryan girls, and the cazadora, are successfully impregnated.

Almost a year later, six children are born since the girl partnered with Aitor had twins. All of them have the body structures of cabella, with three nubs for horns, and a soft spot near the back of their heads where the headtail will grow. I’ve spoken with doctors, and this might indicate that the cabellan head structure is a super-dominant gene, which would be useful for future negotiations. Four of the babies change color based on their surroundings, and the remaining two are the cutest little things I’ve ever seen in my life. Like fluffy kittens, or baby ducks.

But for Aitor’s twins, one was born absurdly cute, and the other had changing skin.

Aitor tries to renegotiate the deal and take his other child as well, but Laamipet quickly moves in for a solid punch and breaks the cazador’s nose. Before a fight could break out, Laamipet’s men pull guns and tell the five cazador to back off.

Just as I had mentioned a year and a half prior, the furthest Laamipet will go is allowing Aitor and his son the ability to visit his twin sister in supervised visits. But she will grow up with the firryans, not the cazador.

Not that I care about any of that.

I got paid, and I’ve already got 70 more clients among these cazador who want the same deal with the firryans.

A whole eugenics program is being planned out by me and some of the tribal elders. There are about 800,000 cazador alive today, and the goal is a massive breeding program to slip the chameleon skin gene into their people. Within 200 years, long after I’m dead, every cazador should be part firryan, and a much better hunter for it.

I won’t speak to the ethics of this program because, again, I don’t care. I just know I’m making an absurd amount of money as the middleman. So much so that I have the funds to start three companies just to handle the demand.

One company is tracking the genetic history of the cazador to prevent inbreeding, and to ensure the chameleon skin gene isn’t accidentally bred out. Another is a legal team to make these contracts with various firryan groups, since I don’t have the time or willpower to do this for 800,000 people. The third company is dedicated just to selling all the hunting crap these freaks give me as payment, which will also make future contracts with the firryans easier to negotiate if we have real cash and not nebulous hunting trinkets. The cazador are insanely rich, but all that wealth is worthless without a buyer. Until then, a lot of it is just sitting in a warehouse, collecting dust. But with this third company, all their wealth basically belongs to me now! Everyone wants an ‘improved’ child, and they have no concept of money, so they’re throwing absurdly rare hunting trophies my way and telling me to give them babies, so I can sell the trinkets, make the deals, then pocket the difference.

I’d almost feel bad for scamming them, if they weren’t constantly threatening to rip my spine out and hang it as a trophy.