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Q was having a bad week. Actually it was more like a bad month. International terrorism seemed to be working overtime in all parts of the world. M pressed Q into orchestrating short, surgically precise missions. Q’s brilliance shone brightly, the missions were swift and devastating to their enemies.
Unfortunately, the level of missions required a personal touch from the Quartermaster that had him traveling nonstop for a month. His latest trip was cut short when he was delivering Frank Castle, OO4, his kit in Marseilles. OO4 had unknowingly been compromised and their enemies waited with baited breath, their eyes on capturing the Quartermaster. They crashed their car into his and were tearing through the wreckage to get to him, when Castle, an unparalleled demolitions expert, let loose some of the toys that Q had gifted him with. Enemies dead, Castle pulled the Quartermaster out of the car and escorted him safety back to 6.
The Quartermaster had an abbreviated visit with medical as they taped up his three broken ribs, gave him a brace for his fractured right wrist, and a prescription of pain pills which he ignored. M personally broke him out of medical. Medical was furious- the Quartermaster had a concussion that concerned them, but there were other missions that needed to be run. The Quartermaster dutifully ignored his throbbing head and continued through OO2’s and OO8’s mission.
It was shortly before 10 at night when Q sent the rest of his team home. The next mission, OO7’s mission in Spain, wasn’t to begin for a few hours. When Q branch was quiet, Q worked in his office planning the next wave of missions until his eyes refused to focus and his stomach violently reminded him that he couldn’t remember when the last time he had eaten.
Q stood up and almost fell over as a wave of dizziness stole his breath and balance. He grabbed the edge of his desk with his right hand and cursed when pain shot up his arm making him more nauseous. Once Q was sure he wasn’t going to fall over, Q tore the brace off his wrist and threw it angrily on his desk. Leaving in his earwig, he grabbed his favorite scrabble cup and walked out of his office.
Q eyed the Q branch kitchen. It was the latest casualty in a good natured prank war between the double-ohs and the minions. Aside from making sure that no one got hurt, Q mostly ignored the war. R had ordered that the clean would happen over the weekend, so Q wasn’t too worried about it. He left Q branch and made his way to the main kitchen on the 5th floor.
There was a very specific hierarchy at MI6. M and the executive branch, including Tanner and Q, were at the top. The double-ohs was right below that. Q-branch was under the double-ohs because even though the minions didn’t have a license to kill, they did have an Overlord who protected them like an over-zealous god. At the bottom of the hierarchy were the baby agents, the newly minted field agents who were just promoted from analyst positions. Their brash overconfidence wasn’t tempered with experience, they had skills serious but didn’t have the edge that senior field agents had or the formidable, almost preternatural skills of the double-ohs. Most of the people at 6 avoided the baby agents until they had a little experience (humility) under their belts.
Q had very little awareness of baby agents. The double-ohs and international terrorism more than took up his time. So when he walked into the mostly deserted kitchen looking to make himself a cup of tea, the group of 5 men sitting around one of the tables didn’t catch his attention. They were loud and filled with adrenaline, having come from a successful practice mission. They were drinking from poorly hidden flasks. They eyed him, drunkenly thinking he would be easy prey. With a few glances, the five men stood up and walked over to Q. Q was staring at the electric kettle thinking through the situation in North Korea.
“What do we have here?” one of the baby agents mocked, taking the mug from Q’s hands.
Q looked up surprised. “Excuse me, that’s mine.” he said politely.
The man smirked then open his hand. Q’s favorite mug shattered on the ground. The others sniggered around Q. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so clumsy,” the man said knocking into Q.
“Please stop,” Q said strict politeness.
They laughed.
“You know who we are, nerd boy?” one of them taunted, shoving him again.
“Remember our faces, trash, we’re going to be running this place one day.”
Q looked around at them as they pushed and shoved him. Q slipped on the broken shards of his mug and fell to his knees, jolting his ribs. They kicked him a few times, leaving him gasping. They dragged him up and secured his hands and ankles with heavy duty zip ties. One of them took off his belt and gaged him with it tightly then locked him in the utility closet.
