“Overwatch: Command: activate Ferrari,” Vickie said. Her grin spread like a kid with a Christmas present. “Overwatch: Command: activate Ferrari HUD live. Now, check that little goodie out. Just scan me for starters.”
Obediently, Ramona looked over the wisp of a woman in front of her, toes to head and back again. Not a lick of skin showing below her jawline, but the all-black ensemble didn’t make her look sickly. As she scanned a second time, other information appeared to the side of Vickie. Time, location, general address as well as latitude and longitude. She allowed her gaze to linger for a second longer, and Ramona’s eyebrows went up as a red icon flashed over the small of the woman’s back. The bulky sweater hid what the HUD determined as a Glock, fully loaded, and even went so far as to correlate that information to Vickie’s full profile from Echo. Ramona was less surprised when it recommended “no engagement.”
“Only packing one? I guess I did get your coffee order right.”
Vickie chortled. “Oh, I have plenty of mags within reach. If you want to play Easter Egg Hunt, be my guest. Overwatch: Command: Transfer control: Ferrari: Ferrari. Now you’re in the driver’s seat. Anything you can hear, I can hear. Anything you can see, I can see. I can talk to you without anyone overhearing because there is a pickup and a speaker smack in your middle ear, and you can whisper because there is a second pickup in your soft palate. Here—” She handed Ramona a little printed folder. “That’s your basic commands, but if you don’t like how I set it up, and I admit it’s kind of geeky, then teach it yourself, the instructions are right there. Now, I can override at any time and take control and turn things on. You can turn it all off for as much as eight hours at a time for privacy, any more and it’ll alarm and force you to do it again. If you go over your designated time, it’ll alarm for me, too. So yes, you are now the Ferrari 9000, congratulations.” She paused then added, “Oh. Lower left-hand corner of your HUD, little camera icon, tells you the feed is live, and there are two dots next to it, one is the mic, the other is the speaker. Same thing. Turn them off, the icon and dots go away. Now, have some cake and tell me what brought you here in the first place.”
“Well . . .” Ramona tucked the folder into her purse, trading it for the newspaper. She unfolded the first page, then pressed it back along the crease so that Verdigris’ ad would be perfectly centered. “This. This isn’t something that was publicized in-house, and only a one-week lead makes me suspicious. Plus, he’s using ‘Chief Executive Officer’ in reference to himself, which isn’t quite accurate. Something’s rotten, Vickie.”
Vickie frowned. “You think he’s copped to us? Or at least that we’re up to something?” Her frown deepened.
“I don’t know.” Ramona flicked the edge of the page with her finger. “What this does, or could do, is make him the benevolent darling of the media, earning the adoration of the public by commemorating that day. No one will want to touch him after that kind of gesture.”
“Overwatch: Command: open Bella private. Bells, we have a possible sitch.” Vickie explained, then listened. “Roger, that’s a go. Overwatch: Command: close Bella private.” She turned her gaze back to Ramona. “We’re on accelerated program, Detective. Double-time if we can manage it.”
“How close are you to unlocking the charter?” She had made sure the document had arrived safely at Vickie’s apartment less than a day after her meeting with Yankee Pride and Dixie Belle, but the legendary metahuman hadn’t been joking about the need for a good mage.
“Close. I know exactly what we need now. The obvious stuff was keyed as tarot code, which is why you kept seeing cards on the edges of the charter parchment. Major Arcana represent actual people. The Emperor—that’s Pride. The High Priest—that’s a tricky one, that’s Nicola himself. The Tower—that’s the other tricky one, Marconi. Minor Arcana represent objects. King of Staves, Queen of Pentacles, King of Swords—physical bits of the three original signatories, that’d be Dixie Belle, Yank, and Alex’s father. And I worked out the unlocking ritual, which is a very pretty and neat piece of mathemagic, and I would love to know who did it for them.” Vickie pursed her lips. “So, can you get me all those things?”
“We can get Pride, sure. Bits and pieces might be a little harder, but since Dixie is still alive, she can help.” Ramona let out a quick sigh, part thought and part frustration. “Mr. Tesla’s going to be the hard one, since I’m guessing that you can’t up and transport your ‘rig’ into the CCCP closet.”
