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The little things

Posted on Wed Jan 11th, 2017 @ 10:21am by Lieutenant Samuel Phelps

Mission: R&R Coming Home
Location: Intel Offices.

ON

Phelps was alone in his office for a change; he did not have any of the bustle outside to distract him as he put down the PADD; a special unit that was issued only to Intel Community Members and his had been with him since coming aboard the Gladiator over a year ago. The safety protocols were not to be trifled with; it was five Millimeters thicker and a centimeter longer and wider than normal but few noticed. The sheer data capacity and processing of his unit had an advantage; it was specializing also in 'hacking' networks, thus the larger size, and it could be a very good tool that unless he was touching it and the pass code between uses it was a paperweight. It had the pen/ stylus option that was a multi-use item as well.

The Glasses came off and were gently placed on the desk; using glasses is a bit of a strain on the eyes; he has been told in the past 'You cannot see...' to which Phelps rebutt 'I wear these to see more, which was a true statement. HIs life was built around data and the constant 'reading' of information does put a strain on the eyes upon occasion; like this one, and when Phelps was in constant motion he did tend to be a rolling stone and push himself a bit. It was a nice break for him; while a friendly persona Phelps did fall victim to fatigue like anyone else. Between chasing down the latest Intel on a Security Leak from sensitive Shipping problems to the Background radiation he could not get a firm bit nailed down, Phelps does not remain motionless as he might seem.

From his inner side was the modified Tricorder; another little gift from the Intel Department, just another tool of his trade. It was in constant use and he had to be subtle about it as it should not be something a man like him uses as he is not medical or science but then he also was a man of Data and secrets so naturally he would have a Tricorder to aid in his gathering information. He rarely took out the probe but then it was another of his specialized tools modified for Intel use.

Now what he had thus far in the immediate was some information from a reliable 'Asset; some readings scanned of the effects by a small degree and the repercussions of the Radiation wavelength that dispersed quickly and made for harder tracking. The Interior sensors would pick it up; but getting the proper filter to weed out the information that the computer. He really needed a better baseline if he really wanted to get a handle upon it. What he had was an example of long term exposure to the radium, and a bit from the origin but far less than he needed to make a 'Parameter' for the further research. Like any good filter the more precise the input and parameters the better the answers. Be it the search for written information or the tracking of loose radioactive protons or phasing particles, it is all just data to Phelps. He is an analyst and it is his job to collate the information and make sense of it to allow others who are more experts have the information they need to do their jobs.

When all the 'Little things' come together a bigger picture is formed and it is that picture that saves lives. Right now Phelps was juggling many small factoids and trying to piece them together.

Glancing down at the mechanical watch; his Grandpappy had always told him 'a good mechanical watch will be the best way to track time, this watch was adapted to his needs and so it was the most accurate thing to keep track of time.

"He was almost late; Ynara should be getting through the Lunch rush and might have a minute or two for conversation, but only if Phelps got there in the key timing.

HE put his glasses on his face and grabbed the Sunt'Zhu Art of War for a little light reading while having lunch to occupy him between his being able to talk with Ynara.

"I am taking a break." Phelps said as he went through the outer office and his support staff.

The 'typical' lunch hour was over so Phelps timed his going to eat with time to get to know a certain Lounge Server who was pretty in an exotic way.

OFF

Lt. JG Samuel Phelps
Chief Intel/ Man of Mystery

 

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