Disclaimer... we all know it.
There are some things here that will allude to the previous story, "Preparing the Way", but it can be read separately and still make sense. To put you in a loose picture, Janie had been a rather serious girlfriend of Malcolm's, and Cory Logan was his best friend- like a brother. Cory's parents, like surrogate parents for Malcolm.
MR-S31
If Malcolm were to be honest with himself, re-organising the Armoury on Jupiter Station to maximise it's efficiency wasn't exactly what he'd envisioned his Starfleet career to be. He had to admit that he rather enjoyed the obsessive-compulsive part of doing so, and also it was giving him great experience in how an Armoury ran, but after serving there for two years, he felt that it was time for his life to move on.
He contemplated this as he drank his elevenses coffee whilst on-shift and pottered about his office, lacking much to do. He'd even made sure that the dusting had been done and had inspected the place for anything like that. But it wouldn't do to have the crewmen seeing him being aimless, so he sat down with some paperwork in front of him. He didn't feel useful in this role of babysitting the Armoury, and it drove him around the bend.
He sighed.
That wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy his time here- he'd made some excellent friends, though none nearly even close to that of Cory or Janie from Starfleet Academy. He'd even managed a few dates since leaving Janie so suddenly, but he hadn't found- or wanted- anything of a serious nature. He still sometimes wrote to her, but not nearly as much as he had while they'd been an item. His correspondences with the Logans- Cory's parents- had been far more regular, and still were as warm as ever.
I must write to them in the next couple of days, he thought to himself, smiling.
Almost in regard for what Cory had tried to teach him over the years about loosening up, Malcolm had tried to ingratiate himself more with the staff and visitors at Jupiter Station, and he had gone to parties that had been going on- those he'd been invited to as well as general parties happening in the bars of Jupiter Station- and there were frequently several going on somewhere- it was a large base after all.
Although things weren't as noisy at the moment as they could be- the development of the first Warp 5 starship at the Warp 5 Complex on Earth was taking up the time of many of the Engineers and R&D people from Jupiter Station on a temporary detachment, but lots of the same people were still needed for all the other vessels still out there- Jupiter Station was the place to go for refitting a ship, getting the latest equipment upgrades, and adding to supplies.
Because of this, there were people coming and going constantly at Jupiter Station, and while Malcolm's job wasn't entirely giving him the stimulation he needed, the many social situations rectified that for him.
Every now and then, the Armoury was needed to resupply a ship's weaponry, or to do a diagnostic on a ship to check the safety of the said ship. These were times that Malcolm loved his job- the variety still excited him, and giving each ship little tweaks and jury-rigs to make it reach it's maximum potential was very rewarding. There was no doubt that he was excellent at his job, and if he'd been considered beyond all his peers during his training at Starfleet Academy, then he had excelled himself now. Malcolm kept absolutely up-to-date with all research and journals, not only in his own fields of expertise, but also in engineering and management. He had ideas for his future, and staying at Jupiter Station did not fit in with those plans.
A Crewman had come to see him for advice about how to get to serve on the Warp 5 vessel when it was time to crew it, and afterwards, Malcolm had used this interview as an excuse to research into the ship himself. It was there that Malcolm wanted to be- out exploring space that humankind had never ventured out into before; to have to think on one's feet without the safety net of Earth or any Station if any emergencies came about. Yes, that was what he wanted to do- and the time was getting close for Starfleet to be thinking about manning the new ship.
Malcolm finished his coffee, leaving the dregs with the mushy remains of a fallen biscuit in the bottom, and returned to a journal he'd been reading about refracting lasers to get a different number of settings on a phase pistol.
He breathed in a deep breath to keep him awake and fresh; his friend Anna had invited him to a birthday party that night, and he intended to enjoy himself, so settled down to make absolutely sure that all work for the day had been done.
The doorchime to Malcolm's quarters rang as he finished doing his hair for the party. He went over to answer it and found Anna waiting, smiling flirtatiously, as was her way with everyone.
"Evening Anna," He said, smiling back. "Come in- I'll be right with you."
"Evening handsome," She replied, flicking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "How was the day?"
Malcolm checked over his tiny room to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, then went over to Anna, pecked her on the cheek, getting a noseful of strong floral perfume, and gestured for her to leave through the door first.
