“Really?” His eyes flashed. “So, someone could pay me to become a Citizen, huh...”
He had been a teenager the first time I’d run into him, actually about my age. I’d been using him for years, and a dozen of my Marked were under him, running all over the city on hoverbikes. He’d made a nice bonus off good recruits. I glanced at him. “There’s other ways to qualify, but they mostly rely on proven education level and income. You got any shot at those?”
“Nah,” he said realistically, crossing his arms on the handlebars. “Running courier keeps my ride up and me in threads, but I ain’t making retirement money doing this.”
“Well, I tell you what. This is a ninety-day notice. If you want a shot at Citizenship, I’ll be going in as an officer, and I’ll be taking over the whole company of recruits within a week, guaranteed. You want to serve under me, this is your time to sign up. Deliver one of these notices, and let ‘em know they can pay you. I’ll get some others willing to sign up to make a trifecta with you.”
He gave me a sharp look, then up and down Habberblok behind me, carefully keeping his eyes away from the top floors with practiced ease from where we were standing on the outshoot from 120. “Will I have to join up with you people?” he asked.
“No, but you will have a much, much easier time if you do. Or if you want to make Seven.” He was already a Two, too late to become a Null.
A flash of ambition flashed across his dark eyes. Seven was just a pipe dream for most people. “You gonna make me a bladeboy?” he asked, caught somewhere between longing and fear. He’d naturally heard the news of how much fighting we did.
“It’s too late for you to do that... unless you become a Seven. But there’s other things you can do.” I folded the draft notice and shoved it in my vest. “And let me tell you... after the fighting my boys have been doing, basic training is going to be a walk in the park.” I eyed his skinny frame. “You want to do this, do it quick, and get some training in before you go. You’ll get faster rank out of it, and a better choice of assignment. You’re competing with tens of thousands of people for the MOS you want, and a lot of them are gonna be tough lowlifes and bastards who already know how to fight, shoot, and kill people.
“You wanna stand out, you better be ready in advance.”
“Yeah,” he trailed off, his eyes flickering.
“You want a bit of free advice?” I asked him, not about to sting his pride.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“I’m a Ten.” His eyes widened despite himself. “Nobody gets handheld to Seven. You want it, you have to go get it. I can show you the road, but you’re the only one who can walk it.” I bent closer to him, and he leaned in despite himself. “Nigel, you’re a good kid and you’re smart, but you’re just like all the others who want something, and don’t want to put out the effort to get there.
“This is probably the only shot in your whole life you have a chance at Seven. Otherwise, you’re gonna end your life as a Three or Four running packages, regretting letting this go.
“Don’t fuck it up.”
He swallowed as he stared at me, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Yeah...” He looked down at his Mass Pack. “I got lots more of these to deliver today...”
“And I’m gonna need a good driver.”
His white smile showed up on his brown face brightly, and his decision was made. “Then I’m your man, Lady Sama!” he puffed up.
“Get back to work. Let the wimps fucking buy your time, I’ll get some others to contact you, and you can sell yourselves as a trio.” I held up my hand just before he took off. “So, you deliver a lot of these?”
“Yeah, at least a couple dozen every day when they send ‘em out. Gotta have witness, can’t drone ‘em.”
“How about I send you a whole bunch of trios and you charge a finder’s fee on top? Five percent, guaranteed acceptance, on the spot, pocket it all.”
His grin grew even wider. “Oh, yeah, I can definitely do that!” he agreed.
“But only if you do it first.”
His smile faded, and his face hardened for a moment, but he nodded. “Then I’ll do that.”
“And if they’ll pay you ten, or twenty, or whatever, soak ‘em.”
His grin came back. “Lady, hope you gots lots of boys ready to go!”
There was a chorus of about two hundred and fifty bings on his Band. He looked at it in shock.
“I think that’ll get you started. Once you sign up, I’ll expect you here after you get off shift.”
“You got it, Lady Sama!” He gave me a sloppy but energetic salute as he peeled off, hooked into TC, and headed for the skyway above the blok.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
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“A draft notice?” The older man on the other side of the com was clearly a bit unsightly. He had to know it was coming, but that didn’t mean he wanted his precious daughter to do her mandatory service.
Nigel smiled. “Courier code places one Miss Charity Bendlo inside. If she can please come to the door to be witnessed receiving her Notice. If you don’t want her to, I’ll mark her down as denying delivery, and the Juris can come get her when it’s time.”
The man shuddered. “No, no, it’s no problem. I’ll be right down with her.” He sighed, and logged off.
Nigel didn’t get off his bike. Couriers delivered, they sent notice ahead, and you met them, or you were already accessible. If not, you could go to a delivery station and pick up your own damn delivery while waiting in line with the other idiots who couldn’t be bothered to get Witnessed. Draft Notices especially were not something you wanted to shirk, and Juris hated having to come down to enforce them. They’d kick down the door, rampage through the house, generally in the middle of the night, grab their target, and haul them down to sit in isolation until it was time. No buying your way out if Juris had to come in after you.
