The Time Capsule had been hidden away a bit too well.
Dr. Light had meant for Rockman X to be present when it opened. But by the time the capsule was ready, that information had been lost. And while the good Doctor could have informed X via his hologram generators, by that time he had second thoughts.
All through the decades, Dr. Light had survived as a computer program. Mostly within this particular capsule, where he interacted with another intelligence. Also a computer program, but with a body that would eventually be her home… and that other intelligence had wishes. She did not want anyone present at her "birth".
So the capsule opened alone, and a black hand reached out to grip the side. A female Reploid pulled herself free, then tumbled to the ground.
She had been in the capsule a very long time, and her body felt unfamiliar. But soon, she picked up a small datapad and stumbled away…
A year later.
The same female Reploid watched a TV program, slowly smoking on a cigarette. Her right hand slipped down to her lap, and idly played with the hair of the man whose head was resting there. His white skin and purple hair were a fascinating contrast to her chocolate brown skin.
Her armor sat in one corner of the room, discarded. It was white and black; black gloves, boots, hip armor, and white everywhere else. Her chest armor clung to her breasts, but three black lightning bolts shot out from the circular blue crystal in the centre. Her helmet was vaguely like Ferham's; two black wings sweeping out on both sides, a white centre with another circular blue crystal.
Right now, though, she was wearing something else entirely. Black silk harem pants, filmy and exotic. Her brassiere was also black silk, hand beaded with seed pearls in swirling patterns, and on her feet were matching black slippers. The body the exotic clothing accented was exquisite; skin the color of cocoa, long, lean legs, high, firm breasts and a face with such finely sculptured features most women would kill to have it. Her hair was done in hundreds of tiny braids, each capped with white and black beads. Her eyes were a startling color, a bright, bright blue.
When Reploids had first been created, they had followed Rockman X's style, and that style had been Caucasian. Naturally so, since Dr. Light had been that ethnicity. But over time, Reploids had become more varied than humans, and that variance had encompassed other ethnic groups. Her African appearance was no surprise. The faint hint of Caucasian background in her features and the dazzling color of her eyes were a little odd, but then, no one said appearances had to be consistent.
Her hand balled into a fist as her eyes hardened, and the man beside her stirred with a wince, his hair caught in her grip.
"Watch it, Tamaa," he said sharply, and she blinked, then relaxed her grip and stroked his hair back into place.
"Sorry Spider," she said softly. Her voice was like honey, throaty and sweet. The bounty hunter turned his head to see what had annoyed her.
"Errf… you shouldn't watch that crap, honey." He kissed her thigh, making her sigh. "It's a load of garbage. Absolute tosh." She smiled, running a hand down his back, enjoying the feel of his bare skin. Spider was wearing nothing but a pair of purple boxers. Earlier, he hadn't even been wearing that. She had enjoyed that part of the evening.
"It's not tosh, Spider," she said quietly, still watching the program. "It's dangerous." She had lived as a black woman, a lifetime ago, and had suffered enough incidents of real racism to be confident she could identify it. Some of what she was seeing was definitely racist.
But it was the more reasoned arguments that gave her the chills. Of course, there had to be a double standard between Reploids and humans. Reploids were more dangerous. A Reploid criminal was far more of a threat than a human one. And the Mavericks were devastating.
But it seemed like the double standards just kept getting worse. It was a slow leeching away of rights, tearing away civil liberties. And no one seemed to notice, or care, that Reploids on the edge of society were being pushed into the category of criminals. For instance, humans could organize and run a militia. Reploids couldn't.
And on a more personal level, a law had been passed recently that made some of the hardware she and Spider owned illegal for unaffiliated Reploids to possess. No one was enforcing it – yet – so Spider seemed oblivious to the fact that someday, they could. And resisting arrest was enough to be labeled Maverick.
Tamaa was of the opinion that people, be they Reploids or humans, didn't know how precious a thing it was to simply be left alone. And she feared they would eventually find out. The Maverick Wars had caused a backlash against Reploids by a lot of humans. Which was perfectly understandable, but several unscrupulous leaders had used it to their advantage to gain power. Now they were discussing plans to restrict Reploid travel, and that infringed on a potent civil liberty, the right to work wherever they pleased. What would be next?
She voiced her thoughts to Spider, who turned his head to look up at her irritably.
"And what, precisely, are you going to do about it?" He obviously thought the only answer was nothing. Tamaa blinked and hesitated. Then she sighed.
