Treasures!

Treasures!

The Treasure Pavilion tab exploded into a series of more tabs, sub tabs, pictures in tabs, and a bewildering swarm of lists.

“What am I looking at?” Truth muttered.

“Basically, a shopping mall. It works like this- everyone who is connected to the System has access to the Treasure Pavilion. HOWEVER. Not everyone has the same access to the treasure pavilion. For example, think “Needler Talismans.”

Truth did, and the clutter suddenly simplified. Five needler talismans floated in front of him, with their name, a short description, technical specifications and a price attached.

“Woah!”

“Yep. Now, the needler on the left is a less-lethal model suitable for civilian use. You have probably seen mall cops with the same model. Everyone assigned to Security can rent or purchase them. The next two are military grade. You probably trained on at least one of them during your National Service. You have access to those because you are in the PMC. The last two are foreign made and have some unusual effects. You can purchase or rent them because you have been assigned to the PMC and are a recognized Master of Arms. Get it?”

“Yep. So if I was assigned to, say, transportation, would there be wagons on there?”

“Right idea, but no, we generally provide the wagons. On the other hand, if you were in talisman or fetish production, there might be specialized tools available.”

“Got it. I assume it is also limited by level and tier?”

“Correct.” She did another awkward cheer pose. “Sorry, magical compulsion. Anyhow. A lot of stuff in there is pretty generic. Think “Sofa.”

Truth did, and was suddenly swarmed by dozens of pictures of sofas.

“Damn, I didn’t know this many kinds of sofas existed.”

“If it’s made by Starbrite, or sold by a Starbrite store, it’s probably in the Treasure Pavilion. Something like 97% of the total volume of goods in the Pavilion is generic stuff that can be bought by any random civilian with a bit of cash. We just sell it for much cheaper than you could buy it in a civilian store. Do I need to mention that reselling goods purchased in the shop is considered a disciplinary offense?” The Sprite asked.

“You do not.”

“Oh good. Now, this is the part I do think you should be investing in- think “Cultivation resources.”

A bewildering range of incense, crystals, lotions, potions, syringes, eye drops, ear drops and enemas suddenly appeared. Each one boasting its unique virtues. None of them, even with Truth’s generous salary, struck him as cheap.

“Men’s clothes.”

He almost blacked out from all the results.

“Fancy mens clothes! Suits!”

The number was reduced, but he was still under siege.

“These are not cultivation resources. These are clothes.” The sprite said disapprovingly.

“I know, but... I think all my clothes suck? And maybe I should get better clothes?”

Truth reported for duty at the offices of the Starbrite Private Military Company. And they really were offices. He took a nice elevator up to the fourth floor (of seventy, they were still security,) went through a glass door, past a receptionist who gave Truth a polite smile and directed him towards a not particularly comfortable chair. The office space was painfully generic. If it wasn’t for the sign printed on the glass of the door, he would have no idea where he was. Exactly five minutes later, exactly at the time he was supposed to meet his new boss, the new boss strode out into the waiting area. She was wearing a suit, but there was no question that she was military.

“Truth Medici? Good to meet you. Oke Clavegaugh, she/her, or in your case, Ma'am. I am the Regional Director, South-East Jeon Region, of the Starbrite PMC. Or, again, to you, I’m Captain Clavegauh. The PMC can be confusing. We have our ranks and positions in the company, but for internal organizational purposes, we use military ranks. Follow me down to our facility.”

The explosion of personality and charisma that was Captain Clavegaugh swept past Truth and back towards the elevators. She seemed to personify the phrase “tough old bird,” and Truth secretly rejoiced that she felt no need to smile at him at all, politely or otherwise. As they went down to the basement, Captain Clavegaugh kept up her monologue.

“You are starting at C-9-U, or as we call it, a Private. No first or second class, just Private. In normal security, that’s an F-9-L job, bottom of the pyramid. It is good to be in the PMC.” She grinned.

