First Day

[Rusty]

Rusty no longer personally handled every single job interview for RCFC. The company was simply too big for that these days, and after a particularly harrowing week, Koko had finally convinced him to let others handle interviews. It had lessened his workload tremendously, and freed up a lot more time to spend in the shop, cooking up insane weapons. It was a win for everyone, except perhaps for the hiring managers, who spent day in and day out interviewing scads of barely literate candidates for positions that were probably best filled by someone with a doctorate. Less than 5 percent of applicants made it past the first interview, and fewer than one percent were hired on in any capacity.

That meant that while on any given day dozens of applicants might be interviewed, the Shard could still afford to greet new hires in person. A busy week might see three or four, but even that was rare. Today he only had to see one, a fellow by the name of [member="Jansal Corego"]. Apparently he was a Mandalorian, or related to the Mandalorians, or something. Honestly, the background given to him by his hiring team was sparse, but hey, that's what the meeting was for. Rusty liked to meet new hires personally because there were things that couldn't be conveyed by a few lines of text.

Today he was in his regular droid chassis, rather than the HRD. The chassis had started life as a suit of powered armor, and had been heavily modified to both move under its own steam and be controlled by the Shard. The end appearance was a sight to behold. Tall, hulking, and dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, Rusty resembled nothing so much as a war droid playing at being a CEO. Which, to be fair, he was. Ordinarily he favored more pedestrian attire: combat boots, sturdy jeans, flannel shirt, and a hooded cloak, but he had an important business meeting scheduled later that afternoon, and needed to be sure that the suit was up to the task. His head, a polished chrome facsimile of a human skull, gleamed brightly in the harsh lighting of the office. His silver photoreceptors, normally the only part of his face visible, seemed dull by comparison.

The office was what one might expect from a CEO of a large company. The carpet was a lush burgundy that was specifically designed not to crush under the extremely heavy footfalls of the Shard. The walls were lined with wood paneling, some dark stained exotic from a world that Rusty couldn't recall. The center of the room was dominated by a massive oak desk. One wouldn't know by looking at it, but the drawers were filled with an assortment of offensive weaponry rather than paperwork. Rusty was a big fan of keeping enough firepower on hand to take on a small army, if necessary. There were no windows, owing to the fact that the office was located several hundred feet underground, another security precaution.

The room would have been quite handsome if not for the perpetually disorganized state. Despite the best efforts of both Koko, Rusty's personal assistant, and the army of cleaning droids that roamed the halls, chaos always seemed to triumph over order. The desk was cluttered with reams of paperwork and loose datapads. Boxes of documents piled up along the walls, and there was hardly a horizontal space that wasn't occupied by a weapon of some sort. There were no paperweights in here; Rusty preferred to use one of the many pistols he kept handy to keep the climate control system from blowing documents around. The back wall was occupied by an enormous and extremely old fashioned chalk board. The board was covered in technical drawings, notes, and random equations for everything from impact energy of a round at a certain distance to logistics calculations. The room had a musty odor reminiscent of old books and chalk dust, mingled with the sharp tang of gun oil and burned cordite. It wasn't hard to guess where the cordite scent came from. Much of the wood paneling on the walls was riddled with bullet holes. A close examination would reveal that the walls were backstopped by a thick layer of ballistic cloth. The Shard's temper had been taken into account when the room was built.

This was a working office, no doubt about it. Though nothing about its current state was artifice, Rusty was aware of the affect it could have on the uninitiated, which was why he liked to meet with new hires in here. The room was a microcosm of RCFC as a whole. Though the company had put on airs of respectability, it was still very much the project of a lonely gunsmith who was quite baffled at the notion that his shop in a rented building had grown into a galactic player in the weapons trade.

Employees were afforded the same freedom to either coast along in a comfortable niche or succeed beyond their wildest dreams. No one, from the janitor on up to the Board of Directors, occupied less than the top percentile of their chosen field. As such, if a designed wanted to spend their career perfecting a single aspect of a favored technology, so long as they continued to show consistent progress, they were allowed to putter around in their workshop and tinker. If, however, they wanted to revolutionize the arms business, they were given the tools to follow their ambition. Many employees spent most of their time on the battlefield, testing and refining their weapons in the crucible of combat. Roughly 30% of all the weapons designers viewed their work with RCFC as their secondary employment, and Rusty was fine with that. You never truly knew how well a gun would work until you needed to trust it with your life, and though casualties among this segment of the workforce tended to be high, they produced some of the most rugged and reliable products the company sold.