"I'm all ready for you. And the day wasn't too bad you know- same old, same old. How about you?"
They left the quarters and ambled their way through the corridors of the space station. Anna was a bit of a flirt, but hers and Malcolm's relationship was totally platonic, they were good friends.
"About the same dear Malcolm- working in the kitchens is always manic!" Anna's trade as a sous chef was the reason for the heavy perfume she wore- constantly working in a kitchen meant that she naturally had a foody aroma about her- it was nice, but she always said that she didn't always want to be reminded of food- especially as her diet was going so well at the moment. She wasn't a large girl, but according to Anna, and after many conversations she and Malcolm had had, she used to be, and she wasn't now solely due to a strictly balanced diet.
They chatted about nothing of consequence- work, gossip in work, and suchlike- until they reached the party in one of the bars of the Station- this one being a very bright tropical theme. There were cheers and loud noises, with the strains of some upbeat music beneath it all coming from inside, and a joyful roar as someone dropped their glass on the floor along with the sound of the same glass shattering completely.
"Party's started then!" Malcolm commented as he held the door open for Anna.
"Well we'd better join in!" She smiled back, brushing her hand over his fingers holding the door open and took her jacket off, immediately beginning a very animated conversation with the birthday girl- Sasha Cooper- a friend Malcolm knew from the Sickbay on the Station- she was one of the nurses there. He joined Sasha and Anna, giving Sasha a small peck on the cheek, while both of the women rolled their eyes and Sasha threw her arms around Malcolm, kissing him on both cheeks as a slightly merry hullo.
"It's my birthday Malcolm!" She announced. "Buy a girl a drink?"
"What gentleman could do less?" Malcolm countered, smiling, extricating himself from Sasha's arms and turning towards the bar.
"Two beers!" Anna yelled as he went causing him to smile.
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It was a good night, and everyone had a good time with Sasha getting altogether far too drunk. Malcolm was happily merry himself when he decided to call it a night. Saying his goodbyes, he left the bar alone. He stopped outside the bar to do his jacket up- the aircon outside of offices or public buildings was circulated to make a small breeze just to give it the slight semblance of being outside, and it ever so gently swayed the potted palm-trees outside the bar.
When he had done so, Malcolm turned to leave, and as he did, he saw a man contemplating him from the other side of the hallway, about 20 foot away or so, hands held loosely behind his back and a neutral expression on his face which was lit up slightly by the coloured fairy-lights decorating the outside of the bar. They locked eyes for a second before Malcolm's eyes flickered and he left.
Malcolm thought nothing of it until a week later when he was in the corridor outside the Station canteen, having got himself a cup of tea before work when he saw the man again.
He'd just left the canteen, when he felt someone waiting behind him. He looked up, and then turned. There was the same man from the party a week before watching him with the same neutral expression, his hands still folded loosely behind his back.
Both times it had seemed obvious to Malcolm that the man was there staring at him in particular, rather than anyone else at the party, and there weren't many other people around at that time of the morning.
"Can I help you?" Malcolm asked the man, with a slight note of wariness in his voice.
The man was silent for a moment, not moving, not even blinking, just still steadily contemplating him. It was only a few seconds before he eventually spoke up.
"Yes Malcolm Reed. It seems that we have a mutual friend."
He became quiet again, though whether as if inviting a question or because he didn't want to say anymore, Malcolm couldn't tell. Another few seconds went by before Malcolm broke the silence- and there weren't many people alive who could make Malcolm break a silence.
"Oh really? Who?"
It seemed to Malcolm that the man gave a very slight smile before he answered.
"A Julian LeFevre from the Icharus. A ship you also served on I believe."
Malcolm relaxed a bit- Julian had been Malcolm's room-mate on board the ship Icharus Malcolm had served on after leaving Starfleet Academy. He had been a prolific gossip and could talk the hindtail off a donkey. He had nearly driven Malcolm around the bend and had caused Malcolm to spend as much time as possible at work.
"Yes, I remember him," Malcolm affirmed. "And you are?"
The man came forwards, and held out his right hand. Malcolm took it, and then the man said,
"Harris. He may have mentioned me- we did a fair amount of work together back then."
Malcolm tried hard to remember, and did indeed recall a Harris being mentioned, but no details other than a name.
"I believe he mentioned your name a few times, but very little else."
