One in a Million
A million earned for a minute's work. A whole digit added to the file clerk's account for murdering a president of a country he can't pronounce.
A woman with sergeant bars knocks on his cubicle wall. "Review in the Rapunzel room."
Isben taps his work screen. "I need to go home sick."
"Lucille will feed you donuts with crushed glass if you cancel again."
"That doesn't work. If it's fine enough not to be noticed, then it's too fine to kill. At most it'd be a minor irritant."
The woman taps on a tablet. "Six minutes or I'm betting a written reprimand. No possibility of transfer for years and blacklisted until she gets a conscience." She smirks. "Good luck with that."
Isben speed walks to a door with a full-sized picture of the long-haired Disney princess.
The human resources manager is flanked by two large men with body armor and assault weapons. "Isben you're one in a million."
"I'm sorry?"
"Top percentile on your Lucid Score. You may be able to use the Web anonymously, but you didn't think your results would be?"
"Should I have my union rep here?"
"That's your right, but this isn't a status review anymore. It's a hiring interview."
"What's the job?"
"We need your help catching President Hachi's assassin."
"Of... um..."
"Of Djibouti."
