so i think it's common in fics for mi6 to have a lot of top secret information only stored on paper for opsec. which i understand, but the problem with paper is that it takes up a huge amount of space, is difficult to search through quickly, is very flammable/easy to damage, difficult and time consuming to duplicate without digitising (when needed) and is also very vulnerable to insider espionage which can go undetected for a while (if detected at all)
how do you fix this issue? well the common thing to do for many archives and libraries when storing lots of paper data (such as newspapers, maps, etc) is microfilms like microfiche, but i want to suggest:
the humble floppy disc!
it is relatively space efficient, allows you to collate and search data more quickly (stores small databases as well as old software etc.) it's a pretty efficient way of storing data digitally without the risks of HD-based storage!!
q/q-branch can then lock up the discs in archives with controlled access, and limit access to the computers in six that can read them, as well as not connect those computers to the internet. this makes it harder for internal espionage/double agents to access the data without it being very burdensome to keep track of the movements of every person who enters archival stacks. the clear cases and colourful nature of floppies, combined with limited number of computers to access, makes it easy for archivists to spot swaps. it also makes it easier for archivists to fetch relevant discs (and be in charge of loading/unloading them into computers) for those who need them, again without taking a huge amount of time like paper documents would.
if someone does manage to steal a disc, it's easier to track who has done it, because purchases of computers that can read a floppy would be obvious, or harder to hide in a home (if they manage to purchase it untracably/still had one that worked/etc).
moreover, it stands to reason that mi6 may have begun a digitisation project in the 70s, when floppies and computers first started getting commonplace and cheap enough for 6 to justify purchasing a larger volume of them. changing the format of data storage is a very difficult and expensive project, and data loses some of its integrity as it's converted. so, if it ain't broke!
i think it's a good solution for restricting access to a lot of top secret data that can be stored on them (like personnel data), that uses existing formats and protocols, rather than inventing something wholecloth and having to fence it off etc.
a fic fulfilling the “betting pool” and “the mystery of q’s name” squares on the Trope Prompt Table (004) by @mi6-cafe
Kismet
-----
There are only two people employed by MI6 who know Q’s birth name other than himself. One, by virtue of his position, is Mallory. He’d seen the redacted files on the Quartermaster shortly before they’d been destroyed as part of Q’s paperless initiative.
The other found out through sheer, dumb luck...
R finished combing through the debugging program she was working on, glaring at the screen when she found the exact line of code where she’d missed a bracket. The irony was not lost on her.
Glancing at the clock, she noted that a solid fifteen minutes had passed since Double-Oh Six strutted out of the branch. Enough time that she shouldn’t arouse suspicion by heading to Q’s office.
She made a show of stretching at her station, rolling her neck in circles and twisting from side to side in an attempt to crack her back. Victor appeared to have returned to his work but Amara kept referencing the paper on Trevelyan had given her, likely updating their database.
R grabbed her nearly empty mug and stepped back from her desk.
“Eddie, I need a warm up here. You have the conn.”
“Aye, Captain,” the younger tech grinned and saluted her.
She waited until he’d put his headset on before taking her’s off, logging out, and putting her computer to sleep.
“Don’t let Q hear you call me that. You’ll never hear the end of it,” she joked as she headed for the kitchenette in the break area.
She tossed the dregs of her tea down the drain and grabbed one of Q’s mugs from the sideboard. Relaxing into the routine of making tea, she took the time to doctor Q’s with precision. R knew she excelled at what she did, but she suspected that her promotion had been sealed when it came to light that her and Double-Oh Nine were the only people in the building Q trusted to make his tea exactly as he liked it.
A mug in each hand, she carefully made her way back to Q’s office and knocked on the bottom of the door with her boot.
“Come in.”
She pushed against the door with her hip but it was latched shut. She kicked the door once more and heard her boss huff before a wheel scrapped across the floor.