“Actually I have carte blanche from Nat ever since I wired her up. I have gone from ‘Daughter of Rasputin’ to ‘Hero of the People.’ I think she’s decided I’m close enough to science to get a free pass.”
“But is it safe for you to take all of that out? I mean, the man is an electronic ghost . . . and how do we have both Marconi and Tesla there at the same time? Only one can use the box at a time.”
“Tch.” Vickie waggled a finger at her. “O ye of little faith. I have a portable version of my workroom. The magician isn’t the workroom, the workroom is the magician. And I am a techno-mage; you didn’t see me unlock the MacGuffin in the first place, but trust me, tech is safe around me. Have I never shown you the Overwatch suite? But about Tesla . . . hmmm. The logical solution is to let Marconi use the box and make you Tesla’s proxy. I hope you don’t mind being possessed.”
Ramona searched for the right word that would give her some shred of magic street-cred. “You mean, to serve as a, uh, conduit?”
“Pretty much,” Vickie said, cheerfully.
“If it keeps the slimeball from taking over, I’ll spit pea soup on the ceiling. I think, if you’re not busy, we could probably get Pride on his way back from his weekly visit to his mom.” She tried not to think about Tesla’s voice coming out of her mouth.
“Let’s get him. The sooner I wire him, the better, anyway.” Vickie sighed. “Right, this is going to take some prep. And it’s going to take some convincing. Tesla isn’t going to like riding a body, he might not believe I can do this, and he is probably going to be afraid he won’t be able to go back to his box when we’re done. So now, Detective, you get to do what you do best. While I prep, you go talk to the Great and Powerful Oz.”
“Me?” Ramona goggled at her. “Why me—?”
Vickie gave her a look that clearly said don’t play coy with me. “Because you are Ramona Ferrari, who has a better chance of talking Eskimos into buying bikinis than anyone I ever met in my life. Now go. Shoo. I’ll meet you at CCCP HQ.”
She gathered up her things and slung her oversized purse over a shoulder. In the spring, the overwhelming heat had not settled over the city, so she managed the six blocks to the CCCP headquarters without melting. She banged on the door twice, readying for a third knock when the door swung open and a severe man in military fatigues appeared. He did not smile as she produced her Echo badge and cleared her throat.
“Detective Ferrari, sir. I’m here to speak to the Commissar about the item you have in, uh, storage.” He didn’t show any signs of understanding, so she held up her badge a little higher. “Echo? I’m a Detective, with Echo—”
“The Commissar is familiar with the operatives of Echo. Where is Yankee Pride?”
“I’m here on my own. Pride will be here soon. Listen, I’d like to speak with the Commissar. It’s important,” she added with a frown. “Is she here?”
The man began to shake his head, but Ramona heard Vickie’s voice pipe through her ears, presumably also on the CCCP channels. “You have clearance to go through HQ, Detective. Unter’s just following procedure.” The man gave a crisp nod, stepping to the side just enough for Ramona to slip through. “Turn left at the first entry and head down the stairs. You know the way from there.”
Ramona knew her way to the small room that held Alex Tesla’s desk. As the door clicked shut behind her, she realized that she didn’t know much more when it came to the communication device. Pride was the one who was able to authorize it and open the dialogue with the Metisians. Ramon
a didn’t have any sort of card or key that would open the desk, and she was fairly sure that Vickie couldn’t override the communicator to give another person access. She passed a hand over the smooth wood surface and sighed. The charter was still locked, Verdigris was tearing Echo apart piece by piece, and she couldn’t do much without the assistance of an actual metahuman with some measure of authority.
“Well, what do I do now?” she muttered aloud. “Wait for Metis to call me?”
The surface of the desk shifted, the two antennae rising and the blue lattice connecting rapidly. Ramona pulled her hand back from the desk and held her breath. As before, the semblance of a severe man with a starched collar and impeccable hair emerged from the field between the wires. It shifted and blinked, features relaxing in recognition at Ramona.
