Despite the detour she made earlier, Nine still arrived on time. As always, she dropped her jacket off at her desk to let the others know she had arrived at work. That morning, the programmer was even more wound up than usual. She had reason to be, after all there were no guarantees Q wouldn't shoot the messenger. He and Abbey were still treating her with a cold indifference. She wasn't looking to "kiss up" to them, she could handle their attitude as long as they were all able to work together. She just didn't want to make it worse. Nine made her way around the desk unit and tentatively stood beside its other bespectacled occupant, who stood bent slightly over, typing what looked like an email.
"Uh, Q?"
"Hmm?" He never looked up from his computer screen, seemingly ignoring her. This was what usually happened if Nine had to go looking for Q. She decided to be as straight to the point as possible. The man did not like unnecessary information.
"Bond insists on picking the meeting point this time..." The typing stopped abruptly. Q stood up straight, arms folded, looking down at her. If he wasn't listening before then, he was most certainty paying attention now. To Nine's surprise, he simply pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose (a usual habit) and sighed.
"... Fine. No point in wasting my breath on Renaissance artwork if he's not going to bother listening. What has he in mind?"
"He said he'd-" a chorus of bells erupted from Nine's trouser pocket. "How did Bond get my number?" She handed the phone to Q who answered it with a sharp and impatient "Bond?"
Nine could hear the agent clearly, Q had put the iPhone on loudspeaker and held it between them. The man was not in the mood to hand around, if his gruff voice was any indication, "Trace this call and meet me here. Bring Nine with you."
Nine was already typing and traced the call just as Q leaned over the cubicle wall and placed her iPhone back on her desk. "He's in a bar in the middle of London"
Q sighed in defeat. "Typical. Should have known. Let's go, bring a tablet with you."
"Pardon?" Nine had momentarily forgotten the agent's closing remark. She hesitantly picked up an Apple tablet from her desk. The whole of MI6 ran off Mac and iOS . Any portable devices in the Q-Branch, with the right access codes, had a permanent uplink to the MI6 servers. In theory, Q could take a small part of the office with him and know instantly if he needed to return to the building in the event of an emergency.
Q had decided to forgo his jacket, due to the unusually pleasant weather. He was halfway to the lift, Nine hot on his heels. "He wants you to come too."
"Alright, but what could he possibly-"
"I learned not to ask. Long story." Q was about to press the button to summon the lift, but to the surprise of the two, the stainless steel doors opened to reveal the head of MI6 standing squarely in the centre of the small space, his arms folded. "Where are you two off to?"
Q and Nine politely let their superior pass by them before taking his place. "Meeting with Bond." said Q. His voice didn't betray any of the irritation he had shown mere seconds ago. When M was about t question Nine, Q interrupted and answered for her, "He has requested that Nine accompany me, for some unexplained reason."
M thought for a moment before speaking, "Nine, is the new smartphone ready yet?"
"Yes sir, but-"
"Good. Issue it to 007 for this little trip to Rio-"
"But sir, it hasn't been fully beta'd yet!" Nine felt sick. She had programmed this piece of gadgetry herself. While she was confident in her own abilities at coding, she was uncomfortable with M's order. One little fragment of code out of place could end 007.
M didn't seem worried in the slightest, completely ignorant of how complex this technology was. Nine knew for a fact that the man expected computers to obey and operate efficiently on the first try, believing that such things were faultless. If only he knew how dangerous one misplaced line of code could be for Bond. "Then what better way to test it than in the field?"
He leaned through the door and pressed the button labeled BQ. "I expect a full analysis on that phone's performance on my desk when 007 returns" she barely muttered a "Yes, Sir" before the doors closed.
The programmer nervously folded her arms, one hand holding her head. "So in other words: that thing had better work or you're fired!", her voice nearly broke on the last word. Q stayed silent. He'd seen technicians and agents die as a result from lesser mistakes than faulty gadgets.
Nine was better off not knowing that.
"Just give me a minute, Q. I need to start digging through these papers."
Q looked in horror at Nine's desk. If one could even call it a desk. The offending article couldn't even be seen under the towering stacks of paper. The computer, the desk's only other inhabitant, could only be seen after shoving the hand written notes and diagrams out of the way. Nine was rummaging through hundreds of papers of varying sizes and variety. The mess looked like a big pile of shredded confetti. Or Q's filing cabinet after he refused to design exploding stationary for a certain agent. Bond was adamant on exploding, but practical everyday items. Q stood beside Steve, the pair wondering whether or not the programmer was totally sane. The linguist was working in BQ that day, a rare occurrence. He was there to translate weapons specific documents 004 had "borrowed" from the Russian secret service.