Harris just smiled and let go of Malcolm's hand.
"On the other hand, Mr. Reed, your reputation precedes you."
Malcolm became a little worried at that, not entirely sure as to whether that was a good thing or not. He wondered if it was Julian who had made it so that his reputation preceded him, or if he had been studied by this Harris- he had certainly been staring at Malcolm intently enough to make it feel that way.
He was thinking exactly this when Harris started talking again.
"From what I've heard of you, and from what I've seen watching you, I have been considering offering you a job, one that would be a whole lot more interesting than officiating over an armoury that doesn't exactly need an overseeing officer."
Malcolm opened his mouth to protest, but Harris interrupted him.
"The job I'm thinking of is still within Starfleet, so you don't need to worry about giving up your commission, but I would heavily advise you to not mention this job to anyone, anywhere, at all. Not even your parents, or the Logans."
Malcolm's eyebrows shot straight up as he realised that he'd not so much been watched as studied, and it worried him that he seemed to have been actually selected by this guy.
Harris smiled, as if to allay Malcolm's fears. "Here," he said, holding out a business card, which Malcolm took without looking at, concentrating entirely on Harris. "Take my card."
He gave Malcolm a Mona Lisa smile and left quickly and quietly, but without rushing. As Malcolm watched him, he seemed a very graceful man.
He pocketed the card, and took his tea to the Armoury, not taking the card out again until he was in his office with the door safely behind him.
He looked at the card- it merely said 'HARRIS' on it in a black bold type. He frowned and turned it over, but there was nothing on the other side either. He held it to the light and there was still nothing.
He made a small noise of frustration and put the card in his pocket again, sipping his tea as he logged in to his terminal. He checked the morning news only half paying attention as he thought about his conversation with Harris earlier. If nothing else, he knew that the man could probably find him wherever he was, and maybe the card was just his idea of a joke.
Two days later, Malcolm was walking back to his quarters after giving a martial arts class in the gym only to find Harris sitting on a bench near his door, reading from a PADD. He put it away in a satchel bag when he heard Malcolm arrive, got up, and went towards Malcolm, extending his hand as he did so.
Malcolm warily took the proffered hand briefly, then stood there waiting for the man to speak.
"Are you going to let me in?" Harris asked.
Malcolm really didn't want to let this man into his private quarters, but he felt he didn't exactly have a choice with Harris and opened the door, allowing him to enter first, thanking that he always kept his room immaculate. Harris sat at the desk as it was the only seat in the room and swivelled on it to face Malcolm who hung his jacket up on the door, and put his gym bag down by the laundry basket, but not unpacking it. He stood, waiting for Harris to speak again.
"Let me put it this way Malcolm, we know you're bored in your job, especially with your abilities, so we know you want some extra training to keep you occupied, as it were. We want to take you on immediately, and this will mean some aptitude tests."
"I took several aptitude tests when I first began at Starfleet Academy, and throughout as well," Malcolm told him.
"Yes," Harris said, "but ours are different tests. You haven't been through these before, even with the Academy."
He stood up, already ready to leave, but not before he reached into his satchel and gave Malcolm a PADD. Malcolm took it and looked down at it briefly before returning his attention back to Harris.
"That has instructions on it for you, and you only," Harris said, nodding his head at the PADD. "If you don't do what is instructed on it, a person will come within the week to take the PADD away, and you'll never hear from us again. But I hope it won't come to that Mr. Reed- I really do think that an arrangement could be made that would be mutually beneficial to both our parties." He smiled, seemingly genuinely, and bowed his head in a graceful farewell, and left.
The door slid quietly closed behind him, and Malcolm dropped on to his bed, still tired from the gym class. He reached over to his bedside locker for a beer, popped the cap and took a swig. He placed the bottle on the bedside table, and turned the PADD on, putting an arm behind his head as he did so.
Malcolm Reed
Section B-11 of Jupiter Station- Storage Facility #3
2300hrs
Tell no one.
It was decidedly short and to the point. Hell of a long way of going about telling me such a small amount of information, Malcolm thought. He looked at the clock on the wall- 1900hrs it said.