“Detective Ferrari. You have need of assistance?” Nicola Tesla’s voice held a crisp yet congenial tone, as if he had expected her call and had been waiting for her. “Is Yankee Pride with you?”
She shook her head, still amazed that the desk had responded to her voice. Ramona hadn’t thought that Victrix had overridden the box to allow more than just Pride to call Metis, but she had worked with the woman long enough to know that there was plenty she didn’t understand about magic. “No, sir. I came on my own. We found the charter and we spoke to Dixie Belle, but she said something about unlocking the charter and finding a good magician.”
“And do you not have a mage with sufficient talent?” The blue mesh eyebrows came together in a show of concern. “I confess, the arcane is not my area of expertise.”
Ramona shook her head. “No, we’ve got the best that anyone could ever want. The issue is that it requires authentication from both you and Mr. Marconi in order to begin the process, and our only direct connection is here.” She gestured to the desk and the walls of the small room. “Our resident magician is equally good with technology, but circumstances being what they are . . .”
“You are serving as the operator for this call.” Tesla nodded crisply. “Very well. We will assist in this matter, provided that the charter is at the secondary location. You will need to maintain the connection here.”
“Listen, there’s something I need to ask—”
But Tesla wasn’t listening. He turned, fading slightly as if to call someone from another side of the room. Ramona watched as the more jovial face of Marconi appeared, blue wire-frame eyes dancing. “Signorina Ferrari, a pleasure to see you once again. Yankee Pride is not with you?”
“No, sir. I’m here on my own.” She waved to the walls before patting the back of the chair. “Playing the intermediary, as it were.”
“Alone?” Marconi’s voice carried a hint of mischief as he feigned disbelief. “Truly a terrible thing to befall such a lovely lady as yourself. A moment, please? Nicola, he forgets the most important things sometimes . . .”
“Sir? I don’t—” The wireframe disappeared from view and the image flickered once, as if someone had changed the channel on a television set. What had been blue on gray-black was now full color on white, and a shirtless, upside-down Mercurye stared back at her. He blinked, eyes widening as he recognized Ramona’s face, and scrambled to right himself.
“Rick? Rick, is that you? Can you hear me?” Excitement got the better of her and she leaned closer to the quantator. “Is that really you?”
“Ramona? How did you hack into this? Is it over? Did we win?” He tapped once, a tinny sound that made the image shake. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.”
He motioned to the white walls and carpet. “Well, as you can see, I’ve got a break in my oh-so-busy schedule. I haven’t heard much from Mr. Tesla or Mr. Marconi since Yankee Pride made contact. Is it true that Verdigris is in control of Echo?”
“For now. We might have an out, but Victrix is working on it.” Ramona sat back as she realized that she was inches from the quantator. “How much do you know?”
Mercurye shrugged, sitting on the floor and folding his legs beneath him. “Some. I heard that our Mr. Tesla was killed, and that Verdigris had a hand in it. I heard that the Metis group-think doesn’t want to help, but would rather wait and watch us like bad television. Other than that?” He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t hear a lot from the few who are allowed to talk to me.”
“Well, what do you want to know?” She checked her watch, hoping that it would take Tesla and Marconi more than a few minutes to discuss whatever they were going to discuss. “I know it’s been a while, so ask away.”
He frowned, shaking his head as he drummed his fingers lightly on his knees. “I don’t know where to start. What day is it, anyway?”
She suppressed a chuckle. “Sunday.”
“Felt like one. Guess my internal clock is still working. Is Pride still around at Echo?”
“Yeah, he’s still the face of things. We’ve been working with the Russians. They’re good guys, once you get used to the protocol and procedure.” Ramona lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Really, if you watched enough Rocky and Bullwinkle as a kid, they’re not hard to understand.”
Mercurye laughed. “What about classic Star Trek? I always understood Chekov.”
“Natalya would have made Chekov curl up in his chair and cry for his mother before they went to warp.” She giggled as his eyes widened at her attempt at Star Trek humor. She thought she caught a snort from Overwatch, but she didn’t want to disturb Vickie. “So, what else? These are pretty easy questions.”
