02-28-2018, 12:57 PM
Stormtrooper 4LX—alias ‘Sarge’—let out of a soft chuckle as the hustle and bustle of the room continued to wash over him.
They had relocated their team to this fancy yet crippled warship on Tier 1, and Sarge wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Pay grades had increased, even if their ranks had all remained the same (which was fine with the lifetime noncom), and a few of the less experienced troopers had already started to receive benefits packages. Sarge had tried to preach about the good value of solid, monthly investments into the 401k and the mutual plan that the Empire offered. Often, he was met with apathy, which was what he often expected. People in the Omniverse were often so focused on death and dying that they never appreciated what it was like to actually live.
Sarge glanced at a family photo on the corner of his desk. His wife and three girls smiled back at him from the framed image. The twins were five years old, and his youngest daughter was three, which meant the image was now a year out of date. All had celebrated another year since then, so Sarge would have to replace the picture in due time.
“Sarge, you have those 10-W3 forms?”
The stormtrooper glanced up from his desk and stared blankly at Scrubsey. He had been so absorbed in the shenanigans of the others that he had forgotten all about the actual work he had set out to do this morning.
“That’s a 10-4,” he said with a smile as he reached down to his desk. He was stopped by Scrubsey, who started to shake her head.
“No, Sarge, a 10-W3, not a 10-4. We don’t need any gopher relocation certs, do we? Are we liaising with the park and rec department?” Scrubsey’s hands started to twitch. “I don’t think I have any hard copy 10-4 forms in the folder… I… do I even have those digitally?!” The woman glanced back at her computer, as if she hoped for it to answer her question. “Do I have to access the Imperial database?!”
Sarge blinked a few times as he tried to process the young woman’s almost panic-laced inquires.
“I thought you went through basic training, Scrubsey,” Sarge said, pulling the woman out of her stare down with her terminal. Although she was technically their department’s civilian administrator, the Empire had all its workers undergo standard military training (the indoctrination was an added bonus).
“Yes, Sir.”
“10-4 is military parlance… means something like ‘affirmative’…”
Scrubsey stood silent for a few moments, and then her eyes widened once more. This time, they were joined by a smile. “Oh! I got it! Good one, Sarge,” for whatever reason, the woman started to chuckle. “The paperwork, please.”
“Of course,” Sarge replied as he pulled out the folder and handed it over to the secretarial worker.
They had relocated their team to this fancy yet crippled warship on Tier 1, and Sarge wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Pay grades had increased, even if their ranks had all remained the same (which was fine with the lifetime noncom), and a few of the less experienced troopers had already started to receive benefits packages. Sarge had tried to preach about the good value of solid, monthly investments into the 401k and the mutual plan that the Empire offered. Often, he was met with apathy, which was what he often expected. People in the Omniverse were often so focused on death and dying that they never appreciated what it was like to actually live.
Sarge glanced at a family photo on the corner of his desk. His wife and three girls smiled back at him from the framed image. The twins were five years old, and his youngest daughter was three, which meant the image was now a year out of date. All had celebrated another year since then, so Sarge would have to replace the picture in due time.
“Sarge, you have those 10-W3 forms?”
The stormtrooper glanced up from his desk and stared blankly at Scrubsey. He had been so absorbed in the shenanigans of the others that he had forgotten all about the actual work he had set out to do this morning.
“That’s a 10-4,” he said with a smile as he reached down to his desk. He was stopped by Scrubsey, who started to shake her head.
“No, Sarge, a 10-W3, not a 10-4. We don’t need any gopher relocation certs, do we? Are we liaising with the park and rec department?” Scrubsey’s hands started to twitch. “I don’t think I have any hard copy 10-4 forms in the folder… I… do I even have those digitally?!” The woman glanced back at her computer, as if she hoped for it to answer her question. “Do I have to access the Imperial database?!”
Sarge blinked a few times as he tried to process the young woman’s almost panic-laced inquires.
“I thought you went through basic training, Scrubsey,” Sarge said, pulling the woman out of her stare down with her terminal. Although she was technically their department’s civilian administrator, the Empire had all its workers undergo standard military training (the indoctrination was an added bonus).
“Yes, Sir.”
“10-4 is military parlance… means something like ‘affirmative’…”
Scrubsey stood silent for a few moments, and then her eyes widened once more. This time, they were joined by a smile. “Oh! I got it! Good one, Sarge,” for whatever reason, the woman started to chuckle. “The paperwork, please.”
“Of course,” Sarge replied as he pulled out the folder and handed it over to the secretarial worker.