Q was the poster boy for efficiency and organisation at work, and as a result, the chaos of Nine's desk set his teeth on edge. Her workspace upstairs was slightly better. No stacks of white paper in her inbox (or anywhere else, for that matter), but irritating neon memo's and post it's of every colour littered it. He was now growing impatient, "Is there any way we can-"
"Don't touch ANYTHING!" snapped Nine. "Everything here and on my desk upstairs has it's place, I know where everything is!"
When it came to work, the timid woman could match Q in terms of irritability. Q backed down, but wasn't convinced in the slightest, "Then this must be the most organized mess I have ever come across!"
Steve was peering at some of the more recent notes, "You know you could just transfer these notes from paper to the server."
"Highly classified project" stated the Quartermaster. The possible security risk gave him a headache, but the fact remained: computers could be hacked. Data could be stolen.
"I like hard copies." said Nine. "All of these notes are to be incinerated after I finish the project. It's easier to burn paper than destroy data."
"Hmm, you have a good point there..." The linguist gingerly picked up a sheet of the notepaper. The one language that he had never understood, was computer code. Or computers in general. Of the six Q Branch department heads, Steve was the least competent concerning computers. His skills limited to using Microsoft Word and Google. The other five simply just emailed or handed him articles to translate. On encountering problems, he never asked for help from his subordinates the floor below their office. Nine and Rodger were usually the most sympathetic to his plight and came to his aid.
Nine snatched the inky page from Steve, "You're holding that upside down"
He shrugged. "I can't really tell either way"
When the young woman's back was turned, Q shot Steve a desperate look. The linguist shook his head in defeat. Neither of them could decipher Nine's spiky back handwriting. Steve could only assume it was also written in her almost dead first language. "None of these papers make any sense!", he exclaimed.
Nine was oblivious to the duo's prying. "They do!" she protested.
"... Not as far as I can see" said Q, scanning every inch of exposed paper, hoping that something legible would catch his eye.
Nine was on her knees searching under the desk at this point. "Which is not very far, I'm guessing." she mumbled too quietly for them to hear. "You can only read them if you know how to." The shuffling of papers stopped for a moment, "Ah! Found it! I just need to install the final protocol... Won't take long."
Q did a double take. At the very bottom of one of the piles, he could decipher one definitely English word from Nine's scrawl, "Arachne?"
Q heard Nine thump her head off the bottom of her desk in response. "Uh, Yes."
The project. The one Q wasn't supposed to know about. It had been staring him in the face this past month! This was it! Haphazardly scribbled on anything from printer paper and post it's to notebook and refill pad paper. He felt rather idiotic thinking about it. He needed more time to examine the papers. He needed to figure out what was going on.
For the first time since he'd met her, Nine spoke with pride. With confidence. "I've been working on her since before my first day here, and she will be beautiful when she's finished. Completely unique!" She became quiet again, plugging an iPhone into her computer and typing a command. It was clear she wouldn't be sharing any more about her classified assignment. Not wanting to start an argument with the young woman he had to spend the next hour or two with, Q reluctantly dropped the subject.
He wasn't an field agent, but seeing as what he was looking for wasn't on the MI6 server, it looked like Q would have to do some good old fashioned snooping next time Nine went out to lunch with Eve Moneypenny.
He was dreading the inevitable paper cuts already.
The journey to the sports bar wasn't altogether eventful. Nine and Q rarely spoke, still wary of each other. Q was relieved when Nine's phone rang just as they were getting on the tube. He knew it was someone from her hometown, as she spoke fluent Irish the whole way to their destination. Q was curious, he could tell the speaker was a little girl from the muffled voice and Nine's soft tones. Sister? Cousin? Daughter? It wasn't his business, but looking into the lives of other people was part of his job. Not knowing anything about this woman was frustrating. Q just used the time to finish the email he had been writing earlier that morning. With Q on the tablet and Nine talking on the phone, any and all conversation was avoided.
They both felt immediately out of place once they stepped into the pub. It was dark and stuffy, compared to the nice weather outside. It was a decent establishment, very clean, friendly staff, furniture that didn't creak and threaten to collapse. Ordinary people were scattered around eating lunch. The bumbling drunks and shady characters you'd find in any other bar were nowhere to be seen. Overall, it was rather fancy, as pubs go.