The image shifted and blurred as Mercurye moved in and out of the frame. He settled cross-legged on the floor, bare feet tucked underneath and looking like a New Age surfer-shaman. He pushed a hand through his hair and let out a long breath of air. “Well, I guess the most important one is, are we still winning?”
Ramona considered how to answer. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want the man to lose all hope, either. “We’re still fighting,” she finally decided. “I don’t think any of us are ready to give up, especially with Verdigris waiting in the shadows. I have to tell you, it does get pretty difficult sometimes.”
He nodded and rocked forward. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet it does. I don’t hear anything in here, other than these Metisians still don’t want to interfere in human business. If you ask me, they’re not all that evolved and intelligent as they’re supposed to be.” Mercurye gave a bitter laugh and glanced to his left. “Then again, what do I know? I’m just the dumb jock.”
“Don’t say that.” Ramona heard the words shoot out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She cleared her throat. Blush crept into her face as he grinned through the quantator at her. “I mean, you’re not dumb. You’re a metahuman whose abilities are mostly physical in nature, rather than being mental, but that hardly makes you a dumb jock.”
Mercurye seemed content with that answer as he rested his elbows against his knees. “Nice to not have to live up to a label, I guess. So, just how did you come up with an Echo charter? Some top-secret clearance?” He leaned forward, eager as a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons.
“Talked with Dixie Belle, actually. She’s a sweetheart, full of fire and loads of ideas. Can you believe she actually . . .” Ramona trailed off, realizing that Mercurye stared at her with eyes as wide as saucers, his mouth hung open. “Rick?”
“You actually got to meet Dixie Belle? The Dixie Belle? Dixie Belle, who helped to begin what we now know as Echo?” He shook his head slowly. “Wow. She never comes out to the bigger events unless it’s some anniversary thing or commemoration, and she’s always surrounded by a full security detail. And you, you got to meet her? Face to face?”
The awe in Mercurye’s voice made her smile. “Got to have tea with her, too. She and Pride together are something special, that’s for sure. Oh, and she knows about you, too.”
“Dixie Belle knows who I am?”
Before Ramona could feed the eager fanboy with even more about her visit, the image of Nicola Tesla replaced the view of Mercu
rye. The thin blue lines that composed his face made his cheeks and jawline seem especially sharp, and Ramona leaned back from the screen.
“Where is the charter, Ms. Ferrari? We will need to establish a link with the system prior to beginning the necessary exercise.” The quantator lit up as Tesla spoke. “Your mage is aware of the technological considerations, yes?”
Ramona took a deep breath. Bikinis to Eskimos, she thought briefly. “She is, yes. In fact, that is why she will be here momentarily, with Yankee Pride and the charter. For this to work, she needs to be as close to the quantator as possible, with as few . . .” She worked to come up with the right terminology that would make sense for both Tesla and the necessary ritual. “Barriers.”
He nodded. “Excellent. As both myself and Mr. Marconi will be present, this should be relatively uncomplicated.”
“Relatively, yes. At the same time, the rules of the charter’s unlocking require that there be one entity per conduit. Even though the quantator is here, we still need you present in a more tangible fashion.” Ramona leaned forward, her words firm and earnest. “We’re going to need to channel you through a separate host, rather than via the quantator in order to properly complete this ritual.”
The blue wireframe stared at her, something like static causing the image to fuzz at the sharp edges of Tesla’s cheekbones and the end of his nose. The eyes flicked down, to the left, and then back to face her with an expression of annoyance and faint anger. “Channel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And by ‘channel,’ I am to understand that my very nature, my consciousness, will require projection through a living being in the room as the ritual takes place?” He bit off the words crisply, his tone cool. “Is this correct, Ms. Ferrari?”
“Yes, sir.”
His mouth drew tight; if Nicola Tesla had stood in front of her, Ramona thought she would have seen the thin arms cross over the front of an impeccably clean suit and the chin lift in a show of scientific arrogance. “Then you and your mage will need to investigate a second means of completing this ritual. Such an arrangement is not possible for myself.”
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle Page 36