"Join Me - write a drabble about one character giving another character an offer"

"Corporal, there you are."

Baird looked up from his work. He was trying to revive a 'Dill but someone had scrapped most of its engine; if he couldn't get it running tomorrow, he'd bust into it and salvage what was left.

But now Chairman Prescott had deemed Baird worthy of a visit, and he quickly wiped his hands on the rag he'd stashed in his belt. "Chairman," he said with a respectful nod. "What brings you down here?"

The Chairman took a brief interest in what Baird was doing—a short glance at the 'Dill's engine, a murmured sound, but the expression on his face said it all. I'm too high and mighty to play in this filth.

"I have a proposition for you, Damon—may I call you that?"

"You're the leader of the state here, sir. You could call me Lucy if you wanted."

The humor didn't seem to phase Prescott. He ignored it and continued, "Yes, well, I've been watching you recently, Corporal. You do good work. Your service history leaves much to be desired, but you have an exemplary mind. A harsh penchant for killing, of course, but otherwise you're valuable to me."

Baird felt his face start to twist with confusion but immediately schooled it into a blank, pleasant mask. Damn, he hadn't played politics for a while; his skills were rusty after seven years of disuse. But why did he have to play the game? He wasn't the son of a prestigious magistrate. He was Damon S. Baird, grunt in the COG army. He had carved his own name in life.

So he gave up on trying to be good little Damon.

"I'm flattered, sir, but I'd rather not get tangled up in politics. Imagine the gossip if it got out the respectable Chairman Prescott had a gay lover."

Baird had hoped to disarm Prescott, and he did. Prescott openly squirmed at the brutality of the blond man's joke. Maybe he expected Baird to be diplomatic, after all.

"That's not what I'm implying. In fact, I think you'll like my real offer better—a place on my private staff."

"As your goonie?" Baird balked. "Uh, no offense, sir. I just don't see myself as a bodyguard."

"Wrong again, Corporal. I want to extend an invitation to join my private staff as the genius everyone believes you to be." Prescott smiled. "I've heard your theories about the Lambent. Most of them are quite believable. I could use someone with your ability of deduction and technological expertise."

Baird had always received fleeting praise for his skills—thanks for fixing my generator, thanks for the tune-up, thanks for creating a closed-circuit connection so we can watch TV—but for Prescott to offer him a place among the elite? Jocelin Baird was surely rolling in his grave.

Baird chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering the offer. "Wow. That's really generous of you, sir. What would I even do? Our technology is limited; we're down to the essentials, basically."

"Don't fret—I have a plan for that. I'm offering you top-of-the-line machines to tinker with as you see fit."

Ah, he saw the catch. He knew it was too good to be true. "And where is this top-of-the-line machinery?"

"Report to the docks at 0300 tonight and I'd be happy to show you," Prescott replied.

"Sounds kind of sketchy—uh, sir." Baird rubbed the back of his neck and noticed how Prescott's eyes immediately zeroed in on this small action. "You're not going to give me a new pair of shoes, right?"

The chairman laughed. "You've certainly got an imagination, Corporal. Remember what I said, and keep up the good work." He patted Baird's shoulder and walked away, his business concluded.

Baird turned back toward the 'Dill, his head spinning with questions. Being noticed personally by the chairman was something special. He'd given up on the world of politics, but if Prescott was trying to bribe him with machinery, there had to be good news attached. Maybe he'd show up at the docks, after all.