He still had time for a shower and something to eat. It had occurred to Malcolm at this point that he was beginning to get involved with some kind of secret service. It wasn't just the conspiracy theorists who thought that Starfleet had a secret service- most cadets in the Academy had somewhat assumed it, but there had only been rumours, nothing as obvious as the old MI5 and MI6 like there had been in Britain back in the old days. But certainly a service of sorts- and he was beginning on his road down there.
He sat up, a revelation occurring to him just at that point.
"What the hell...?" He started, muttering it under his breath. "What if...?" He let the rest of the sentence go unsaid- it had, after all, just occurred to him that the reason Harris could have given him such a small amount of information on a PADD rather than just out and out telling him was because he was in some way being actively monitored- all the time. And what if that meant someone was either listening or watching him- or both- at all times?
The thought was definitely not a pleasant one. He valued his privacy- he'd had so little of it growing up, what with boarding school having dorm rooms, then sharing rooms at the academy and his father imposing regular inspections on his room to make sure it was up to scratch at all times. Yes indeed, the privacy he did have was very dear to him- he needed his inner sanctum, and the thought that he didn't have that bothered him intensely.
He flicked the PADD off and chucked it to the bed at his side, he picked up the beer and nursed it, taking occasional and distracted sips of it as he thought.
To hell with this, I'm not getting involved with it all- I don't want to be watched and inspected constantly- I've earned the right to have my own place without having to look over my shoulder. He took a long drink, and got up to look at the fake viewport- the majority of quarters were away from the outsides of the Station because of the way the starships had to dock, so storage and maintenance bays were closest to the outer zones. As a by-product of this, the fake viewports could be modified by the occupant to show whatever they so fancied, from photographs, through patterns, to landscapes of favourite worlds- or if one were so inclined, space itself as it would be actually outside. This latter was how Malcolm had it- he found the solitude of space to be very relaxing and peaceful. This was how he liked it, and he felt that his peace would be shattered with Harris entering his life.
On the other hand... Even if I don't show up tonight, some man turns up to collect this PADD, and I have nothing ever to do with them again, how do I know that will have left me for good? They've been watching me all this time, perhaps they are even now, even as I stare out of this viewport. His shoulders unconsciously slumped a small way as he felt a small amount of resignation. So I suppose the only real way I know if they've left me in peace or not is if I join them, then I can know. Then I can know what they know.
Even with his shoulders slumped in resignation, he felt a small spark of excitement- this was different, something new, and it wasn't as if his current job in the Station Armoury even remotely taxed him- he could do so much more if he were only given even half a chance. Maybe this was his chance- not only could he perhaps actually make a difference, but he could have excitement in the process. Rather like having my cake and eating it too. The thought made him smile.
He'd made his mind up- and it wasn't like he was giving up Starfleet either. It almost seemed tailor-made for him.
He finished the remnant of the beer and headed for the shower, glancing around the bathroom as he went in, just on the off-chance that he would suddenly see a camera in the corner keeping an eye on him. Naturally, there wasn't, but Malcolm still couldn't help but feel slightly suspicious still.
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At five minutes to eleven, Malcolm went down the corridor towards Storage Facility #3. It was well-lit, but deserted- it wasn't a well-used part of the Station, as Malcolm had discovered- it was storage mainly for emergency supplies if anything ever happened which meant ships couldn't bring in food or medication from the outside. People only really came down to check the inventory, make sure no pests had got in, and circulate the items that would go out of date within the next year.
He went in quietly through the sliding doors.
There were barrels and shelving units going right up to the thirty-foot high ceiling with ladders on railings so they could be slid around the shelves. Boxes of all sizes were piled high- Malcolm could have hid in some, and just about squeezed his boots into others. A background hum of refrigeration cabinets provided noise for an otherwise silent chamber.
There was a drawless grey metal desk immediately by the door and to the left with a grey metal-framed chair, and no other furniture that Malcolm could see. He stood by this desk looking around, eyes narrowing slightly for only a couple of seconds until Harris came around the corner of a densely stacked set of shelves with cans on.
He smiled, but didn't hold out his hand this time for the shaking. Malcolm nodded in return.
"I'm glad you decided to come after all," Harris said, his tone almost jovial- quite the contrary to how Malcolm felt. It felt like a much more sombre occasion to him, despite the flicker of excitement he was keeping hidden inside.
"Sir," he said in reply.