“You honestly couldn’t op—,” Q’s grumbling cut off as he flung the door open and saw R standing there with a cheeky smile, holding his mug out for him, “Oh! Thank you, R.”
“Do you have a moment?”
“Of course,” Q nodded and stepped back. He accepted the outstretched mug, studying her closely as she closed the door behind her.
“What can I do for you, R?” Despite the kind smile on his face, his voice was neutral and diplomatic as he returned to his seat.
She recognized the concern in his tone and waved her hand as she sat down, trying to assuage his worries.
“It’s nothing serious, but I thought you should know that Victor and Amara’s, um, project is beginning to expand beyond the current parameters.“
The corners of Q’s mouth turned down and he appeared to wrack his brain for the details of their current assignment before he realized what she was talking about.
“The betting pool?” Q laughed, cautiously taking a sip of his too-hot tea.
“Yes, sir. It seems that Double-Oh Six just bet 100 quid and you know Trevelyan won’t be able to keep that to himself.”
“100 quid?” He gaped at her before recovering swiftly. “I thought entries were only five?”
R nodded and took a delicate sip of tea.
“They are, sir. He came in with a list of 20 different names.”
Q snorted, shaking his head.
“I knew they’d gotten the cleaning crew in on it, but I didn’t think they’d push the boundaries any further than that.”
“Rod’s team? If they’re in, it’s no wonder Double-Oh Six knew about it.”
Q shrugged with a wry smile.
“For being in espionage, people around here are terrible at keeping secrets.”
R laughed.
“I think it’s more to do with knowing national security isn’t exactly at stake if they gossip. Do you want me to shut it down?”
Q considered the question but had to agree with R’s summation. He waved his hand dismissively.
“No, let them have their fun at my expense. If it allows them to blow off enough steam for us to avoid another stapler incident, it’s worth it.”
R snorted and they shared exasperated grins. They sat for a moment in companionable silence before Q cracked.
“Okay, I have to know. What’s the current front runner?” His smile was puckish and R couldn’t help but notice how much younger it made him look.
“I don’t know.” She said, shrugging.
Q raised an eyebrow as she threw the end of her hijab back over her shoulder where it’d slipped off.
“Oh, come on. You must have some idea.”
“Well. . .I don’t know what the actual name is but last I heard the odds favored something terribly modern, like Kasper with a ‘K’ or Maddox. If I recall correctly, the guesses are mostly split between more, um, current names with extraneous letters or the standard top tens. You know: Thomas, Christopher, Daniel, Michael, Andrew—popular ones.”
She leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on her face. ”Though there seem to be a few favoring names that start with Q—Quincy, Quinlan, Quinten, Quigley.”
Q laughed loudly at that and R smiled, happy to be able to keep pulling him out of the rigid, no-nonsense persona he put on at work.
“Quigley, that’s amazing. . .” He chuckled as he raised his mug to his lips. “And what did you put your money down on?”
R offered him an indulgent smile.
“I’m not the betting kind.”
“No? Well, you must have at least a guess.”
“I. . .may have some theories.”
“Like?” He smiled, indulging his curiosity.
She narrowed her eyes as she set her cup of tea down on the desk, leaning forward to study him. Q stared back passively, waiting.
“I don’t think it’s anything modern or obnoxious. It’s not overly common or terribly simple, like Mark or Jeff. It’s something that’s a little old-fashioned, maybe, but smart without sounding pompous.”
Q’s smile grew across his face even as he tried to hide it.
If R had been looking at Q as she carelessly tossed out her guesses instead of focusing on her tea, she would have seen Q’s posture abruptly stiffen, the smile on his face chased away by flashes of shock-confusion-fear before silent fury took hold.
The sound of his chair crashing into the wire rack behind his desk as he abruptly stood up made R jump, sloshing tea over the side of her mug. She watched, shocked, as he promptly snapped the blinds to his office window shut and locked the door.
He turned slowly on his heel to face her, tension radiating from him. His voice was tight.
“Where did you find it?”
