Doll (story)
Preface
Doll is a piece of player-created fiction written by Casiella Truza. Originally published on the blog Ecliptic Rift.
Doll
Really, it all started with a doll.
I’d flown out to low-sec to take advantage of a deal on an ocular implant. In the undock vector, my covop’s sensors picked up signs of a pair of Iteron wrecks, just starboard of us. A quick scan showed a number of sealed cargo crates and something else in the twisted remains of the industrial hull. I reached out with the default low-power tractor beam and pulled it in, then trained one of the cargo hold cameras on it.
I had pulled in a doll, though some sort of cargo packaging still encased it. I had no idea why the wreckage had this one extra item. Since I didn’t have any CONCORD or Republic protection out here in low-sec, I just aligned to the gate and warped off. No point in sitting there figuring it out and possibly getting hit by a recon ship.
Once I got back to my hangar in Hek, though, I had one of the crew chiefs bring it over to my shop. One of the shop assistants sliced open the packaging and we looked at it more closely. Quarter-scale and made out of some sort of gelatinous material, the doll felt almost lifelike in many respects. The artisan had stylized it, though: big eyes, a long neck, and impossibly high cheekbones. The doll didn’t appear to have prurient uses, though. In Gallente space, most stations had a few out-of-the-way shops where lonely customers could purchase mannequins for their own private uses in the bedroom. This looked more like the sort of doll one admired.
I bit my bottom lip and thought quietly about what to do with it. Maybe use it as decoration in my suite here? The assistant, though, kept inspecting it and ended up calling my attention to something.
On the doll’s lower back, just at the base of her spine, we saw a symbol imprinted into her skin. My assistant didn’t recognize it, but I did: the logo of the Syndicate.
The Syndicate controlled their own small region on the borders of Gallente space and mostly consisted of independent Intaki who didn’t care for the Federation’s government style. Mostly that meant that they found ways to make a profit from things the Federation didn’t allow. They had connections to drug cartels, slavers, arms dealers, and every other sort of business that most “reputable” governments disallowed.
Why did this doll have their logo? I couldn’t think of a plausible explanation, so I poked back through the packaging to see if it had any other clues. Sure enough, it held an unsigned note.
Toubuelin: I won’t forget her, either.
I sent the staff out, then sat for a long time silently, watching her.
Syndicate space, contrary to what the government propagandists told everyone back in the Republic, didn’t present too many obvious dangers. Then again, most real dangers wouldn’t appear so obvious. After docking up my covops in ZN0-SR, I went upstairs to the main agent lobby. As you’d expect for a corporation associated directly with the Syndicate, an investment office for Intaki Bank had security everywhere: silent guards in completely black uniforms, drones buzzing quietly down the steel corridors, and unfailingly polite (if scantily dressed) young female administrative assistants guiding me upstairs.
I walked into the front office of the agent I’d come to visit. A blonde secretary, hair teased up into the latest Intaki fashion, smiled sweetly and inquired whether I had an appointment. I just shook my head. “No, but I think he’ll want to see me.” She peered around at the small crate floating on my cargo bot, but politely did not ask what I had brought. If it had passed security, she wouldn’t give anyone additional trouble.
The hexagonal antechamber had artwork from all around the cluster. In one corner sat a small Amarrian shrine, available to any of the faithful who might chance to come through heathen space. In another, in stark contrast, stood a Gallente sculpture, an homage to love (though perhaps the worshipers in the other corner might see it instead as lust). A triptych holo of Republic freedom fighters adorned a wall, full of heroic Brutors, cunning Krusuals, and spiritual Vherokiors. I’d seen other work by the same artist, actually, back in my home system of Eram, but never this piece. After a few moments, I realized that the agent probably had an original. Directly opposite the triptych sat a miniature Achuran meditation garden. It held fine sand, raked elegantly in simple patterns, a few well-worn stones suspended a few centimeters above the sand, and a small plant fed by circulating water.
“Mr. Dalledaury will see you now,” the assistant spoke quietly in my ear. I turned around and eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then beckoned the cargo bot and entered his office.
The agent wore all black, much like the guards. The fabric shimmered slightly, perhaps with a slight glow from the threads themselves. He had that classic Intaki calmness about him, as if nothing could perturb him in the least.
“Ah, Miss Truza. What an unexpected pleasure, your visit.”
I shook my head. “Just Casi. No need for formality.”
He stood next to his desk and placed a finger on a display, moving it about for a moment. “I find much surprise that you’ve flown out here. I have colleagues in the Cartel who’d reward quite well for your, ah, organic residue, one might say.”
Despite myself, I shivered. The station might belong to a bank, but the Syndicate dealt even more ruthlessly than your average corporation. Get between them and their profits or other ventures, and you could find yourself floating home, the long way.
“Actually, Toubie, I’d thought maybe you could help me with that.”
He hadn’t expected that. The agent looked up and regarded me closely. “You wish to work with us? And why, my dear, should I go to such trouble for someone whom I do not know, even a capsuleer such as yourself?”
“Well, I think this might belong to you…” I reached over to the package on the cargo bot and, with the press of a button, opened the container.
The hydraulic hiss from the crate echoed in the now silent office. He sat down, hard, and stared at the doll I’d brought.Several minutes passed with no further sound.
Finally, he spoke, though far more quietly than before.
“Not yours, this doll.”
I smiled. The gamble had paid off. “Of course not. I didn’t carry it across four regions and past pirates, customs, and warp bubbles just to keep me company. I believe it may belong to you.” He dabbed his eyes for a moment, then I continued. “This represents my good-faith gesture that perhaps the Bank could find some assignment for me.”
Another long moment passed. “Please see my assistant. She will direct you accordingly.”
I walked out of the office, leaving the doll and the bot behind.
Not much of an assignment, it turned out. Some spoiled son on a station in a nearby system only would drink water from ZN0-SR III. He claimed it had an unparalleled bouquet with hints of Jin-Mei kmeria flowers. It tasted like regular water to me, but they paid me either way, so off I went. Local only showed one other pilot, so I pushed the ship as quickly as possible away from station. The next system held no other podders at all, and the one after that, only a pair. After dropping off the water and getting the appropriate receipt, I contacted Dalledaury’s office to let them know. The blonde assistant gave me that smile again and informed me that he’d like to speak with me once more.
The return trip held even less excitement, so I really took no time at all returning. Once I reached his office, she waved me back without bothering even to pause her conversation with a chatty friend who’d stopped by for a visit.
He’d composed himself again and changed shirts. Still that odd fabric with the glimmer, but instead of black, the shirt had a lavender tone.
“I’ve spoken with my director. We believe that, in fact, the Bank may have use for someone of your, ah, particular talents.”
Bingo.
“So you’ve got more for me to do, then?”
He shook his head.
“No, he’s asked that you see Fusbenne Attens in our office across the system. Once you dock, our security staff will take you right to him.”
Hm. A promotion? This smelled worse than an Amamake Fedo. But I didn’t really have a good reason to say ‘no’. I thanked the agent, and turned to leave.
Two security guards stood in the door. One carried the doll.
The agent spoke from behind me, his voice now low and guttural. “A gesture of thanks, madame. As you returned it to me, so shall I return it to you. It has already served its purpose for me.”
The air filters must not have been working that day, because I swear that, right at that moment, some dust mote got caught in my eye and made it water a little.