Harris' smile increased, but not in the most pleasant of ways- not unpleasantly exactly, but there was something that looked almost predatory to Malcolm, and it annoyed him that he couldn't work out what it was. Malcolm's expression, however, didn't change as he thought this, which he was quite proud of- his poker face had got him through many a situation, both at work and play.
"Don't call me 'Sir' Malcolm," Harris said. "In our line of work, we don't like to make a distinction between ranks- if someone is listening in on a conversation between us, they would be able to fathom out who is the senior rank, and they could perhaps stage a kidnapping to gain information because of this."
He pulled out the chair, and gestured for Malcolm to sit down.
"Please," he said, as he held the chair for the younger man. Malcolm came around the desk and sat down with his palms flat on the desk as Harris let go of the chair, crossed his arms in front of him, and carried on.
"That isn't to say that there isn't a command structure which must be strictly adhered to, otherwise there will be anarchy, and if you consider this line of work, it is extremely important that a person knows who they're supposed to be taking orders from."
Harris looked down at Malcolm from where he stood at the corner of the desk and regarded him.
"I'm assuming of course, that you have by this point worked out who we are, or thereabouts?"
Still with his poker face on, Malcolm nodded slowly.
"Yes S-", he started. "Yes." He tried again. "In a manner of speaking. You said the organisation is still within Starfleet, and so this is Starfleet's Secret Service of sorts."
Harris smiled, but this time, it seemed more of a self-satisfied smile.
"I expected nothing less of you, young Malcolm Reed, you would be correct, inasmuch as one can be. We would be an organisation called Section 31, as if you look at the original Starfleet Charter, Article 14, Section 31, it says how extraordinary measures can be taken in times of threat."
At this, Malcolm did frown, breaking his poker face expression. In times of threat? He wondered.
"What threat is that?" He said out loud.
Harris answered directly. "If there were to be a threat, how could we respond adequately and efficiently if there were no people already trained to do so? It is of paramount importance to humankind that we look after our own affairs, and that we prepare for the worst, should the worst ever happen."
Malcolm nodded- he could see the logic in that. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. There's nothing wrong with that, although I've no doubt that people would disagree. No wonder it's secret. He brought the palms of his hands together unconsciously as he thought this, and unaware at that moment that Harris was watching his every move in minute detail.
"We operate without any overseer, no watching eyes. You report to whomever gave you the particular mission that you are working on, and no one else. You tell no one about this, and I really do mean no one. People have died for less than treason you know, and absolutely everything would be classified. I'm sure you know what I mean by 'everything'?"
Malcolm nodded in response- he wasn't that dumb.
Harris carried on again.
"Starfleet will deny our existence until it's dying day, and then some more, but they need us. For us, the ends justify the means, we have no rules except the ones I've already mentioned. We have likened our operating procedures with that of the old terrorist cells groups of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries- we have no base, so that if anyone should discover our existence, we can literally disappear, become phantoms. An enigma wrapped in a mystery surrounded by hearsay and rumour." He smiled, wider than he had before, but still with a slightly sinister edge. "It is convenient."
Malcolm merely raised an eyebrow.
"Now then," Harris continued his monologue, "you will hear from me, and a few anonymous individuals who will remain anonymous during your training, but never anyone else. I hope you've been listening well because you now have a test."
He went around a corner for a moment, and returned with a PADD and a stylus.
"I will watch you while you are timed for this test. Write your answer in the space provided."
He clicked a button on his watch which beeped once.
Malcolm realised he hadn't even been given a time allowance, he'd just been told it was timed. He grabbed at the PADD and the stylus and began reading.
The questions were half on things that Harris had been talking about, partially on Malcolm's point of view on a certain moral situation, and partially long paragraphs of information which he had to extract little titbits of information that required a bit of lateral and logical thinking.
The completed the test in about twenty-five minutes.
He returned the PADD and stylus to Harris, who took them around the corner, and returned again, this time with a hypodermic syringe.
Malcolm sat up even straighter than normal, moving his hands to the edge of the desk, alarmed.
"Don't worry," Harris said, "I know you get this as part of Starfleet protocol, we but do a check for more than they do. It's a drugs screening. I'll just take a small blood sample, filling up these two tubes.
He did so with suspicious agility and ease, but as it was only blood going out, and nothing going in, Malcolm was happier than he would have been otherwise. Normal blood test were done in Sickbay though, and it seemed a bit incongruous done in a storage bay.