Rusty stood as Koko ushered in the new hire. What was his name again?

Ah, yes.

"Mr. Corego, I presume. It's a pleasure to meet you."

 

[Jansal Corego]

It had taken Jansal quite some time to get ready; well, in considering the work he attempted to hire on for and the company's reputation as a whole, he had to determine how to appropriately present himself in a physical manner, both in posture and in dress. Posture, a few minutes at the mirror handled that, not that it amounted to anything; he settled on the usual - what he called the Corego poise. In fact, it was no different than any other average humanoid, though it read into a bit of military background, evident by the stiffness and the confident eye contract, and eagerness, with the unhesitating swiftness with which he directed himself about. Attire was another matter, one spent stepping about, pacing, or spinning at a desk chair; ultimately, he decided on his own custom armor - heavy, of course, and uncomfortable. However, he felt it would display his ability at both armorcrafting and modification, as well as combat - baquor, calacord, cerillium, durasteel, plastoid; it remained evident he knew his way around his materials and textiles.

Ushered in by the assistant, he stood at attention, a weathered cloak draped around his armor to prevent dust and ilk from creeping into the nooks and crevices, only to spill out over this fine establishment; a forethought he silently thanked himself for. Greeted by the rather oppressive-appearing CEO of RCFC, with his helmet clamped tightly beneath his armpit, he smiled widely and extended his hand. (It was only an afterthought, post-extension, he considered he might lose it, considering the likelihood of the Shard's amazing strength.) "Yes, and you must be Mr. Rusty." What is the appropriate way to refer to a Shard otherwise? Do they have sexes? Titles? They live in mechanical bodies, for feth's sake - he'd have better luck guess formalities with a pack of nexu. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well." His eyes darted around the room - yes, scars ran along the wall, from blasters; he wondered what that was about? A temper? Were those shots taken at employees? Maybe he was just attacked. But why? Who cared, down to business; Jansal had somewhere to be, he didn't have all night to sit here an investigate why a weapons manufacturer used weapons in his office.

"So," Jansal began, "Will I be undertaking the interview with you? If so, I'm certain you're well aware of my resume's outstanding points." All of them, forged - the only thing genuine was his name, not even his age; the less of an inevitable paper trail he left behind, the better. "Lifetime spent within the Mandalorian corps, left at twenty-eight to pursue a career with Morellian Security with my fiance; retired to run a local armor shop for some time before circumstances led me to turn to bounty hunting." He nodded with approval at his own statements. "As you see here, I have one of my earlier specimens built off of my father's old Mando'a armor; he never managed to obtain rights to use beskar'gam, so the primary body armor is largely composed of light, polycarbonate armor outfitted over flex-armor." True to his statement, he flexed his arms; more out of discomfort than to flaunt his achievement. "While the external armor is largely polycarbonate, reinforced with duranium, additional bands of calacord are wrung around the flightsuit, both exposed at key joints, and beneath the plating for additional defense - however, despite its weight, it is overwhelming oriented for tactical superiority."

Now, he was just damn well beaming with pride, which poured out from a concealed, exhausted body, corralled into an expression but betrayed nothing but exasperated fulfillment. "Though I do maintain my mercenary profession on the side, largely to keep myself in shape, I do seek more steady employment," he breathed. "I hope to utilize my experience to become an asset to your growing company."

[member="Rusty"]

 

[Rusty]

Rusty couldn't smile. His face didn't have the capacity. None the less, he gave the impression of grinning as the merc rattled off the high points of his resume. The fact that most of it was forged didn't bother him in the slightest. RCFC had access to better background checks than most through the Shard Network, and while the resume might have been purest poodoo, that armor was not. The interviewer had been most impressed, which is why [member="Jansal Corego"] had been offered a job. It wasn't uncommon for mercs to throw down a false paper trail. It got them an interview, and if they had the skills to match the bluster, that, as they say, was that.

"That is an impressive piece of kit," Rusty said, his gravelly voice rattling around the room. "You've already got the job, this meeting is more of a formality. I like to get the feel for new employees in person."

The Shard cleared the various gun parts off the room's only other chair, a comfortable looking office-style seat that was currently stained with gun oil. He motioned for the mercenary to have a seat.