It only took a minute for the door to open, and a rather sallow-complexioned father and his wide-eyed, very petite and cute daughter was right there, staring at the messenger on his hoverbike outside their Upspire door.
“Miss Charity Bendlo, if you would open your Draft Notice and acknowledge that you have received and understood what this means.”
She took the old-style envelope with small, trembling hands, looking at her father pleadingly.
He looked both ashamed and protective. Nigel remained composed as she slowly opened it and read it quickly.
“Ninety days,” she whispered, very softly.
“If you could give me a hand and eye scan.” He held out his slate, and she automatically locked onto it, blinked twice, and swiped her hand over it. Nigel nodded, took it back, and did the same. “Witnessed and verified,” he said calmly, started to turn away, and then looked back. “You looking at buying out your draft, Miss Bendlo?” he asked off-handedly.
She instantly looked at her dad, whose eyes narrowed. “What if I am?” the man responded warily.
Nigel waved, and three spinning profiles hovered above his Band. “I know three guys looking for Citizenship. They are medicae-vetted, top-grade physicals and mentals, Juris Auxiliary backgrounds, willing to be bought out. Forms are pre-filled, you just give a double-scan with a witness, and you are done.” He paused, and just as the man started to open his mouth, Nigel went on, “Of course, such high-grade Natives come at a premium. You know that if a replacement washes out, dies, is medically or mentally unfit, they come down and get your girl anyways. These three come from the Green and Gold, and their chance of passing through Basic is basically a walk. Furthermore, G&G guarantees a replacement if they die during training, if you’re willing to pony up the additional fee at that time.
“I got two hundred and forty of these boys, and over the next week I’ll be delivering more than that in Draft Notices... as will my crew. I got three minutes before I have to be on my way to my next delivery.
“You want to buy out her Draft?”
The eyes of the Bendlos met, and the father sighed. “The Green and Gold? Aren’t they associated with the Rantha Corp?”
Nigel hid a smile. “I think so. Smack in their territory downspire. Handle Blok security and shoot a lot of zwilniks, by the Boole chatter.”
“Right.” He held up his band, his account transfer already opening. “How much?”
Nigel still didn’t smile on the outside, but he was laughing on the inside as the money was transferred.
Fuck ’em, he charged the rich twit fifty percent! And this first one was his own, of course. The man wouldn’t give a shit about the money if his tender little princess didn’t have to go slogging through the grime with a bunch of low-born scum.
Nigel tipped his helm as the deal was closed, while the girl was almost weeping for joy at getting out of her obligation to society so easily. Useless thing...
As Nigel pulled away, he promised himself he’d never let any kids he had ever be like that... and he’d never be like that dad, either, who doubtless had his own Draft bought out.
He thought about it, and then sent a message off on his Band to Lady Sama, despite himself. [Hey, Big Red, I just sold three of us to an Upspire twit for fifty percent premium. You might just want to make this formal and charge even more.]
The reply came back seconds later. [We’ll have a site set up shortly, thank you for the recommendation. Those names are yours to sell and keep. Once they run out, we’ll give you a referral fee for everyone you send to the site. Let your crew know, and we’ll start sending trios to them. If they can sell fifty Drafts, they’ll keep it all, if they volunteer themselves. Otherwise, we’ll give them a referral fee.]
And bing, they already had the logo for Green and Gold Native Draft Notice Replacements up, and were adding more graphics at a dizzying pace as he watched.
He grinned despite himself. Yeah, yeah... he was going to make a fuckload of money off selling eighty trios, and then he was going to join up and be the driver for an Emperor-damned Ten bitch who lived with goddamn ghosts...
---------
-We can waive that Draft Notice,- Philius /told me, looking a bit pensive.
-No. I don’t need to be on the ground to do most of what needs to be done. I’ll get a couple of the girls to work up to Black Night Specialist, and there’s no reason you can’t recruit me for Night duty if you need me.- I understood his concerns, however. -Oh, yeah, I’m pretty sure this is a maneuver by someone pissed with what I’m doing. I shouldn’t have received my Notice until I turned twenty-one, and as a Purchased Citizenship, I don’t have the option of buying it out. There’s gonna be plants in my chain of command and among the draftees.
-If you could exercise some pull and get me the ID’s of the draftees and officers, we’ll start right now on identifying who has been bought.-
-That will not be an issue,- Sir Dorval /said. The Coronals were technically a military order, while the Umbrans were mixed intelligence and government, sitting squarely atop the bureaucracy and the Juris.
-We’ll be quite happy to trace back any funding if possible,- Philius /added. The Umbrans were always eager to know more about the forces attempting to undermine their supply lines.
-Acknowledged. I will have a second batch of daughters coming online in four weeks. If you’d like to draw up a training program, I’ll have them arranging some Guards for you, headed up by Joleen and Katrisha. They should be able to show up and hit the ground running with your Squires. And if you want to have a lot of daughters by either of them, neither of you will mind the process a bit.-
Both men /sighed, because they absolutely knew I was right. Joleen’s Talent was Valorous Soul, and Katrisha’s was The Great Detective... or Supergirl and Batgirl, if you wanted to look at it that way, perfect for the Orders.