Afterwards, and it was after midnight by this point, Harris let Malcolm go with a promise that he'd be in contact next, but before he left, Malcolm had a question. He turned just before the doors slid open for him to the corridor outside.
"You said about people possibly overhearing our conversations for whatever reason," he began.
"Yes?" Harris replied.
"What about now?" Malcolm asked. "We've had something of an in-depth discussion about an organisation that officially doesn't exist. What if someone had been listening in, or had a device to listen in on?"
Harris almost showed actual delight as Malcolm spoke, which died down to his normal knowing smile as he answered Malcolm's questions.
"I'm glad you have shown the thinking to even consider such a thing! Do not worry, young Malcolm. This storage facility has emergency supplies in. As such, it has been insulated from the rest of the station- for several reasons- and this has made this storage bay a wonderful place for a private conversation. Just to be on the safe side though, I also set up a low-level jamming signal before you arrived. Such a low level wouldn't alert the station security, but keeps our conversations private while we're in these close quarters with each other. You should be able to come to an understanding of the sorts of technology we use which isn't exactly standard Starfleet-issue. This particular item gives us about a 5-metre radius of definite privacy without having to up the power level and make us known to station security."
It was a long description of something small, and Malcolm rather imagined that he wouldn't get such good information during his future with Section 31, that he would have to work it out on his own, if the test he'd had was anything to go by.
As such, he nodded his thanks, and left. He was tired, and his shift was going to start in only a few hours.
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Malcolm felt rather bleary-eyed as he started work the next morning, or rather, only a few hours later. Thank goodness that coffee here is unlimited, he sighed as he took a sip of the hot stimulant- an extra large mug of it too. He got into his office, still clutching the coffee and saw a small parcel on his desk which certainly hadn't been there on his last shift. And the door had been locked- he was very particular about security.
Considering my meeting last night, I don't really know why I'm surprised at finding this here. No doubt this is something to do with Harris.
He put the coffee down, spilling a small drop as he did which went unnoticed. Picking the parcel up, he opened the lid- it was a small hard brown box, very nondescript- and peeled away the protective packaging from the top. It was a small communicator- very small and flat, it could probably be hidden in the inside pocket of a man's civilian suit jacket without being noticed.
He picked the device up, putting the box down straight away on to the desk paying it no attention, and immediately jumped when he heard a quiet hum from the communicator.
"Ah, I see you found our little present." It was unmistakably Harris. "This is for you," the man continued "for your personal use in connection with our little organisation, but no one else. It is a clean line using the utmost in secure channels but as I said last time we met, it is always good to make doubly sure, and so at the bottom of the package is the jamming device which I told you about- a five-metre radius one. You'll find it of the utmost convenience at times. When communicating with us, and when using this communicator, always use the jamming device. Just to be safe. I'll contact you again soon." A small hum again, and the device switched itself off.
Malcolm studied the communicator and found that it was a very simple device to use, then put it down so he could rummage around the inside of the parcel again. Underneath another bit of packaging was indeed another small instrument. It was tiny and fit inside Malcolm's fist. It had a small plinth upon which a little pole rose up like an antenna with smaller antennae coming from it like branches on a tree, or the spokes of an umbrella, only without the material. It was even simpler to use- on/off. Clearly a very basic model.
Malcolm suddenly heard a noise outside his office- other people were in the Armoury after all, so he shoved the two devices unceremoniously into a zip-up pocket, shoving the parcel and it's packaging into the recycle bin to attend to his other duties.
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Sometimes, there were several days when Malcolm heard nothing from Section-31 at all, and other days when he'd have the briefest of conversations with Harris- always using the special private communicator and jamming device he'd been given- it was practically a habit after three weeks or so. The communications with him though were at very off hours- Malcolm had a suspicion that he was being tested on his secrecy and basic evasion skills- he would feel the hum in his pocket which was very subtle, and he'd suddenly have to find a place where he could speak in private, no matter what he'd been doing beforehand- talking to his superior, in the restroom, sleeping... you name it. Malcolm was getting used to it these days.