"If it's steady employment you're after, we can definitely help you there. We have quite a few mercenaries on staff from a variety of backgrounds. Our workshops and labs are open around the clock. You come in whenever you feel like, stay as long as you like, and leave when the mood hits. Submit your hours at the end of the week, along with a summary of activities, and you're good to go. If you're in the field, any time spent testing or improving a weapons system that you plan to submit is billable, so long as you include a detailed report of how things go. There's no cap on hours worked, so long as you're actually working."

After a few minutes of digging through the stack of datapads on the desk, Rusty found the one that had the requisite forms.

"If you're in a situation where you don't think you'll be able to safely send in your time sheet, simply make a best guess in advance of how much time you think you'll likely be working and we'll advance you the funds. Once you pull through, submit an amended time sheet and we'll address any corrections. If you get killed, well, feel free not to report back in."

By this point, Rusty had navigated his way back around the clutter to his own chair.

"We rely heavily on the honor system here at RCFC. Results are prioritized over nitpicking every moment billed to the company. That's not to say that we don't have any sort of accountability."

Again the impression of a grin, though this time the expression was altogether more sinister.

"We might be the only company in the galaxy to employ a team of combat accountants. A handful of discrepancies over time might be ignored, but I can assure you, you don't want to incur an audit. If you're cleared of wrongdoing, no harm no foul. If you're caught actively cheating the system, however..."

The Shard trailed off into silence, but the feeling of menace intensified. And just like that, it was gone.

"I'm sure you won't have to worry about that. Take care of us, and we'll take care of you. You'll also be delighted to note that, for our employees who do mercenary work on the side, we have an extremely comprehensive healthcare plan. Not only will we patch you up if you get blown up, we also handle chronic conditions that tend to develop as a result of the mercenary lifestyle, such as arthritis and hearing loss. We also cover mental health as well, though I've yet to have anyone take me up on that. Do you have any questions?"

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Rusty"]

Well, damn, if this didn't sound like a done deal, he didn't know what was; "No, sir," he replied, almost smiling. Almost, that far too familiar word; this was business, as far as he was concerned. Business and pleasure, pleasure which included emotional vulnerability, don't mix - not that he was perfect, nor was he bound by some angst that forced him to withdraw into himself. No, it was strictly professionalism. The armor had done its trick, he figured; the equipment testing would also be invaluable for missions as well. Ultimately, scoring this job might easily be the best thing that's happened to him - loans for starships and armor repairs, no longer! He'd make more money while doing what he loved to make money, it was a merc's dream; well, there it was again, almost. Signing up for full-time employment, that was an additional paper trail, as was using prototypical weapons on the battlefield; however, it was a big galaxy, he figured. All this meant was that, if they came back looking for him, they'd find a big, nasty shard in a business suit instead.

And that suited him just fine.

He cracked a smile. Dammit, not how it works. Luckily, the helmet shielded it from view. "Actually," Jansal said, "I do have one quick question." He glanced around - he was sitting in the chair; how the hell did he get there? Was he truly that absent-minded the entire time? He was going to get himself killed! "Though I do generously accept your offer of the job, as I am, er - I was seeking steady employment under the RCFC, I still intend to pursue other temporary work contracts; as you said, I'll utilize the weapons during these runs, two gundarks with one stone, as I say. However, I take work on a variety of bases, not fixated on time, but rather on contract holder - I have a policy of never turning down work that I am personally sought for; I have worked with factions in the past, oft-against other governments and militant organizations with deadly efficiency. I may be Mandalorian by blood, but my heart is always with my mind, and my mind is set on two words alone: Maximum. Benefit. So I'll need to know whether or not this company has any distinct policies regarding to relations with any known organizations..."

"And where would me being hired to shoot them come into play?"

 

[Rusty]

Again, that intangible grin from Rusty.

"RCFC is neutral towards all parties. We sell to anyone, and we've no qualms about what contracts you might take. However, we do ask that you not get caught doing anything that might make the news in a bad way. Get captured trying to defend an orphanage, and we'll give you every consideration. Get captured trying to blow up an orphanage, and we've never heard of you. We'll bury the paper trail so deep, not even a forensic accountant with a time machine and a bottle of truth serum could tell you so much as set foot in our office."

It was one of those things that came with working with mercenaries. They were prepared to accept as much good press as they could shovel on, but the instant they became a liability, they were cut loose. Most of them found it comforting, in a way. It was so very mercenary.