James Bond was slightly concerned. He had been looking forward to the familiar banter he traded with his Quartermaster. Their working relationship had evolved from the very proper Quartermaster/ Agent relationship into a warm friendship. James hoped that one day soon they would move past just being friends into some much, much more. Unable to shake a feeling of unease, he called out to Q once again, but received no answer. He checked his watch. Q was 10 minutes late.
Q was never late.
James got into position and prepared to take the shot to kill the target who was the head of a terrorist cell. James waited for 10 minutes in silence, hoping to hear from Q but only heard the occasional burst of soft static. James took the shot and quickly left the scene. James climbed into the sleek car Q had provided for him and started driving to the airport.
James was halfway to the airport when he suddenly recognized the soft pattern of the burst of static as Morse code. James abruptly pulled over. “Q, can you hear me?”
The pattern of static changed. Help. Trapped in closet of 6, 5th floor.
“Are you really in a closet of 6?” James asked trying not to smile. Q must be gagged too, if the best he could do was tap out Morse code on the radio connected to his earwig.
Close to kitchen. Can’t move. Don’t call Tanner or M.
James was already pulling out his phone. He dialed Alec’s number. “James!” Alec’s voice sounded only slightly intoxicated.
“Alec, I need a favor. Q’s got himself in a bit of a trouble.”
“Q? They let him out of medical?” Alec asked, surprised.
“Medical?” James frowned.
“A South Africa terrorist group made a grab for him. Frank was very angry, he blew them up into tiny pieces. From what I heard Q was pretty banged up.”
I’m fine.
“I doubt that.” James’s heart thudded against his chest. “Alec, he’s locked in a closet at 6, 5th floor near the kitchen. Can you swing by and make sure he’s okay?”
“I have Eric with me, we’ll go now,” Alec’s concern could be heard in his voice.
Tell him not to worry. I’m fine.
“Quickly, Alec. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” James said hanging up his phone. “Are you okay, Q? Don’t lie.”
Just talk to me.
James stepped off the elevator and caught sight of Eric who was leaning against the wall across from medical. Eric Earnhart, OO9, was known for having ice in his veins. The anger in his face told James that the situation was more serious than Q led him to believe. He had continued to talk to Q until he boarded his plane. When he touched down he couldn’t reach Q, Alec, or Eric.
Eric caught his eye, then looked pointedly into Medical.
James walked through the door and caught sight of M, Tanner, and Alec glaring at the door to surgery. “Well, this doesn’t look good,” James observed.
All eyes turned to him.
“Did the Quartermaster tell you who did this?” M demanded, his temper evident in his voice.
“No,” James said gauging the worry on Tanner’s face. “What is his status?”
“He had broken some ribs yesterday and they were kicked into his lungs. He was choking on his own blood,” Tanner said bleakly. “If you hadn’t called Trevelyan and Earnhart, he wouldn’t have been found until Monday. It would have been too late by then.”
“I will not tolerate this kind of behavior here,” M said coldly looking at Tanner.
“I will investigate,” Tanner said firmly.
M glanced over at James. “I would like you to… help.”
James didn’t let his surprise show. Alec smiled a terrible smile and clapped James on the shoulder.
James was sitting on the guest chair when Q opened his eyes. “Hello, Quartermaster,” James said pouring some water into a cup.
“Commander Bond,” Q said moving painfully.
“Don’t,” James pressed the button and raised Q’s back so he could sit up. He brought the cup to Q’s lips. Q lifted his hand to take the cup, but found that it was covered in a thick plastic brace. Q looked at it. “It’s broken. You’ll be wearing that cast for 4 to 6 weeks. How do you feel?”
“Tolerable,” Q sighed looking around. “I don’t suppose you’ve been able to keep this from Tanner or M.”
“You were a few hours from being a name on the wall,” James said lightly. “Would you care to tell me what happened?”
“A bunch of bullies. I wasn’t paying attention.” Q closed his eyes for a moment, then sat up and went to push the blankets off him.
James stopped him. “Rest. You’ve had less than three hours of sleep in the last week. You were concussed with broken ribs and a fractured wrist. There’s no evidence that you’ve eaten anything in the last two weeks. I think we can excuse your inattention.”
At the mention of food, Q’s stomach turned violently. Q closed his eyes and lay back.
James sent a quick text. “I saw the security footage.”
Q’s eyes snapped open.