“Normally, PMC Private is a C-9-L position, but you are apparently a Master of Arms and a former corporal, so C-9-U is the absolute lowest we can start you at. And we have to start you that low, because that is the absolute highest you can be and still be a Private, and everyone starts as a Private. No exceptions. It also means that, unless you spectacularly screw up, you can expect a promotion to Corporal in eight months to a year. This won’t bump your grade up any, because it’s considered a lateral promotion from your current status as a specialist. It does, however, fast track you for Sergeant, which does come with a bump up in grade and pay.”

Truth nodded along. Was that a fast promotion? He had no idea. Still, it's always good to hear how your new boss planned to promote you.

“I’m explaining all this because you are likely going to want to transfer in a few weeks.” They got to the basement and walked down a long concrete corridor. They walked through an unmarked pair of fire doors into what looked to Truth to be a combination locker room, armory, and training facility.

“The PMC gets thrown into everything. Even things that blatantly don’t need an actual soldier, like bodyguard duties for celebrities or escorting packages of modestly secret information. Oddly, it’s that shit, not the firefights, that make people want to quit.” She gave Truth a hard look. “Gut it out. You are in Starbrite for life, and you are on a goddamn promotion rocket in the PMC, if you play your cards right. You hear me, Soldier?”

“Yes Ma'am!” She smiled at that. Not a polite smile, an officer smile. Totally different thing.

“Good. Before I turn you over to Sergeant Murthey, I have two questions for you. First- Why did you join Starbrite?”

“Ma'am. It was the best way out of the slums for me and my siblings, Ma'am.”

“Older brother type. You will go far if you don’t get yourself killed. Alright, question two.” She looked at Truth oddly. “You really got a classified medal during your National Service? Never mind being a Master of Arms at 18, how does a conscript, who should be directing traffic at a not too challenging intersection, get a classified medal?”

“Ma'am. It’s classified, Mam. But yes, I did earn a classified Medal while repairing an air conditioner, Ma'am.”

The Captain shot Truth a hard look, snorted, and called Sergeant Murthey over. The Sergeant was a lean, rangy man, with narrow eyes that could be smiling, or not. It was hard to say. He certainly sounded much more mild than the sergeants Truth remembered from the Army.

“Alright, here’s the one credit tour. Your locker has your name on it. It is over there. Showers are attached to the locker room. Towels are provided, because we are fancy. Range is through the door marked “Range.” Do not go in if the red light is on. Same as when you were in the Army. Armory is through the door marked Armory. Do not go in there at all, unless ordered. Same as when you were in the Army. The ready room, aka the lounge, is past the Armory on the left. It has vending machines and a hot box. It’s got a fridge too, if you feel like donating food and drink to your coworkers.” Murthey waved at everything as they made their way to the range.

“You are the newest member of B Squad, First Platoon. You will meet your squad mates... right now!” The door to the range opened. It was interesting- clearly set up with illusory targets and meant to simulate battlefield conditions. The squad waved and shouted hello. Seemed like a nice bunch. Fingers crossed.

“Now, before we do the meet and greet, I think we all want to see if you earned that Master of Arms badge. Care to give us a demonstration?” Murthy challenged.

Truth looked at the long row of talismans and fetishes laid out. It was actually a pretty interesting selection. Needlers, fireballs, acid, focused sound, focused light, even something that created a blizzard of saw blades and sent them rocketing down range. (Not that effective, actually, but it scared the piss out of people and made them keep their heads down.) There were around thirty of them.

“You set up the targets?” He asked Murthey.

“All set and waiting for you.”

“Alright, but let's make one change. I don’t pick the weapons. The squad can hang on to them, and when you want me to change it up, yell “Change!” I’ll drop what I’m using, catch what you toss me, and use that. Sound good?”

“Oh, I think we can manage that.”

Truth grinned at the squad. “Hey everyone, I’m Truth Medici. I’m good at violence and talisman maintenance, so if you need help with those things, hit me up. Everything else, I’m kind of shit at. So I’m going to be asking you for a lot of help. Now. Who’s got my first toy?”