An elaborate twist of the wrist combined with the bending of all fingers. A simple gesture to relieve the tension and yet so profoundly effective. It had been more than twenty years since he had visited Earth but somehow the most basic of body manipulation techniques he learned there had been giving him closure and rest. Forget the overwhelming fumes of a shahish pipe on Flergon that made you see dozens of alternative futures for every memory you were able to bring up while high. A simple reminder for the brain that the body it coordinates was still there, served as a perfect and instantly grounding move.
He opened his eyes the moment his pointy fingernails touched the inside of his palms. A good reminder to take a break from the Citadel's every day nonsense and to spend a few hours at the nearest cosmic spa. At least to trim the claws.
The room was quiet. A much needed alternative to the constant noise and bother of the Council's meetings. For the last few months it seemed as if every day a new crisis had been unfolding. From the resurgence of C-137, the one Rick he had hoped to have already neutralized, to the growing concern that was R-62. These two were not the only problems the Citadel and the Council had to face head on but they were certainly not without weight, especially at a time when a crisis in Morty supply was unfolding.
All these issues were not unfamiliar to regular Ricks, despite the fact how much the Council and the Division tried to minimize the problem and sell them stories of success and prosperity. Quantum knew that even if members of the Council remained the most intelligent of all Ricks, every one of them within the Citadel was the smartest man in their own universe. Government-driven propaganda could have only gone as far. If one Rick started to question the Council's authority, then all of them eventually would. And that would have been the end of the Citadel. Despite its size and influence, it was as fragile as a single Rick's ego. And they all knew that it often did not take much to throw it off balance.
Quantum looked at the floating screen in front of him and the paper notes scattered all over the table. Still no solution, although a multitude of hypotheses. He put his arms up to stretch his upper body. A faint popping sound interrupted the silence. All this technology available to them twenty-four-seven and yet he was never able to schedule a joint replacement at the Health Unit. Come to think of it, ever since he became a bureaucrat, he had managed to miss out on a lot of things.
He shook his head to once again ground the mind and scan through all the notes that were covering the desk. He turned his body to the right, glancing at the glass board where he recorded a number of distinct formulas. The answer was somewhere there. Math and strategy go hand in hand and were always able to aid him throughout his life, regardless of what different beings threw at him. Even if insubordinate Ricks were involved.
Another screen popped up into existence in front of his face. A call from Ricktus. Not what he had hoped for but impossible to ignore giving the circumstances. If Sanchez C-137 was the most dangerous external threat to the Citadel, Ricktus was almost certainly a ticking time bomb for internal matters. His uncharacteristic love for the military combined with the wit of a Rick who had seen more Mortys die on missions than anyone else, and lived to tell all those macabre tales, was not to be underestimated.
Quantum answered the call and immediately Ricktus' face showed up on the semi-transparent monitor. None of them uttered any greetings. Instead, they both spent the first ten seconds looking into each other's eyes. For a quick moment, it seemed that they were in agreement. Something had to be done, and there was nothing that the rest of the Council or any of the Divisions could deal with on their own. It was up to the two of them to bring the Citadel back on track.
"Go- -od, you're ugly" Ricktus summarized their initial silence and took a sip from the flask he previously confiscated from Clinic.
Quantum sighed theatrically and shrugged.
"We ne- ed to talk" he followed up immediately "Now."
"That's why I'm ca- -lling, genius" Major rolled his eyes at the Council member. "So much for your super smart, average-than-any-Rick brain."
The sarcasm was something Quantum could not tolerate. Not when it was coming from another Rick. Even when it was their primary way of communicating with each other.
"Not here. Face to face. Not digitally." Ricktus smirked. He was clearly not surprised and achieved the exact outcome he was hoping for. Quantum saw this in his face and gave him a smug look. "And I know that you know that I knew that the minute you called".
Major snickered and extended his finger to end the call.
"You know me so well…" he paused before addressing Quantum officially "your excellency."
They both fell silent for another five seconds. Quantum immediately sensed another wave of tension taking over his frontal lobe. He was sure that a piercing headache was about to follow.
"You know where to find me" he finally spoke, making his hand into a fist in front of the screen. The floating tile vanished without a trace leaving him deep in thought, staring - yet again - at the densely populated glass board.
Major Ricktus snapped his fingers when his screen disappeared. Once again, the Council member was faster than him to hang up. This time, however, things did not feel like their usual back and forth. Something was afoot and he was certain that R-62's recent stunts and insubordination played some kind of part.
"What's your plan, Councilperson?" he muttered to himself, reaching for his portal gun. He pressed a few buttons to lock onto Quantum's coordinates and let out an honest and joyful laugh. "Whatever it is, I'm sure that spa treatment will be billed as an expense of the Division".
He moved his left wrist closer to his lips and calmly gave the command.
"Camouflage. Sanchez, Rick. Standard." he hesitated. "And a reminder. Tomorrow. Ten hundred hours standard time. Talk to the fi- -nance team".
'Reminder set' a robotic voice answered from beneath his skin. 'Begin camouflage mode'.
Within a few seconds his uniform jacket morphed into a standard white lab coat with no special markings, his dark turtleneck became a bright sweater and his officer's holster changed into a cheap belt. Major quickly re-shaped his hair to resemble that of a typical universe-hopping Sanchez. Quantum and his receding curly hairline had nothing on him.
He took a last look at his faint reflection in the extremely clean standard glass board everyone in the Division and the Council had in their rooms. Contrary to most inhabitants of the Citadel, Ricktus remained aware that any data he might leave behind could not be seen as safe. Not with so many equally smart people constantly watching and monitoring each other under the auspices of a fully militarized authoritarian regime.
After double-checking the gun's coordinates, he opened up a lime green disk right in front of him and put the gun in a pocket on the inside of his lab coat.
"I hope he picked the one with a detoxifier. I need to swe- -at some shit out" he groaned and stretched out his lower back walking into the passage. "The body is not what it u- -used to be-"