“M has held off making the investigate public until he speaks with you. The bullies were new baby agents. Promoted two weeks ago.” James smiled slightly as Q’s face went carefully blank.
Q was forced to take a week off. James and Tanner quickly ascertained the identity of Q’s attackers. James and the other double-ohs suddenly became interested in the training of the baby agents. The normal instructors didn’t know of the attack and became suspicious when all the double-ohs started being in the same gyms and firing ranges during their training sessions. The baby agents watched the double-ohs with admiration mixed with the unease common in prey who knew they were being scented by predators.
It finally came to a head during a weapons presentation lead by R. R looked disdainfully at the baby agents, showing them the standard guns issued to field agents. The baby agents were crowded nervously around her in the large firing range. Surrounding them were all nine of the double-ohs, each placidly cleaning their weapons, paying carefully attention to R’s lecture.
“…these weapons are to be turned in after each mission to control,” R glanced over the group.
“I thought they were ours,” one of the baby agents protested. “Senior agents are armed.”
“Senior agents could be called out at any time,” R answered.
“What need have you of weapons?” Lita Selwig, OO5, voiced in her rich, seductive voice. “6 is home. You’re safe.” There was a touch of venom in her voice that made the baby agents titter.
“It’s not like you’ll be attacked here,” Gareth Sims, OO8 said shrugging. “We’re all family here.”
“We watch out for each other,” Maia Whitherspoon, OO3 said with a cold smile.
The baby agents were now noticeably nervous. The 5 who had attacked Q looked at each other alarmed.
“Why do the double-ohs all have different weapons?” one of the more serious baby agents asked, looking over the weapons the double-ohs were cleaning.
“The Quartermaster makes the weapons of the double-ohs personally,” R bragged. “They are designed only to work for the agent it is made for.” R glanced at James. “OO7?”
James was standing in the back of the room. Faster than a heartbeat, he drew his gun and shot through the baby agents to the 3 targets down the range. The baby agents froze in terror. James slinked forward, parting the baby agents until he stood in front of the baby agent who had broken Q’s cup. James held out his custom made gun, his ice blue eyes daring the man. “Take it.” James said.
The man looked as though he was second away from dropping on his knees. He reached out a hand to take the gun when James smiled. “Be careful. I wouldn’t want to you drop it.”
The man went deathly pale, his hand started shaking. Around them, the double-ohs clicked the safeties off their guns. The baby agent took hold of the gun and aimed it at the target down the range. The gun was shaking slightly. The baby agent pulled the trigger and jumped when nothing happened.
The door to the gun range banged open. “Stand down!”
All the double-ohs and R straightened up quickly. “Bloody hell,” Q stomped between James and the shaking baby agent. The baby agent started to look relieved when James stepped back, but turned an unhealthy shade of green when he caught sight of Q. Q was wearing a pair of dark pants and another terrible jumper. His right arms was in a sling across his chest. Q looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“A word of warning, Mr. Anderson,” Q glanced over to include the four other men who had attacked him. “Treat everyone at 6 with a great deal of respect. We are the men and women who will pull you out of hell and get you home safe. An agent is only as good as the people who support him or her.”
The baby agent’s color started returning. He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something disparaging when Q smoothly took the gun out of James’s hands and shot the twelve targets in shots less than a heartbeat apart with his left hand. The baby agent’s eyes darted from Q to the targets.
Q turned to James and the other double-ohs. “I think you’ve finished traumatizing the new agents. If you have time, why don’t you come down to Q branch with me and test explosives?”
The double-ohs perked up visibly. “Of course,” James smiled. Q sighed and handed him back his gun. Q nodded at R and led the double-ohs out.
R casually touched a button and brought the targets forward.
“I thought only the double-ohs could use their weapons,” the serious baby agent objected when the door shut behind the last double-oh.
“Each gun is matched to the palm print of the double oh it is made for.” R said with a smirk. “And, of course the Quartermaster.”
“That’s the Quartermaster?” someone whispered.
“Yes, that was Q,” R said loudly. “You may call him Supreme Overlord.”
One of the baby agents whistled. Each of the targets had perfect kill shots. The three center targets had two on each, James's and Q's.
“That’s nothing. You should see what he can do in front of a computer.”