James Bond wasn't exactly difficult to find. He sat on a stool at the counter, empty pint glass in one hand, corner of a sandwich in the other and an empty plate in front of him. His blue eyes were glued to the sleek plasma television on the wall perpendicular to the counter, watching Scotland play football against Germany, by the looks of it. He wasn't fooling them, though. Bond was an agent. In any room, agents know everything. It wasn't the least bit surprising when he greeted them without turning around.
"Well if it isn't my two favourite computer geeks."
Q took a stool next to the agent. Just barely within arms reach. Strangling the blond man for dragging him there was too tempting. Nine picked up on Q's irritation, and opted to stand between the two, her back leaning against the counter. She kept an eye on the door, ready to make a quick getaway in case this meeting ended in an argument. "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking, Bond?" said Q disapprovingly.
Bond was still watching the football, "It's five o'clock somewhere. What do I have to lose?" He scowled and turned to the bar as Germany easily scored another goal, as if the Scottish team weren't even on the field. "Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred." He addressed the bartender. "Anything for you two?" The offer was politely rejected.
"Not like one of your usual haunts" said Q. He knew from experience that this wasn't the worst place he could have been summoned to.
Bond looked at him in mock disbelief, "Dear Q! I wouldn't drag the lovely Nine to any places like those!" He shot a charming smile at the programmer, who flushed red. It was 007's new game: how many shades of red could he could make Nine turn. Flattery, compliments, unrequited flirting, gentlemanliness, the works. Each time, Nine would blush redder and stumble and stammer over her words. James Bond found this to be highly amusing. Moneypenny told him about the stunt she'd pulled during the Paris mission. In his opinion, she deserved more credit, being a lovely young lady. The fact that this game of his also irritated Q to no end was an added bonus.
"Much obliged" stuttered Nine.
Q chose to blatantly ignore the comment altogether, but the sudden tensing of his jaw didn't escape the agent. When the martini came, it was down to business, "We've devised a series of non electrical devices for you to take to Rio-"
"Why non electronic?" Bond wasn't going to make it easy for him today.
"Because whatever you encountered in Paris shuts down everything with an electric circuit, so we haven't really had much to work with."
Q pulled a thick brown envelope out of nowhere, closely followed by a small black metal case. "Documentation. No high tech weaponry this time, I'm afraid. You shall be using your preferred Walther PPK 9 millimeter short. Nothing extraordinary, given the circumstances. The most I can give you is a few extra magazines and a micro non electrical homing device."
"I don't think I'll be needing the homing device-"
"It has already been planted on you. Operation Overwatch. M's orders. No going off grid this time, Bond." Q couldn't say much more about that particular project with his second in command present. If Overwatch was needed, and knowing 007 it probably would be, she would be read into it.
As the grumpy agent scowled and finished off his sandwich, Q nodded to Nine who handed Bond the iPhone prototype. "Now, this is your new phone. Q told me you've used these before, so it is quite similar to your average smartphone, although I designed it to be much more than that."
Bond touched the screen, and the device flickered to life. Nine continued her lecture. M had made it clear, that if she handed 007 written instructions, he wouldn't read them. "It recognises you and only you. It is hooked directly into the MI6 mainframe so we can monitor your activity twenty four seven. All calls, texts, emails, et cetera will be screened by us for viruses and tracers and such before you open them."
"So in other words, MI6 are now stalking me."
"Well, yes and no, I suppose. M's orders. He wanted a direct link to you while you're on active missions."
"Whatever happened to 'non electronic' devices?"
"Well, when the phone detects any interference with it's electrical systems, a back up organic power will kick in and the phone will stay operational for twelve hours, max." The lab rats were particularly proud of that little invention. It only worked once though, and needed to be replaced after each use. She made sure to say this to the agent.
Bond drained his martini, "Anything else I should know"
"Well, apart from the permanent internet uplink, real time maps, infinite free calls and texts and the high definition camera that uploads photos and videos to our servers as soon as you take them, there are also a few apps, that are not really the norm."
Bond scrolled across to find the apps in question. They looked inconspicuous, popular games that wouldn't look out of place on any phone. "If you need a programme created or a quick way into a computer, Q and I will send you the software through the Invader and Scrabble apps respectively. Just remember: "Invader" for hacker and "Scrabble" for programmer."
"Shouldn't be too difficult." he nodded.