"I'll think about it, Spider. I'll think about it," she said. "And after that… we'll see." Spider looked faintly alarmed.
A lot of people had regretted Tamaa quietly thinking about things.
A half year later.
"Well, bro? Do you have the lock open?" Tamaa whispered softly to her datapad.
Just a moment, Hope. Tamaa grinned nervously. Only her close friends used the translation of her name… in Swahili, Tamaa meant Hope. There, try it now. Tamaa carefully lifted open the case, and grinned.
She was in a display put on by the DeBeer Company. And she was stealing everything that wasn't nailed down, and a few things that were. Her companion in mischief had deactivated all the defenses, with a bit of help from their mutual creator. Dr. Light didn't approve of any of it, but he'd grudgingly accepted that all the other alternatives were worse. Tamaa had plans, and she needed a good score to make them happen. In the millions of dollars, and better yet, a billion.
The most valuable of jewels went into padded cases she had prepared ahead of time. The less valuable went into pouches that she carefully secreted into her armor. She and her physical companions in crime had already neutralized the Reploids and humans in charge of security, but they were keeping up the regular reports saying everything was fine. She looked up as someone touched her shoulder.
"Are you almost done? Marcus says shift change is soon, and we have to be out of here before then." A young Reploid in blue armor asked. He was very plain, with light blue eyes and green hair, but there was a strange, haunted look in his eyes.
Marcus was human, and their internal agent in this venture. He'd spent the last year getting into the security company that regularly worked for DeBeer. This hadn't been their first opportunity to steal something, but he and Tamaa had waited for the best opportunity. This was it. Tamaa estimated that the jewels they were stealing would eventually net them twenty million, perhaps more.
"Yes." She set the last container into her backpack, and pulled it on. The straps fit snugly over her shoulders. "Let's get the others and go." After this, Marcus would be a wanted criminal but that didn't faze him in the least. The others would all still be anonymous, but wouldn't have much cared even if they hadn't been. All they would have cared about was the crimp it would put in future activities. They were all fanatics and they all believed in her cause. All the money from the sale of the jewels would be going towards it.
Marcus made one final report, and they all got together as planned. Tamaa quickly glanced over her companions. Three other Reploids, each very different from the other.
Arcana was a survivor from Repliforce. She had still been devoted to their ideal of Reploid independence when Tamaa met her, but had been charmed and persuaded by Tamaa's arguments, which were basically a modification of her original views. She was a beautiful female in aqua and red armor.
Zash was a victim of pure malice. A bulky male in dark grey armor, he had been built by a rich man to be a guardian for his daughter, since he was terminally ill with cancer. The reason he'd trusted that duty to a Reploid was because he couldn't trust his family, and he'd been appallingly right. Several members of the family had decided to get rid of Zash after he died, so they could take over guardianship of the girl and 'manage' her money. They had trumped up various charges of Maverick behavior, and Zash had been forced to flee with the girl and every piece of wealth he could carry. He could have left the girl, but he was certain she would have ended up abused if he had. Now they were both part of Tamaa's cause.
The last was Nos Gwenwyn. Her name was Welsh, and translated as Night Venom. It suited her appearance… she looked like a black and white photograph. Her hair, eyes and lips were all pure black, while her skin was stark white. Her armor was also black, but lightly doppled with patterns of grey. Tamaa knew her story, and it was an ugly personal tragedy. She had joined them mostly because she needed to have something, anything, to believe in. Anything to feel like she had a purpose. Tamaa didn't doubt that if they failed completely, Gwen would commit suicide. She was still terribly fragile.
Marcus grinned at her, cheerfully amoral and proud of it. Marcus was a hound dog, a ladies man, and always in need of cash. He was also a passionate anarchist who firmly believed that large government was evil. He'd been very receptive to Tamaa's message… and the cash she was intent on raking in. Right now, he gave her a thumbs up.
"They won't be expecting another report for thirty minutes. Ready to rock, boss." Tamaa nodded to him with a small grin, then looked down at her datapad.
"Everything clear, Blues?" The digital image nodded to her. It was a replication of how the bioroid had looked in life, a long time ago. In the screen, his yellow scarf was always blowing in a spectral wind.
Yes, I've taken care of it. No one suspects a thing. But you should go now. Tamaa nodded, hooking the datapad to her belt and starting out.
This was a good beginning. Soon, though, the real work would start.
