Bryce

“Samira won’t be a problem, will she?” Varlin asked as the door sealed behind me. The main area of the admiral’s cabin had been set up as a meeting area designed to accommodate his shorter stature, while not being uncomfortable for taller races.

The couches in the center of the room looked like they had a folding step hidden in their base which could likely be used as a footstool, and the wet-bar against the far wall had a shallow stair along the base to help him reach the counter without getting in the way of someone taller.

The decorations were nice enough, if a bit utilitarian. It was possible that I had been a bit spoiled over the last month by living on a luxury yacht.

“Samira won’t be a problem,” I said as I made my way to the couch. “It was just a minor slip, and your navigator didn’t even seem to notice.”

Varlin marched past the couches and straight to the bar, where he poured himself a drink. Which he immediately drained, before pouring himself a second. “Krisc noticed,” he said.

“Then the question isn’t if Samira is going to be a problem,” I countered. “The real question is: can you control your own crew?”

Varlin snorted as he drained his second drink. “That has been proving increasingly difficult lately.”

“Did you ask me here just so I could watch you drink yourself to death?” I asked. “Or are you planning on sitting down and explaining what the actual problem is?”

He laughed, drained his third drink, and poured two more. Thankfully, one of those was for me and he brought it over to the couches before finally taking his own seat.

“Oh, I’ve missed you Bryce.” He looked up at me with a relieved smile. “It’s been too damn long, and when I heard about what happened on New Eden…” the dwarf just shook his head and took another sip from his glass. “It’s bad business,” he concluded.

I sighed. “Yeah, it is, but it’s my business and I’m handling it,” I said, with a lot more confidence than I was feeling. “I’m here to solve your problem, not talk about mine.”

Varlin perked up at that and smiled, a bit of his usual bravado returning. “That’s not entirely true, now is it?” He asked. “There was something you wanted from me, too. Let’s discuss that first.”

Varlin had already switched back to business mode, which was worlds better than whatever the paranoid act he was doing before. “I’m looking for a Dr. Phaylex. They’re a Legion research scientist that specializes in advanced dolls,” I explained. “It’s possible that they may be in hiding.”

The old dwarf sat in silence for a moment before finally shaking his head and responding. “I don’t know anybody by that name,” he said. “And I’m not aware of any Legion research related to dolls.”

“Is it possible that they’re keeping it under wraps?” I asked. “Maybe they’re trying to avoid patents.”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely,” Varlin shrugged. “Dolls are expensive, and most necromancy requires some sort of soul, or at the very least, a vessel that held one at some point.”

“But what if you could manufacture a doll with a soul?” I asked.

“If you could, then there would be potential, at least enough to warrant research into it.” Varlin lifted his glass to stop me from interrupting. “But it’s not possible. You can’t create a soul.”

I took a sip from the drink that Varlin had given me, and I had to stop myself from spitting it out. It was dwarven whiskey. The extra strong type, that claimed to be 112% alcohol—which I used to think was impossible. But after tasting it, I started to question everything I thought I knew about reality.

Varlin was smiling as he sipped at his own glass. What an ass, he probably gave it to me just to see my reaction. I forced myself to swallow despite the painful burning sensation that was rushing through my entire body. Then I continued our conversation.

“Back on New Eden, I had to put down a couple of dolls,” I explained. “They had both developed soul fragments.”

My admission earned me a frown from Varlin. “Are you sure?” He asked. “How could you tell?”

“I shattered one of them.” Varlin’s brows furrowed, but I rushed through the rest of the explanation before he could respond. “I needed to cast a spell to save my life, and I was cut off from my mana at the time. The alternative was dying.”

“Even so, Bryce, shattering a soul. It's… distasteful,” said the necromancer. It was distasteful. But if I hadn’t formed that pact with Thea, then I definitely would have died. Besides, it was just a fragment. There was no guarantee that the doll would’ve gotten an afterlife even if I hadn’t shattered its soul.

“It goes beyond just those two dolls,” I explained. “We found the factory where Dr. Phaylex was working for Omni-tech. It was still running despite being officially shut down, and the dolls were strange.”

“Strange how?” Varlin asked.

“Most of them were feral, which isn’t that uncommon with decaying dolls.” I took another sip from my glass and instantly regretted it. “But there were a few that seemed… more intelligent, like self-aware.”

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“And you think this Phaylex is involved with that?” He asked.

I shrugged and set my glass on the coffee table before I could accidentally take another drink of it. “At the very least, they knew about it. They took Omni-tech to court a couple of months before the factory was shut down, then they were hired on at Legion before going silent.”

Neither of us talked while Varlin processed the new information. He eventually nodded after coming to some sort of conclusion. “So, now you’re looking to leverage the doctor to protect yourself from the corporations. That’s not going to work, and I think you know it.”

Of course I knew something like that wouldn’t work, which was why I didn’t go down that route when I first learned about the doll’s souls. And besides, I already knew enough secrets about EVI corp to blackmail them without going through a third party like Omni-tech.