"The 'Find It!' app sees what you don't see. Concealed weapons, hidden rooms and compartments, lost documents, things like that. The 'Bug' app both finds foreign bugs and enables you to listen to anyone within a fifty feet radius, even through walls. The lab rats managed to fit three non lethal darts into the phone which can be activated using the "Darts" app. Tap the 'Where's Wally?' app."
Bond complied. A map appeared on the screen, a blue and red dot in the centre. "A tracker app." said Nine, "Accurate up to several feet. Shows your chosen "Wally"'s movements over the past forty eight hours."
"The signal from the tracker isn't coming from the phone, Nine"
"I know." The young woman turned to Q, reaching around him to lift his shirt collar, revealing a small silver disk stuck underneath. The Quartermaster was startled at the contact, ironically flushing pink while Nine was the one who remained unfazed. "Stop it, you idiot!" he chastised himself, "It's just Nine, for god's sake, why the hell are you acting like this?" He thought he'd die of embarrassment when he felt her fingertips lightly brush against the skin of his neck when she flattened his collar down. "I should have taken that drink..."
Bond was smirking at him, trying not to laugh. Nine, totally oblivious to the reactions both men, apologised to her supervisor, "I'm sorry, Q, but I needed a Beta tester and you're the only one besides me who actually moves around the office during the day. The phone is still a prototype but M wants to see how it works in the field."
She turned to address 007 once again, "But I digress. Lastly, the 'Bob-ombs Away' app is a self destruct button. Literally, does what it days on the tin. Just don't be anywhere within thirty feet when it goes off."
The agent looked satisfied with his new toy. He turned it over in his hand and scanned the screen again, committing Nine's instructions to memory. "Wait, so what does the 'Angry Birds' app do?"
"Hmm? Oh! That's just to keep you occupied on the plane! Rio's quite far away, you know! Rather addictive game, that. It should keep you busy for a few hours!"
The look shock on his face almost made Q laugh. At least it wasn't 'Flappy Bird'. The evil that could be unleashed on the world, having James Bond play 'Flappy Bird'. The horror. "Good luck trying to beat the team's high scores! Eric's in the lead at the moment, but Steve's catching up. I have a feeling he's getting his kids to help him..."
"Reassuring to know MI6's finest spend their days playing video games." smirked Bond.
"Oh! One more thing..." Nine's own iPhone appeared in her hand, "If you need to contact any of us just open your search screen..." She demonstrates using her own phone "...and bring up the keyboard like so. Press and hold the M, Q or 9 keys to get a hold of us"
Bond nods in approval "Not bad, for your first gadget, Nine."
"Shame it'll be in bits when he returns." Mused Q "Missing, possibly. Shot. Or melted. Maybe shredded. Or eaten by some wild animal. If she's smart, she'll have backed everything up on a USB."
Nine blushed at the compliment, "It's not really that spectacular!" She stammered sheepishly. "The lab techs are the ones who built the phone and its accessories, I just programmed it to recognise its own additions. Just tell me if you find any bugs, and please bring it back undamaged, it's our only prototype. The technology isn't ready for general 00 use but M-"
"Has declared me the Q Division's guinea pig?"
Q stood up and pushed away the stool. "Yes. Now, everything is in order and we must be off. Try not to die, 007, I really can't be bothered with the paperwork."
"No promises, Q" said the agent in a bored tone, turning back around to watch the football match.
"That's it?" Nine was confused. She was never meant to come here in the first place. She only came along because Bond asked for her. "Wait, if that's all then why did you want me to come too?"
He turned his head and gave a teasing smile over his shoulder, "Q needs to get out of the office more. I figured he would need some company."
Nine then found herself being guided quickly by the elbow to the front door by Q. Outside was a welcome relief from the dark, stuffy pub. As they retraced their steps through the London streets, the pair came to a sudden realisation. No distractions. Nine wasn't on the phone. Q wasn't working. They couldn't just pick up a gadget, neither wished to be rude to the other. They would have to talk. Preferably quickly. The longer they kept their mouths shut, the more awkward the situation became. James Bond's closing comment certainly didn't alleviate the tension.
They never talked. Ever. He sent all assignments to her email. If they bumped into each other in the lunchroom, she'd update him on said assignments. They weren't exactly social creatures, Q and Nine. If they ever did communicate verbally, to each other or anyone else in MI6, it was always about work. Not really an option now, it technically was their lunch break. What sane person talked about work during their lunch break?
Q cleared his throat, "...How long was I wearing that tracer exactly?"