Later, Tamaa laughed softly as she watched the news program. The authorities were looking for Marcus, but they were looking for him under the wrong name, wrong fingerprints and even the wrong DNA profile. That had all taken a lot of work on Blues' part, but he'd taken a malicious pleasure in scrambling all the records. The only thing they had right was his appearance, and that would be changed soon with an expensive bout of bio-sculpt. It would take a chunk of their profits, but it would be worth it if only to keep Marcus happy.
Their current hideout was in an old military bunker. They were portraying themselves to the outside world as a religious commune, and making very sure all the neighbors were aware that humans were living in the old complex… and children. It would be very hard for anyone to decide they were Mavericks if they knew about the children. Despite that bit of cover, they kept all the weapons and other illegal items very carefully concealed with jammers and various electronic countermeasures. They'd already been questioned about the jamming effect once, and pretended to be fanatics who felt their inner secrets should not be revealed to unbelievers. Gilgamesh had been the one to take care of that, and the authorities had left convinced he was a nutcase, but a sincere nutcase. Tamaa wasn't sure how much he actually did believe of it. Gilgamesh was definitely deranged, in an endearing way.
Tamaa smiled sourly. Eventually, she had little doubt that crackpot cults like theirs would be suppressed. But right now, the authorities had larger things to take care of and weren't interested in risking a challenge based on religious freedom, especially with a cult that involved both humans and Reploids. An all Reploid cult could easily be labeled Maverick, but they were harder.
Her smile sweetened as one of the children toddled over to grip her leg. The child was only a year old and just beginning to talk. Her mother watched indulgently as Tamaa patted the boy on the head, and then pushed him back towards his mother.
The mother was no young sprout. She was almost forty and no beauty either. Tamaa had saved her from a Maverick attack several years ago, and she had joined the organization to help with all the menial tasks that were necessary to keep things running. She had very little opinion about their ultimate goals except that everyone here was good people (with the exception of Marcus) and that was good enough for her. She trusted Tamaa.
Perhaps a quarter of her followers were like that. They didn't really believe, but they were following for various personal reasons. Tamaa didn't trust them with any of the inner workings of her plans, and most of them just knew that they were part of a group dedicated to Reploid rights.
Another quarter believed, but weren't dedicated. They were the lower layer of her followers, mostly holding down various jobs and contributing to the workings of her organization. They didn't know much more than the first quarter.
The last half of her followers were dedicated and fanatical. They were the majority of her followers, and knew everything she was planning. Her message had hit very fertile soil with most Reploids and a good number of humans. Her core followers included those who had been wronged, old followers of Repliforce and the Rebellion, criminals and anarchists. They all thought what was happening was wrong.
Tamaa leaned back in her couch, wincing as the springs creaked. Everything they had was very scant except for food and weapons. All the money was being saved and invested. They needed more money. More, more, more.
Her plan was to make a clean break from society. They would buy some piece of land from a small nation… probably an island, either in the Caribbean or the Philippines. In a lot of ways, she would prefer something on the mainland for trade purposes, but the isolation of an island had the positive side of having very clear boundaries. Once they had the island, they would set up a manufacturing facility that would produce Dr. Light's designs. Once they were rich, they would confront the World Federation and demand sovereign status… and the right to pass their own laws. Then, they would build their own ideal society where Reploids and humans could truly live in peace. Hopefully, they could act as an example to the rest of society.
You have a message from Spider, Blues said neutrally from her datapad, and Tamaa grimaced.
Spider was oh so curious about what she was up to. She'd broken off her contact with him as soon as she'd found out he was also Redips. Obvious, looking back at it. But his affiliation with the Hunters, who were affiliated with the Federation, made him suspect. She couldn't trust him although she wanted to.
"Oh joy. What in hell does he want?" She said wearily.
He wants to meet you on Sunday to discuss matters between you. He's rather… pleading. Blues sounded slightly put out, and Tamaa grinned.
"Really? Let me see the text of the message." She held up the datapad to read the message, and laughed softly. Spider was trying to sweet talk her. The message read like one from a passionate lover, trying to lure his love back.
Maybe it was even sincere.
"Arrange the meeting, Blues, and contact Gilgamesh and Marcus to come down here. I'll need guards." Maybe Spider only wanted a romantic tryst, but Tamaa couldn't take the chance that he knew a bit more about their organization and this was a setup. On the other hand… it would really help to have Spider on her side, if only in some limited way.
She'd see how the meeting went.