Harris would call in sometimes to tell Malcolm that he'd passed a certain test which Malcolm had oftentimes not even realised he was being tested on. Most recently, Harris had told him that he'd passed a blackmail check where the darkest skeletons in a person's closet were checked out in case they'd be able to be blackmailed by someone or a group of people at some point in the future- if someone had gambling debts, or could reveal secrets under duress because of some vice or knowledge that a person had on you to use to their benefit and were waiting for just the right time...
It all seemed rather sinister, but then, Malcolm reasoned, as a secret service, it isn't exactly above board. And thank goodness that there's no official record about the aquaphobia- that would be awkward to say the very least.
About three weeks after Malcolm had had to have a polygraph test, late at night while Malcolm was doing some research, Harris arrived at his quarters. Malcolm answered the door, expecting Anna to go for a beer and getting a smiling Harris, which for some reason, always put Malcolm on edge.
"How can I help you today?" He asked the man, gesturing him inside. "I'm actually expecting a friend any minute now," Malcolm said looking at his watch. Harris gave a minute shrug, "I won't be long. I came to tell you that you've been approved for service within Section 31 and you have a beginning mission. Now as you're already a part of Starfleet, you will have done several exercises and so-called 'missions' before, so we don't need to put you on the ghost reconnaissance, " Harris imperceptibly rolled his eyes at the mention of the missions that Starfleet took on. Malcolm knew that Harris didn't think much of their missions, not thinking that they counted as the real thing. But if that saved Malcolm from doing a load of stakeouts where he spent weeks watching random strangers not doing much, then he was pretty happy with them.
"As such," Harris continued, "your first mission with the organisation is actually rather an advanced one, but we think you're just the man." He pulled a picture from his right jacket pocket of an attractive blonde woman about Malcolm's age with porcelain skin and the deepest blue eyes Malcolm had ever seen. "Caitlin Burns. She's a recent Starfleet graduate who happens to be a boomer as well- she's pretty much spent her entire life on the borders of safe space. The thing is, her family have been trading in some not-entirely-legal technology which we want to know about, as well as the information that they would have picked up being on the border for that long anyway. The barely-legal side of it would make it easy to blackmail her and her family, but this time we want to try a different tack, that being of you getting to know her and extract the necessary information we want. You have to make it look natural, and not under any circumstances let her know that you are working for us, or any other organisation for that matter. Totally natural." The smile had disappeared at this point at Harris got more and more emphatic. He replaced the photograph in his right pocket and took from his left pocket a PADD, looked at it briefly and gave it to Malcolm.
"On here are a list of her duties and favourite places to frequent when not on duty, with a picture just to be sure. Use this to find her. But I'd advise you as with all information we give you, to memorise it and thoroughly delete the PADD afterwards. I know you know how to do that."
And with that, he checked his watch, gave Malcolm a nod for a goodbye, and left silently, not another word spoken, Malcolm having hardly said anything at all for the entire time Harris had been there.
Once Harris had gone, Malcolm took a moment to reflect on his new life since he had been involved with Section 31. He had really enjoyed his training- it was certainly a far cry from the tedious work of the Station Armoury where he hadn't been allowed any freedom with anything and the work was too monotonous. He couldn't even help to develop or upgrade weapons, even though those areas were particular specialities for him and he had so many ideas- and even though he was still very much endorsed by Admiral Hunter from Starfleet Academy. No, Malcolm had had to do everything by the book and it had reminded him so much of his father, what with the rigidity of it all, that he had almost lost interest entirely in Starfleet and working in space.
He regarded the PADD he held which Harris had just given him and even though it felt more than a little creepy to be holding the basic facts to the life of a person he'd never met but was expected to become fast friends with, it wasn't tedious- far from it, and the change was very welcome.
He was about to turn the PADD on to start looking at it when his doorchime sounded again and he heard Anna loudly demanding entrance.
"Malcolm! Lemme in! Seriously sorry for being late, you know how a girl can be!" A fist pounding on the door followed this.
Malcolm shoved the PADD into his locker at the back and under a duffel bag which was rarely used, then got up to the door and opened it for her.
"Sorry- I was, uh, in the bathroom."
Anna rolled her eyes. "No need to get yourself looking pretty when you already are!" She followed that remark with a wink and it was then Malcolm's turn to roll his eyes.
"Come on," he dragged her along, "Let's go get that beer before you feel the need for anymore flirting. It's painful!", he joked with her, the young woman next to him grabbing his arm and making him feel blissfully innocent in life.
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