Key Component

Belen09

Just a little something about being head of Security on Enterprise.

None, G, Not AU

The Security/Armory Chief poured a mug of hot chocolate from a large thermos, and took an exploratory sip to see how hot the liquid really was. Malcolm Reed didn't like having a burnt tongue even if he really needed the sweet drink. 'Okay, maybe a little warm, but not scalding . . . Let's see, where was I?'

He looked at the check off list on his 'Incident Report' program. Okay, Emergency Lock Override Protocol – Ah yes!' The last he almost but not quite vocalized, as he had the pertinent information on his personal PADD and only had to transfer the data to the official PADD, fill out the necessary forms, and send them on their merry way to the computer systems of the affected personnel and departments.

The incident happened because of a medical alert that Dr. Phlox received regarding a crewman, who having developed a diabetic condition during the mission, was being remotely monitored. An alarm had registered that that the crewman was suffering some kind of serious reaction, and a medical aid team was dispatched.

Lieutenant Reed was on duty at the time and he arrived at the affected crewman's quarters, just as the doctor and the two med-aides approached the door. He quickly punched in the override code, and watched as the three entered the room. He personally did not enter the room, as per protocol. The individual crew quarters' were essentially the only private area for the crew on the ship, and he did not want to invade the crewman's privacy unnecessarily.

As the person responsible for the security of the Enterprise and the ship's crew, Malcolm Reed 'knew' many things about the personnel aboard the ship. He very carefully compartmentalized that knowledge in his mind, only to be used if necessary. He understood that many people thought he could be 'a snoop' into their private affairs if he wanted to be. Which was why he stood outside during the incident and would only enter if requested to do so by the medical staff.

Now he began compiling the needed forms to be held in memory – 'Original form to affected party, copy to Dr. Phlox, copy to medical records, copy to Captain Archer, copy to official ship's records, copy to Starfleet Medical, copy to Starfleet Mission Record.' He spoke the words aloud, as to mark them in his own mind; to acknowledge the fact of their existence. Each copy was customized on a 'need to know' basis; for instance the captain's copy only had the incident time and the affected party's name, not the reason – only that something had happened.

One had to be very careful to honor a person's privacy.

000000

He was allowed to have a small toy as a reward; to pick one out, of his choosing – so he had to choose wisely. The dark-hair child regarded the selection with some thought, thinking about what he could 'do' with each toy.

Malcolm had been surprised by his mother's announcement. Today had started off badly in the estimation of the seven year-old. He was scheduled for a trip to the dentist – something that usually never went well, as he had a fear of needles, which usually resulted in much crying, and heightened reaction to pain.

But today, a miracle happened. Malcolm looked at the needle with the numbing agent, and he managed to control his crying down to a minor gasp as the 'weapon' pierced his gums. Still hurt badly, even though the dentist said it would 'only hurt a little'. But he could pretend to be brave, suffering with a stoic demeanor, and an overarching thought that it would soon be over.

And eventually it was over, and his mother told him that he could pick out 'a small toy' as a reward; Malcolm really wished he could get a larger gift, but he knew better than to even ask or he wouldn't even be allowed a small one.

So he stared at the 'small toys' with his mother watching him as he looked at the choices. He spotted something that looked promising, and it had something that he thought was 'really neat' – something that felt just right . . .

His mother looked at his choice, and said in a disapproving tone, "Why would you want that?" Malcolm hated that tone of voice, and the implied judgment that anything he might like was 'wrong' – lacking in common sense according to his mother.

"You said that I could choose my toy and I chose this one," he said with determination. Remembered his mother's exact words, and he knew his 'rights' in the matter. Malcolm clutched the package containing the miniature 'postal box'. It looked just like the official version, only smaller. And 'wonder of wonders' it even had a couple of keys to lock and unlock the little mail compartment.

Of course the locking compartment was only big enough for a couple of marbles, or maybe several of his rocks that mother thought were dirty; Malcolm thought they were 'neat' because they were older than anything else he could think of . . .

And then there were the keys. Actual keys. Something that he could keep as his very own – Private. However, being only seven, he actually told his mother 'why', and she demanded that he give her one of the keys. Okay, that wasn't 'smart', but it was a 'learning experience' (as the older Malcolm would say); Lesson learned – some things you don't tell your parents, not if you want to keep 'private'.

Malcolm still got the small postal box, and would pretend that he was locking something very important in his 'own' box. His mother never bothered to look in his toy; and Malcolm knew how to hide things that he didn't want his mother to find.

One is not a born security officer; You need to learn the mindset like anything else. Malcolm Reed just learned it an early age.

OOOOOO

Privacy is such a nebulous concept, varied though history and across cultures - some people believe that one's life should be an 'open book'; it insults their sensibilities that one might want to keep 'one's own counsel'.

While Malcolm was a student at the Starfleet Academy, his sister made the trip to San Francisco, and came over to his small flat for a visit. He excused himself to use the lav, and was 'amused' to hear a loud noise, from the closet in the hall. Went out into the hall and found a pile of old athletic equipment spread across the floor. Madeline only said, "It fell out." Since that closet door had sprung hinges and was very hard to open, Malcolm huffed, "Hardly!"

(Years later, when their mother passed away, Madeline (and her husband) contacted Malcolm to let him 'know' that they had changed the locks to her flat – as they assumed he had a key to the place, much as they did. They let a definite note of satisfaction 'creep' into the communication as Madeline was named executrix of her estate.

Malcolm had a long time ago come to a kind of peace regarding his mother 'in his heart', and only smiled at the two people on the screen. "Probably a good idea since you can never tell who might have keys. I've never had one. Why should I? Mother never did 'invite me over for a chat'. Goodbye, I'll talk to you later.")

OOOOOO

It was hard not to hear the conversation of the group of crewmembers in the Mess Hall; they were having a good time just 'shooting the breeze', and Malcolm Reed was sitting by himself, alone, after a physically and emotionally stressful day. He was trying to eat something before going back to his quarters to shower and sleep.

One of the crew was explaining a game that was psychological in nature, involving 'a cube', 'a ladder', and several other imagined things. Reed only gave 'half an ear' to the explanation that she gave, but he did think about what kind of cube, and what kind of ladder, he envisioned. The cube he thought of was flat on the ground, about a foot in height, made of commingled gold and semi-precious jet – deepest black in color. The ladder in his mind stretched to 'infinity', stood straight to the heavens . . .

When she mentioned that the average size of someone's cube was about six feet tall, Malcolm felt a little dismayed. 'Is my self-esteem that low?' However the material that one's cube was made of was also relevant, and Malcolm realized that he regarded his life as precious, and what he had learned as 'precious knowledge' – much of it 'secret and hidden'.

The number of 'rungs' on one's ladder apparently referred to the number of friends that one had. "Well, someone certainly 'missed the boat' on that!" he mused. However, thinking on the idea a bit more, he wondered, "How do I really view people? Everyone I meet – I judge as if they were to be better known by me. And I meet endless beings in the course of my work – I suppose that I have 'endless friends' . . .

With that thought, he got up to drag himself to his quarters. And considered that he might look up the game later . . .

OOOOO

And so it happened that Malcolm Reed was very careful to observe the privacy of others – the converse was that if he had a legitimate reason to know 'what was going on', no one could be more direct or ruthless in finding out what was happening. For him it was the matter of knowing the boundaries.

The safety of the ship and crew were paramount.

OOOOOO