The problem was that corporations just didn’t like getting blackmailed. And when a corporation didn’t like something, they responded with force. And it was usually the lethal kind.

Even if you weren't trying to blackmail them, then taking that information to the authorities only ever resulted in a failed lawsuit. Which would also be followed by lethal force, because corporations didn't like becoming the targets of lawsuits.

That was probably why Phaylex had sought out Legion for protection.

With all that being said, I didn’t want to tell Varlin why I needed to find Dr. Phaylex. So, I didn't correct him.

“They’re the only hope I have,” I said. “And I know how these corporations work. Besides, I have a plan.”

“Bryce, this better be a damned good plan.” Varlin shook his head and drained his glass before grabbing mine off the coffee table. “Fine, if Legion is hiding this doctor, then I’ll find them for you.”

“And in exchange I'll…?” I raised an eyebrow and let the question linger.

Varlin smirked, drained my glass, and stood up from the couch to get another. “I guess it’s my turn to air out the dirty laundry. Want another drink?”

“Maybe something less flammable this time?” I asked, but wasn’t hoping for much.

“I requisitioned some of your elf wine when I heard you were coming,” Varlin said. “I think you might be able to handle that a fair bit better.”

“You are the worst!” I laughed as I took the glass he offered me. The wine smelled delicious, and tasted just as good.

“Yeah, well, you may be more right than you know,” Varlin sighed. “I spent 600 years climbing the ranks, then it took me less than two decades to make admiral after a weekend of training with you. And now I’ve gone and fucked up my first command.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. Honestly, I wasn’t that surprised to learn he was having difficulties with a command. I liked Varlin, and he was an expert negotiator. But there was a pretty big difference between promising somebody something, and being the one who actually has to deliver it. He had always been much better at the former.

“I negotiated the deal to annex Zephili about a year back with the Theocracy. It was a major win that earned me the promotion to admiral,” Varlin explained.

“Zephili is a huge prize for Legion,” I said. “What did you give up to get the system, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We intercepted a Theocran ship on the edge of one of our systems.” Varlin smirked as he took a sip from his glass. “It fought back, so we destroyed it and confiscated the cargo. Which included a relic that belongs to their god.”

“You traded a single relic for an entire system?” I asked. Varlin was an excellent negotiator, but that was a bit much.

He nodded with wide eyes. “I was dealing with one of Inim’s celestials, and she was beyond determined to get the relic back. I realized her desperation and offered to give it to her in exchange for Zephili.”

“And she accepted.” I concluded, and he confirmed it with a wide-eyed nod, followed by more drinking.

“I was expecting her to refuse outright, and then negotiate down from there. But, she didn’t even try.” Varlin was gesturing wildly with his still mostly full glass in his hand. Yet he somehow didn’t spill a drop of it, there had to be some sort of dwarven magic at play. “She handed me everything on a silver platter, filled out all the correct paperwork, and before I knew it, the deal was done.”

“And now they’re reneging on that deal?” I asked.

Inim was the god of truth. Making a deal with one of his celestials should have been a sure thing. Except Inim was dead, which meant there weren’t any of his celestials left. Varlin had made his deal with a devil.

“That’s right. They’re claiming that the relic was fake, and now they’re spreading propaganda on the planet’s surface.” Varlin seemed to collapse in on himself. “The protesters shutdown all production in the system, and now there’s rioting in the streets. If I don’t do something soon, then the higher-ups are going to order me to cut our losses and just cull the whole damn planet.”

That… would be bad. “There’s 13 billion people down there,” I said.

“Now you understand why I’m so desperate for a solution,” Varlin responded. “It would be an absolute PR disaster, and I’d lose more than just my admiralty.”

That wasn’t exactly what I was worried about, but I supposed he had different priorities. Either way, solving this problem would get me what I needed, and if I saved a planet at the same time, then I wasn’t going to complain.

“How long do we have?” I asked.

“It’s hard to tell,” Varlin shrugged. “Normally, I’d be allowed a few months to solve this, but because it’s my first command as admiral, Lord Garo sent one of his creations to audit me. The thing is holding a grudge for some unknown reason and they're looking for any excuse to discredit me.”

Lord Garo was actually God-Emperor Garo, Legion’s CEO and founder. Who also, as the name implied, happened to be a god.

“By creation, you don’t mean a celestial, do you?” I asked. “Where are they?”

“Yeah, they’re a celestial, and creepy as all the hells,” he answered. "I posted them up in the comm-center, because it’s the most out of the way place I could think of that wouldn't offend them.”

I immediately sent a message through the feed. Sora, we could have a problem.

Sora responded almost immediately. Already handled it. I’m back on the ship going through the logs now. There’s some interesting stuff in here. Wanna know what kind of porn your admiral friend likes? It’s not going to surprise you.

I shut off the feed and returned to the conversation before Varlin had a chance to notice. “So, do you have any idea what you wanted to do?” I asked.

“No. Nothing I’ve tried has worked,” he replied. “I was hoping that you could come up with something.”

I took a sip from my glass while the last few pieces of a plan slid into place. “Have you tried asking them nicely to leave?”