Through the window of the control booth of the Shuttlebay hangar, Malcolm watched expressionlessly as the docking clamp lowered the captive Shuttlebay 2 to the floor.
If he wished in his heart of hearts that the shuttlepod might have somehow lost its way between Jupiter Station and the ship, nobody could have detected that from his face. The occasional nervous glance the crewman supervising the loading shot him passed over his consciousness almost without leaving a mark. His attention was focussed like a laser on the gull-wing door, behind which the 'pod's occupants would be waiting for the news that atmosphere was restored in the Shuttlebay and they could now make their exit.
The upgrades to the Armoury and its complement of weapons had occupied almost all of his time during the previous few weeks, but hours of what should have been his relaxation and sleep time had been spent on poring over the records of the MACOs – with an effort he refrained from mentally labelling them 'the intruders' – who would be added to his already heavy responsibilities. He'd gone through them with the finest of toothcombs, even making sundry somewhat unofficial enquiries to old contacts in search of information that might not necessarily appear on standard Starfleet databases. He'd already discovered that one of the corporals had the Section's muddy fingerprints on her, and made a note to keep a very beady eye indeed on that young lady's activities. Telling her what he knew, however, would be to warn her in advance and thereby lose his advantage. He wondered if Major Matthew Hayes was aware of it.
Probably not.
As little as Malcolm liked to admit it even to himself, Hayes' service record was exceptionally impressive. General Casey had sent Enterprise the best that was available, and the squad that came with him was made of extremely tough stuff. The reluctant realisation that, for all his coaching and their own dedication, his own people would be miserably outclassed by the new arrivals in any serious combat situation had only served to worsen his mood.
He was fully aware of the disdain in which MACOs held their ancient 'squid' rivals; it went back to the days of the Marines aboard wooden-hulled Navy sailing ships, who were the ones who did the fighting while their humbler comrades did nothing more intellectually demanding than haul on ropes and scrub decks. He knew that that attitude still prevailed, and that the squad who were coming aboard would have little comprehension of the vast differences in skill sets required to run a starship as opposed to hauling ropes and scrubbing decks on board a man o' war, and little more respect for the men and women who had to be at the top of their fields to be chosen to serve aboard the flagship of the Fleet.
As for the man who would be in charge of them, the awareness that the major technically outranked him set grim apprehension in his breast. No MACO officer was going to relish taking order from a subordinate 'squid', and the psych-eval on Hayes was unstinting in its description of his tough attitude. Well, if Hayes didn't like it, Hayes would bloody well have to lump it!
As the shuttlepod door finally opened, an onlooker would have seen Malcolm Reed's chin lift ever so slightly, with the wary arrogance of a stag scenting a rival for control of the herd.
The captain had been definite. The MACOs were to be considered a part of the Security department, and as such they fell within his sphere of authority.
Including Major Matthew Hayes.
And if there were to be any clash of antlers on that score, he was more than ready for it.
A number of MACOs stepped from the shuttlepod. Very much on their toes, immaculately turned out in military gear, sweeping assessing eyes around the launch bay for potential ambush sites and personnel. His gaze flickered over them all, dismissing each one except the man who stood in their midst, head up with alert confidence, summing up the new situation with a clear, wide-eyed gaze. Almost as though he'd felt the eyes on him – and as an experienced battle commander he probably did – Hayes' stare travelled within seconds to the control booth and the man watching him from it.
There was no stiffening. The major endured the shock of contact without any sign of unease or resentment, his calm unbroken.
In his turn, Malcolm remained glacial. Not so much as a flicker betrayed the information he'd gained from that first clash of eyes.
If he was to retain his dominance of the herd, he'd have to fight for it.
Every damned foot of the way.
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