“Find what?” R frowned and tried kept her voice as calm as she could among her growing confusion. She deliberately placed the cup of tea back on his desk, not breaking eye contact.
“Don’t, R. I know you’re smarter than that. Where was it?” He took a step towards her, voice low and dangerous.
“Q,” R stood, trying to gain some footing in a situation quickly spiraling out of control without her knowing why. She held her hands out, open and placating. “I’m not—“
Q’s jaw twitched and she cut herself off as she saw him glance out of the corner of his eye towards the gun he’d been working on where it lay next to the toolbox on his desk. Panic coursed through her and she vehemently shook her head, but wasn’t able to say anything before he continued.
“Why would you be looking that far back? Fuck!” There was a fierceness in his eyes she’d never seen before. He took another creeping step towards his desk and continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “That name’s been dead and buried for a long time. Who are you working for?”
R felt her lungs freeze inside her chest and she blinked. If the betrayal in his tone hadn’t clued her in, that certainly did the trick.
She’d later blame the utterly lethargic firing of her synapses on how blindsided with panic she’d been at the idea of Q turning a gun on her.
She knew his current alias and his cover identities. When they’d first started working together, years ago, he’d been called Colin—but, just as she’d been given the name Naima when she was promoted to R, she knew he’d been assigned that one too. She didn’t know the name he used before that, let alone the actual name that had been put in ink on his birth certificate decades ago.
There was no way. . .
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but eventually closed it when it nothing came out that could be construed as actual words.
Q, still as could be, watched the play of emotions across her face before everything clicked into place.
His eyes widened in what R would’ve considered a highly comical fashion had her heart not been close to beating out of her chest. His expression cleared as he realized just how dumbfounded R was.
“You. . .You have no idea, do you?”
She shook her head, still completely gobsmacked.
“So I--I guessed right?”
Q began laughing and immediately deflated as all the tension left his body in a matter of seconds. He placed a hand on his chest and exhaled in obvious relief.
“Yes. Yes, you did, love.” He said, shaking his head in amazement as he pulled her into a brief hug. “Shit, R. You bloody terrified me. I thought it was a lucky guess at first, but then you had my middle name too and—Christ, I thought you’d defected! I was afraid I’d have to shoot you right here if you tried anything before I could call someone in.”
R laughed weakly and took a step back from him.
With a delighted grin and a wondrous huff of laughter, he leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms.
“I know you said you’re not one to gamble, but maybe you should buy a lottery ticket on your way home, yeah? That or start a psychic hotline.”
R managed a grin as she sat back down, reaching for her tea with a shaky hand.
“Er. . .Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Q snorted and waved at her to continue.
“You are bloody terrifying when you need to be, did you know that?” She exhaled and took a fortifying sip of her tea.
Q looked rather pleased with himself.
She smiled up at him before continuing.
“You know, I reckon we’d get more of our equipment back if you got angry like that with Double-Oh Seven.”
“I’m, ah, afraid he’s a lost cause,” Q hedged, reaching across his desk for his cuppa. Based on the rising blush and how he avoided her eyes, she got the distinct impression he’d done just that but with a vastly different outcome than what she’d proposed.
They sat in silence as their heart rates returned to a somewhat normal range. By the time they’d finished their tea, they were back to arguing about just which rifle Double-Oh Four should be issued for her upcoming mission.
An alert pinged on Q’s mobile and they grinned sheepishly at each other.
“Back to it, I suppose. . .”
R collected their empty mugs and made it to the door before Q spoke again, his voice quiet.
“Naima?”
She turned back with a soft smile.
“I’m sorry. I know you would never—“
R nodded, not needing words to assure him that he didn’t need to elaborate further. He returned her smile gratefully.
“Um. . .I wouldn’t say anything if you happened to make a bet, you know. It wouldn’t technically be cheating since you guessed correctly and all.”
R laughed.