Nine looked across at him, "Just since this morning, sorry. M insisted I issue the phone to James and I panicked because it isn't fully tested yet, so I had to improvise."
There it was. James. The agent and the programmer had struck up an unlikely friendship, involving regular offerings of chocolate muffins on his part and the odd bag of crisps on hers. The latter was a private joke, Q assumed. Bond continued to train Nine. Not for fieldwork, though. Little things. Mostly simple self defence techniques and the occasional work out. Bond had been appalled by Nine's initial fitness level and took it upon himself to correct it. After a month, 007 thoroughly believed Nine wasn't a threat. Q didn't exactly trust his judgement. Or anyone's, for that matter. He'd rather be paranoid than dead.
In the extended silence, Nine spoke up tentatively, "...Where was your meeting supposed to be before he changed it?"
Q, who was trying to distract himself with his thoughts, almost didn't hear her. "The London Art Gallery." He replied.
"I'd rather go there than a pub," sighed Nine, "I've only lived here for a month. I haven't had the chance to see it yet" Interesting. Personal information. She moved to London exclusively for this job, and she had somewhat of an interest in art. It was vague, at best, but better than no information at all.
"It's worth a visit." commented Q. "Stupid short answers. Idiot. What is wrong with me today? Perhaps I'm falling ill." He banished the thought as soon as it came. He was relatively stress free this week and was eating properly lately as a result. Eating. Lunch. There's an idea...
Q recognised a small cafe up ahead, one he remembered eating at a long time ago. He took the young woman by the elbow once again and led her through the door, "This looks like a good spot."
Confused at his behaviour, Nine silently sat at a small table close to the window, her back to the wall. Q sat across from her and gestured to the iPad she was holding, "May I?" She handed it to him quizzically and he placed the device in the centre of the wooden table where they could both see the screen. "I apologise," started Q, causing Nine to look up in surprise. "Bond was at that particular pub for a reason. Watching the bloody football."
He began typing on the tablet. "You saw the phone he returned to me the first day we met?" When she nodded, he continued, "I admit, I haven't exactly made his life easy as a result." The device bleeped to life under his fingertips. A box of code opened up on one side of the screen and a window on the other. It took a second, but Nine finally recognised it as live security footage of the bar they had been standing in just ten minutes ago. The angle clearly showed James Bond sitting at the bar exactly where they left him, still watching the football.
Judging from the agent's excitement, it seemed like England was finally about to score a goal. The game itself could be seen in another window above the first two. Nine then copped on to Q's plan and laughed, "Brilliant!". Q smiled when he heard her, but schooled his features once again. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. It took a minute, but when the opportune moment came, he activated his simple hack. The look of shock on Bond's face when the television cut out was absolutely priceless. His head in his hands, he and the other footy fans present erupted into a chorus of profanity.
Nine was still laughing, "I was wondering if you were going to try something. I never pegged you for a pushover." Q's behaviour during the first five minutes she knew him were totally contradictory to the man she had later worked with. He had let that poor maimed smartphone go far too easily. Now she knew why. She told this to him.
"Whenever he neglects a piece of equipment, these unlucky moments just happen to befall him. Immature, I know, but it sates the urge to throttle him. Not to mention, he hasn't figured out that it's my doing, so please don't tell him."
A pen had appeared in Nine's hand during his explanation, which was now scribbling on a napkin. He read it when she handed it to him, thankfully, being one of her more legible works. He didn't know what exactly he was reading until the programmer enlightened him, "These are the code for the access portal to Bond's phone. Feel free to mess with him whenever you like!"
This time Q couldn't hide the smile on his face, or stamp out the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The feeling that only seemed to appear when Nine smiled or laughed like that. It was utterly ridiculous. Crazy. Made no sense to him whatsoever. "That's it, I'm definitely coming down with something..."
After the waiter came to take their order for lunch, the pair found that conversation came easily to them. Maybe talking wasn't so difficult after all...
A/N: As you have no doubt noticed, I'm not great at updating. Took a lot of rewrites to create this chapter, and even now I'm STILL not totally happy with it. Thanks for being patient with me. Also obvious, I know nothing about cyberwarfare, programming, computers, etc.
Ideas? Prompts? Opinions? I'd love to hear them, so send me a PM or leave a review! This story would be very short without a few filler chapters. If I want to incorporate your input into Arachne, I will and, of course, credit you for said idea. You shall also receive a metaphorical cookie of your choice and a virtual hug. :) -X