Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by Roman_K
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Tuesday, 20 September 2005 |
-41:20
Viktor was sitting in a small office in the Doctor's complex, rifling through some papers. It had taken him some time to select some likely victim-er, candidates. It had also taken him some time to contact them, to agree on a meeting place, and to take one of the Doctor's Advanced Stealth Submarines to pick them up. Unfortunately, it then took him an additional forty minutes to get them to notice the Advanced Stealth Submarine. While a sub that could remain unseen just about anywhere was useful on many occasions, it could be a damn nuisance sometimes.
The Doctor was still… resting, as far as Viktor could see. It was one of Those Times, again. He should have been more vigilant of the Doctor's caffeine consumption.
With a sign he buzzed in the first candidate. Resumes were a problem with the kind of people who usually applied for this job. They tended to be chronic liars, for example. There was no end to the 'I beat Superman once' claims. Only after they were hired it came out that the 'Superman' in question was nothing more than the building super where the used to live, and that they were really on the recieving end of these beatings. Not to mention that in plenty of cases literacy wasn't one of their abilities…
Oh well, thought Viktor, at least poker nights were fairly profitable. The entry of the first applicant cut off his thought stream.
"Yes, would you sit down please, er," Viktor looked through the file in front of him, "Jack?"
"Yeah," said the wiry man, sitting down. Viktor saw, through the haphazard thing on the man's head that might have been hair once* that the man had a slightly hunted look on his face.
"Yes, now," said Viktor, looking through the file again, "It says here that you were once known as 'Jack the Happy Bouncing Clown'?"
Jack shifted in his seat. "Yeah," was all he said again.
"Says here under 'job experience' that you used to do children's parties," said Viktor.
The hunted look on the former clown's face increased tenfold. "Please! Don't remind me about that! Worst five years of my life, those were! Lil' buggers damn near ruined my life! And the suit! And the bad jokes! It's was all too much! Clowns're all slaves I tell you, slaves! Slaves to humanity's bad taste and atrophied sense of humor! Well, I've decided to put a stop to it all! I'm here to earn a little cash, maybe get some experience in the Evil Mad Genius business, and then," and at this point he was practically frothing at the mouth, "the little kiddies won't be laughing any more, no they won't!"
Viktor wrote something down in the file. This one certainly had some possibilities, he thought, although he thought a bit too much of himself. Time to see if he fitted the other requirements.
"Now then, " said Viktor, pen in hand, "What's your IQ?"
"Don't remember really." said Jack. "I know it wasn't enough to pass the test for Regional Senior Clown. Does that help?"
"Yes Jack, it certainly does," said Viktor, marking the 'Is likely to be beaten by the goldfish in checkers' box in the file. "Say, Jack," said Viktor, raising his gaze from the file, "would you like to try your luck in checkers against our pet goldfish?"
"What? How does a goldfish play checkers?" asked Jack.
"Oh, it's quite simple, really," said Viktor. "The Doc had some computerized interface made for it. Basically, it swims in a certain way in it's little aquarium when it wants to make a move. So, what do you say?"
"Well, I dunno…" said Jack.
"We could even make a small wager," added Viktor conspirationally.
Jack immediately brightened up. "Really? Werl, I think I can damn well beat a damn goldfish at checkers! What staked did you have in mind?" he asked.
"Oh never mind. We'll discuss it later," said Viktor, marking another small box on the sheet. This one had 'Money! Money! Money!' written next to it. "Well," he said, ",it would appear you fit our criterias for the role. Welcome aboard." he said, and shook the clown-turned-canon-fodder's hand. "Go and pick your uniform in room 16B, and find yourself a room in the living area. Oh, and I would value your opinion on the new uniform design. I thought that black with red polka-dots would be a nice touch." he added with an afterthought.
"And send in the next one, will you!" he shouted at the former clown's quickly retreating back. Apparently the new prospect of a new uniform and improved uniform didn't make him too happy.
When the next applicant entered, Viktor decided that he had before him living proof that mankind had evolved from apes. Take a gorilla, shave it, and then put it in a bad suit, and you will still get something that wasn't as scary as what was standing in front of Viktor.
"Sit?" he quavered.
The only reply he got was a grunt, and the brute sat down. How the chair managed to hold together was anyone's guess.
Viktor smiled, in an attempt to convince the mountain of muscle in front of him that he was quite harmless, and that turning him into a human coat-hanger was quite unnecessary. He stopped smiling when he realized that the monstrosity's cranial capabilities were probably not developed enough to interpret such a sign.
Since there wasn't a resume for this applicant in Viktor's pile, he decided that this was probably one of the illiterate ones. "Name?" he finally asked, taking a blank form from a drawer.
"Brock," rumbled the man.
"That's an… interesting name, er, Brock," said Viktor, carefully writing it down. "Previous occupation?"
There was no reply.
"What you did before you came here, is what I mean," said Viktor patiently.
"Bouncer for da mob," was the rumble this time. Viktor immediately brightened up. For the first time since he himself came into the Doctor's employ, there was someone who actually had some useful job experience.
"You're hired," he said immediately. "You can keep wearing that suit of yours, and I'll even find a pair of sunglasses for you. You'll probably be the Doctor's personal bodyguard. How does that sound to you, Brock?"
Brock shrugged. It was all the same for him.
"Great!" said Viktor. "Go and find a room for yourself. Don't worry if it has someone's stuff in it already. He probably doesn't need them anymore."
After the big man left the office, Viktor looked through the remaining resumes. They looked pretty bleak to him. The next applicant, a man dressed in old, torn clothing, and smelling strongly of drink, entered the room and sat down.
Viktor was surprised. It wasn't usual for street bums to seek employment in this particular trade. The file made it all clear, though. "So, you used to be a school-teacher, then?"
* * *
*Imagine a straw wig. A very bad straw wig.
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