“And ruin their fun, sir? Absolutely not. Besides,” she unlocked the office door and opened it, giving him a cheeky smile over her shoulder, “you didn’t actually tell me which one was correct.”
-----
(i have no idea what this is?? but i hope it’s clear they’re bros)
Royal Mail has revealed images of 10 new stamps being issued to celebrate the James Bond film franchise and the release of the 25th Bond film, No Time To Die. The stamps take inspiration from six key James Bond films across the decades, with the designs a stylistic tribute to the opening titles from each film.... Read more »
Hey, these days, attacks against q branch come in cyber form. Everyone forgets that before everything was digitized, Q branch needed to be able to physically defend their work from theives. Let Q branch remind people that wasn't too long ago. - anon
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Hell fucking yes, Q-branch are bamfs. Jen.
-
Bond discovered how lethal Q was when he really tried to fiddle with a pen - having been warned off it at least four times - and found himself pinned to the floor by the throat with Q brandishing a flickknife he had somehow managed to all but magic from thin air.
“Well,” Bond mumbled honestly, “I hadn’t seen that coming.”
Q grinned, and released him.
“And I’m the least physically adept of Q-branch,” he added cheerfully, tucking the knife back away again.
Bond only realised the terror of that statement later.
-
True to their word:
”We have an onsite lockdown in Q-branch,” M announced, as Bond breezed in, having been buzzed on emergency. “Hostiles on site. The rest of MI6 has been locked down, but we need a negotiator.”
“Q?”
“Alive. We need to intervene before there are fatalities.”
“How many hostiles?”
“Seven,” M replied, waving in Tanner. “Updates?”
Tanner looked unhealthily, uncharacteristically satisfied. “The situation is contained.”
M smiled slightly. “Bond, could you go down and relieve Q of the hostiles? Before it’s too late.”
“... wait, I don’t understand.”
Tanner and M looked to him with vague surprise. “Q-branch have dealt with the situation. The rest is just clean-up.”
“But what do you mean, too late? Too late for what?!”
M shrugged, looking far too innocent for his own good. “I wouldn’t put it past that branch to accidently kill any of them if they were annoying, Q-branch are pretty damn formidable. Watch back the tapes. Now, off you go.”
-
By the time Bond got there, Q was in the middle of a full-scale rant, “and if you had any sense at all you would have at least checked the security we already have in place, this is absurd, frankly amateur, and…”
“Q?”
“Oh, and the cavalry finally arrives,” Q continued, unabated, wheeling around to fix Bond with a dead glare, “welcome, Bond, to a situation that doesn’t need a double-oh, and nobody’s dead. Not a single one. And nobody had to be slept with. See? Professionalism.”
“Professionalism,” Bond echoed blankly, looking about as scared as the seven hostiles who were all trussed up like Christmas turkeys. “Yeah. Okay. Shall we get these.. guests… out of here?”
“Yes,” Q snapped, “lets.”
-
Bond watched the tapes back that evening.
He asked Q out on a date less than ten minutes later.
Eve loved fast cars; big cars; weaponised cars - she just loved cars. And if Q hadn't been her best friend, she was acutely aware that her reputation when it came to vehicles "mysteriously" disappearing from MI6 parking lot would be just as bad as Bond's - if not worse. The only difference being that she would have been a lot more careful and certainly wouldn't have parked a perfect blend of engineering and beauty at the bottom of the Tiber.
As things were, though, Q indeed was her best friend and the least he could do for her for putting up with her wardrobe being covered in cat hair, it was authorising her to get the cars out for a little spin whenever she felt like it.
And since Q really was the best she could have asked for in terms of friendship, he even let her test the vehicles and suggest various modifications and upgrades - basically heaven, if only Q would allow her to drive with a nice bottle of wine tucked in the passenger seat.
She wasn't nearly as bad when it came to other gadgets (even if she had a weak spot for various poisons and knives) - cars just got her blood going, nothing felt as freeing as speeding down a street with an engine purring under her feet.
