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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Jaeden" data-source="post: 2477016" data-attributes="member: 34974">Julian rises, a look of uncertainty on his face. "Sir... If there are as many stars as you say there are in there, I don't know how much say I'll have." He checks his uniform for powdered doughnut dust, sighing as he realizes that's not a very good impression to be making. The Colonel said something about an offer -- was he to be given a new assignment? Figures. He just started getting used to the mainland again. Where was he off to now, Alaska? Julian liked his job, he just hates his employer, both the Air Force in general and Colonel Willingham in specific. The guy was just too uptight. Hell, the Air Force was too uptight. He'd be graduating from MIT this semester, if only he'd had the cash. Still, the video enhancement gig wasn't bad. It was easy work, and he occasionally got to see some nifty stuff. The only problem was, he had worn out his welcome with Colonel Willingham. One more screw-up, no matter how minor, and he'd be getting paperwork again at the least. He was trying to get better about it - really, he was, but zero tolerance is hard to live by for anybody. Especially somebody who was biding their time until separation day.With all of this running through his head, he walked maybe ten steps from his desk before stopping short and rushing back to his keyboard. In his rush to not keep the small galaxy of Air Force brass waiting in Col. Willingham's office, he had almost left his classified workstation unsecured. His eyes fire about, hoping the Colonel had already walked off to pester somebody else. Leaning over his desk from a standing position, he hurriedly closes down programs, logging out with the keyboard while shutting down other programs with the mouse. Even one-handed, his typing rate is faster than everyone else in the shop. People stared at him watching him work. Everything about his work style is different than theirs. His completed his tasks effortlessly, whereas they often struggled to perfect the images they got back. His cubicle walls were barren - he had no need of the keyboard shortcut cheat sheets and Systems tech support numbers splattered across them. Even his posture at the keyboard was arcane to them, being the only lefty in the shop. Typing single-handed, they simply viewed as showing off. Which it was.He rises to his full height when finished. With a smirk, he wondered how long it would take the new guy to realize the keyboard is mapped to Dvorak. Couple days, at least. Removing the crypto key strip from the reader, he slides it into the shredder, its usefulness now expired. He secured the PC with his password, waiting for Windows to finally get around to processing it. He couldn't wait for Windows 2000 to get installed on this machine. From the beta he snagged online, it looked pretty good. Unix would be better, but Uncle Sam's still a little squeamish about training their 18-year-old recruits what to do with a black console prompt.Straightening his uniform, he slips an uneasy smile to the Colonel. "I'll do what I can, Sir." It was a lie, of course. He could do a lot worse as posts go, but the Colonel was out to get him. and steps into the office. As soon as he reaches the doorway, he snaps into a salute. It's not as great as it ought to be, but sufficient. "Good morning, Sirs. TSgt Julian Anderson. The Colonel tells me you need to speak to me. What can I do for you gentlemen?"</blockquote>

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