A few hours after Memory's run in with Power Girl, when she returns from an errand, or perhaps even a crime scene she's investigating, she'll find a small jewellery-style box waiting for her on the seat of her motorcycle. Inside is a tiny, in-ear communicator that's near-invisible when worn. There's a note attached to the box: "M: Someone passsed your name along to me, I thought getting in touch might benefit us both." It is signed simply "O."
"Interesting." Memory examines the box, of course. She looks for traps. Looks for signs that this might control her brain or short out her neural net or poison her earlobes. She's seen that Doctor Who episode with the Cybermen... after over a minute of intense visual analysis, Memory plugs the communication device into her ear.
Somewhere, on the other end, someone is alerted to the line going live. "Hello Memory," says a friendly-sounding voice. It's not Oracle's /natural/ voice, of course, but the program she uses does quite a good job disguising it. "You can call me Oracle. I'm told you're investigating a murder in New York City." Small talk? What's small talk?
"Hello, Oracle." Memory says, "That's a very good voice modulation program you're using. I'm hearing, what, at least fifty different points of fluctuation? Wicked. Yes. I'm investigating the murder of John Quincy Adams. It turns out he was communications director for a small gang calling themselves the Aryans. They're in a turf war currently with a gang called the Aztecs, a group fronted by a Mexican drug cartel. I'm fairly certain Adams was killed by one of the Aztecs. Power Girl detected shards of black glass in the murder wound. That would be consistent with an obsidian blade. There's some rumors going on that the Aztecs have at least one meta or magician on the team."
"Thank you, I designed it myself," says the voice on the other end. "I'm sure you can understand the need for anonymity in my business." There's a moment's pause as Oracle brings up what information she has on the aforementioned gangs. "Hm," she says, thoughtfully. "Do you think the NYPD will have the means to handle this meta?" she wonders.
"I don't have enough information, yet." Memory responds. She rests on her motorcyle, glancing around to make sure no one's about to jump her, "I haven't mapped out where they lay in relation to intergang, the maggia, the Kingpin's forces, the Yakuza... if they just have one meta or more, how powerful said meta or metas are... if the metas exist at all. I've offers from Power Woman and Nomad to help, though, when I make more progress, so I have a bit of muscle on my side."
"You've made allies quickly," says Oracle. A tiny bit of the tone of her voice manages to filter through the vocal disguise. She's impressed. "There's a USB key tucked into the storage compartment under your bike's seat. Once you put that into your home computer, it will connect you to a secure server, and assign you a random user ID and password. Two minutes after activation, you'll find a file uploaded onto that server. It contains criminal records of some of your gang members and their known associates, as well as police reports on metahuman incidents in the areas they're known to frequent. Hopefully they'll be of some help to you."
"I'm impressed. I guess, though, that makes sense." Memory says, her tone quite impressed. "You're, what, an information broker and coordinator for superheroes? There aren't many references to you out there. Conspiracy theories on the internet about the voice in the Justice League's ear..."
"Something like that. If you need help, I do what I can, and if I find something I think would be useful to you- or that I think you could be of help with, I pass it along. I don't ask for anything in return, except perhaps being willing to help another in distress if it's needed," Oracle explains. "If you want to, you can throw the communicator away, I've had a few people do that- just be sure to give it a good smash if you do. The line won't always be active- saying 'Oracle' will link you to me, and 'Memory out," or taking it out of your ear will end it."
"Are you kidding? This is fantastic. Every detective should have a resource like this." Memory grins to herself, "I'm pumped. If you need extra processing power... well... I don't want to brag but my brain is probably faster than your computers."
The laugh sounds strange, since the program wasn't designed to imitate the sound very well. She's going to have to work on that. Maybe this weekend. She could use some distraction. "Thank you, I just might call on you if I'm in need of that." She pauses for a moment. "Oh. I just found some security footage from a robbery the Aztecs are suspected of being involved with. I'll include the video file with everything else."
Memory smiles, listening to the imperfections and the obvious emotion behind them. "Thank you. That'll be very helpful. It might give me some hints as to their techniques and tactics at the very least." She tilts her head, considering for a moment. Then she says, "Do you have a tracker on my bike?"
"No, I don't use GPS to track allies that way unless they're going somewhere dangerous and may need a rescue," she says, and it's... mostly true. She might occasionally use a cell phone signal in an emergency... "I used traffic camera feeds to find your bike and had someone drop the package off."
"Just checking. I'll go over the bike later to be sure." Memory strokes her bike. Her baby. "I'm not worried. If Power Woman trusts you, I think I can trust you, too. Besides, I want to be part of the team."
"You're thorough, I like that," says Oracle's voice. "Is there anything else you need?" she asks, just to be sure.
Memory thinks about that for a moment. "Everything you can dig up on Miss Memory." Yes, the old woman is her grandmother but, still... better safe than sorry. "I haven't been able to find much. She didn't have a very public identity."
"Okay, I'll put it in a separate file for you. It might take another day or so, depending on how many papers have digital archives going that far back. But I'll see what I can do," she agrees. Again, she could use a little distraction here and there.
"Wicked. Let me know if there's anything you need me for." Memory enters the fifty digit code that unlocks her bike. She revs up the engine. "The next time you hack my computers, and I'm going to guess you will, the formula for my memory perfume will be on the G drive in the Perfume directory. I want someone else to have the formula in case it gets stolen and needs to be countered."
"Alright, I'll make a copy for you and keep it secure. It never hurts to have an extra backup," she tells her. "But I won't look at it unless an emegency like that comes up. I know what it's like to need to keep a secret. Oracle out."
"Wicked." Memory grins wildly and then revs her engine one more time. The motorycle zooms off into the night. There's crime to investigate and fun to be had! Memory out!