"If you give us a heads up beforehand if you think things might go pear shaped, we can usually work with you. We don't need details, but a general idea of the level of fallout we need to prepare for helps. If everything goes smoothly, no harm no foul. If not, we'll take it from there. We haven't had anything too bad fall in our laps yet, but we did have a case where a team was hired to assist in a coup and got caught. We were able to dig up some serious sentient rights violations perpetrated by the government they were trying to overthrow, and managed to spin the press to make the mercs look like brave freedom fighters. They got a nice bonus, because the people rose up and overthrew the dictator, and we got a fat contract out of the deal. As an old friend of mine use to say, proper planning prevents piss poor performance. Given a little lead time, we can iron out just about any wrinkles that might pop up."

[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Rusty"]

"I was more worried of intervention than anything," replied Jansal, lounging back into the chair; he wasn't comfortable, quite the opposite in fact - the plating dug into his skin in a variety of places. However, he had no intention of appearing ungrateful; in fact, it was very much the opposite - with this in hand, he might be able to start putting things back together again. "But it's good to hear that. I wouldn't worry about any negative consequences to come worming back this route, I'm not one for failure nor bread crumb trails for them follow me by. I screw up, they stay stagnant; then I come back for them on a personal level." He smiled again, this time purely based on the consensus that this was, in fact, a professional gesture, not a matter of human instinct; however, still, his employer would fail to see it. Perhaps it would show in his voice. "I hate leaving a mess," he explained. "You see, I have a contract that will be taking me to Morellia in a week or so, I just wanted to make sure I wouldn't find any unnecessary hiccups where I had failed to predict them; it's a delicate matter." His thumbs bounced together, hands clasped; sentients had the tendency to prattle when met with silence - perhaps false indulgence would open up later avenues.

However, he did not carry on further - it was one matter to expand an avenue of conversation or understanding of his character in a controlled environment, another to exploit his employer's patience and spill a story that might be quite unnecessary. In fact, overall unnecessary; matters best be laid out on-hand, thus their discussion, as it were, best focus on resolving his questions. Well, not that there were any left; he had assessed what he could from Rusty's explanations, the rest, in due time, were already answered; all that was left were formalities and seeing how quickly he could take his newfound armory for a spin. He needed the credits, no doubt about that; but the prospect of retaining a mobile system of free prototypical weaponry? That was something truly being excited over. "But, I'm certain my reassurances may fall on deaf ears, overall; I fear, they ultimately come across as unnecessary on my end - likely yours as well. Whatever issues I may face, you ultimately are equipped to handle before they spin out of control. Until then, or even then, this arrangement will continue to be extremely beneficial to the both of us, I'm certain."

 

[Rusty]

"Here's hoping," Rusty said as he rose from his chair. "I'd hate to have to fire another hiring manager. The last guy holed up in his office with a box of grenades that he didn't realize could be remote detonated. Took weeks to scrub what was left of him off the walls."

As far as interviews went, the Shard thought this one had been a good one. He had a good feeling about [member="Jansal Corego"]. Granted, the guy was probably as unhinged as any of the other mercenaries that worked for RCFC, but honestly, he had a hard time seeing that as a bad thing. Well-adjusted mercenary was an oxymoron. So long as they didn't topple over the line between sane and psychopath, he didn't much care, and his reservations about the psychopathic breed were mainly because they refused to do paperwork.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to work. The Joint Offensive Kinetic Employment lab says they've got something diabolical they want to put to market, and I've got to make sure the crazy bastards won't get us all killed or worse, sued. Hope you enjoy working with us."

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Rusty"]

"Holing up with explosives leaves room to compromise one's own security," Jansal responded. "I'd pick a slugthrower and a table over that any day."

The mercenary followed suit, rising from his chair stiffly, armor clattering about; he muscles ached from the bands of metal which tightened over his flesh - he'd need to readjust them at some point. "Of course, it was a pleasure, Mr. Rusty. Pray, I hope things go well with the lab. I expect to enjoy myself thoroughly - in fact, I'll be heading directly into the field once we finish. Perhaps I could round something up that needs testing and take it with me; it's easy work, plenty of opportunity to play with my food." He drew his arms over his chest, his leisure taking hold over the professional stance - largely egged on by apparent discomfort; he'd be hopping out of this suit as soon as humanely possible. "Again, it's been a pleasure - I'm certain you'll find my an excellent asset." He departed first, only after extending his hand in offering, then left into the corridor; he pulled the helmet over his head, allowing the dark mane of shaggy hair to fall around his shoulders - today was a good day, of that he was certain. Credits would being rolling in momentarily and, with finances in hand, he'd be a single step closer to securing his very own future.