MEGA MAN X: DEMONS OF THE PAST
By Erico
CHAPTER FIVE: FORGE OF THE VAGRANT
The phone rang for several moments, all the while aggravating Wycost further. He glared from behind his sunglare glasses and thrummed his fingers on the receiver. He wasn't wearing his white gloves. Didn't need to. Wasn't in combat and keeping them on anywhere else did a number of tipping people off about what he really was.
"Pick up…Come on, pick up…" It was the right time over in that distant time zone…she should be there by now. At long last, he was rewarded by the sound of the phone being picked up off of the hook.
"Hello?" Came the questioning voice. Wycost grinned and drew in a breath, but the voice on the other end suddenly chuckled lowly and stopped him. "Hello, Wycost."
The leather jacketed reploid scratched his short and spiky black hair for a moment before harrumphing.
"Can't even let me say hello, Tia?" The feminine voice on the other end laughed.
"I'm sorry, Wycost. But it's been a while."
"Are the children asleep?" Wycost was so honed in on Tia's voice that he paid little attention to the fact he was speaking Chinese.
"Yes. The poor dears were just wiped out today…I had to bring them home from school because they both had the flu." Wycost frowned, and Tia continued. "Thank goodness it's just the flu and not that newpox going around…"
"A little strapped for cash?" Wycost ventured. Tia laughed.
"Always, Wycost. Being a single parent is hard. Paying for it is harder." The reploid pursed his lips together and clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Tia." The Asian woman seemed a little confused in her response.
"Sorry for what? It's not your fault that Lon and Kwai are sick!"
"I'm sorry I'm not there to help you." Wycost replied. "I care a lot for those kids…"
"I know, Wycost. I know." Tia said. Silence hung in the air for a moment, then Wycost spoke.
"I'm going to transmit some credits. The money will help you out some."
"No, Wycost. We'll be fine!" Tia protested. Wycost shook his head and spoke softly into the phone's receiver.
"Please, Tia. Just let me help. Just this once." Wycost pulled out his wallet and freed his debit card, sliding it down alongside the phone's account processor and punching in his ID.
It was a simple matter to route a small amount of money over to Tia Xiang's account. Payphones could truly be called such in this day and age. A simple bleep and a flashing green light and Wycost nodded his head. The payment had made it.
"I put in a thousand credits to your account, Tia." The psychic Chinese woman gasped in shock.
"Wycost!" She chided. "That's far too much!" Wycost laughed a bit.
"Let an aging reploid spend his money how he wants. With those children to take care of, you won't be working. And that costs money." Tia sighed and gave up. No way she could convince Wycost otherwise.
"You're too good to us, Wycost."
"I care a great deal for you all. That's why I sent the money." Tia yawned for a moment.
"But somehow I get the feeling this wasn't the reason for your call, was it? You called me to see if I had any lead on where your friend's lover had gone to next." Wycost shrugged.
He'd expected as much from Tia Xiang, the closet psychic. It was her who had told him to get to New Denver from Hong Kong. A lovely woman, and helpful. But Wycost knew aside from his protective feelings towards her, there was nothing else. He dearly hoped that Tia Xiang had not fallen in love with him.
"Yeah. Any leads?"
"I saw a towering shaft, a great tall man in a big chair, and a reflective pool of water. Ergo, the Washington Monument, Abraham Lincoln's Memorial and that pool by the Washington Monument."
"Washington D.C…" Wycost mused. "Tia, you're a miracle worker, you know that?"
"Just helping out a dear friend, Wycost. And stay safe. Lon and Kwai would never forgive me if I led you to your death." Wycost had to let his eyes twinkle at that. The very idea of him, the twice infected Hunter, bringer of mass destruction and the Bronx Bomber being felled by the forces in Washington D.C. was laughable. But he humored Tia.
"I'll stay safe. So long, my friend."
"May the dragon keep watch over you." Tia replied easily.
The line went dead.
Wycost stepped out of the phone booth and brushed back his black hair again. Then he turned and began to easily walk away into a dark alley before warping. Washington D.C.'s towering Washington Monument was a warp point he had memorized. It'd be easy for him to get to his next destination without wasting his money.
As his glittering green warp trail faded into the horizon of the daylight, a figure on a low building rooftop close to the payphone hit the rewind button on its vox recorder. Its other hand easily retrieved the ultrasensitive suction cup from the payphone's roof, pulling it back in over a thin wire. Then it hit play.
"Washington D.C…Tia, you're a miracle worker, you know that?" The figure laughed, a feminine voice before lifting her red hair up out of her green eyes. Underneath her overcoat, she clenched a gloved hand in triumph, the sunlight glinting off of the hidden metal in her armband.
"Well, well. That wee lad Wycost might come in handy after all. He's going to lead me straight to Bristol, he is." Willow stood straight up and carefully tucked her equipment away. Then she shut her eyes and activated her warp generator.
There were two reploids after Bristol now.
Wycost…and Willow.
The Hangar Bay of the Maverick Hunter Headquarters was large…it was also largely underground. This protected it a bit, while at the same time being the consternation of those who needed to get there fast.
It held countless numbers of Landchaser hovercycles, Chimera Mechs, Kangaroo Mechs, and even Hawk Mechs…as well as the fast moving launch carriers that dragged them around the planet. This of course meant that you rarely saw Hunters plowing through Maverick lines in their armored beauties, but it was nonetheless a force they held for situations where they knew they could arrive in time.
Doan slipped through the hissing hydraulic doors of the Hangar Bay and narrowed his eyes. As he recalled, Cleo and her close knit band of fellow engineers had been tinkering with one decommissioned armored carrier to try and solve the problem of speed. With any luck, they hoped to soon find a way to increase the power and capability of a modified warp generator that would allow the armored carriers to not only warp themselves, but all the craft and reploids within them perfectly to a different location.
The early tests were proving difficult…Difficult meaning that the test dummies of cardboard 'Mechs, Cycles and reploids they placed inside the armored carriers ended up looking like a steaming pile of smouldering tree at the end of the matter transfer. But they kept trying. They still had yet to give it a real test. Perhaps Doan should bring up that request for more help the next time he met with X or Cain.
But for now at least, he kept his goal clear. He was off to see Cleo, and if she was following her usual daily routine, she'd be in the armor repair shop, busy working and grumbling about some Landchaser that 'those lousy greenhorn stunt drivers wrecked for the THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!' He passed by a few of the other lightly armored engineers that bided their time in the bay, buffing the polish on the Landchasers to a higher sheen. A few looked up at him, acknowledging Doan with wry smiles and crinkled noses.
Oh, they knew where he was headed. Everyone in the Hangar Bay, engineers, maintenance workers and dockloaders knew. Thankfully, they kept it to themselves. Doan didn't know what he'd do if they started blabbing.
Having the world know that he and Cleo had a relationship was not something he particularly wanted hanging over his head. He thought about sighing for a moment, then gave up on the attempt.
And as he finished walking across the Hangar Bay, he found the doorway with the clear pane. The one with the slightly marred title across its length…
'Armor Repair and Detailing.' Doan felt the corner of his mouth twinge up in the beginnings of a smile, a slight one that seemed to lift the usual gloom off of his face. He walked in the door, half expecting a rocket pack to come hurtling across the room and slam into him. That was what had happened the first day he and Cleo had met.
He took a deep breath, shut his eyes and gently turned the old fashioned doorknob…
Nothing slammed into him, so he eased through the frame and shut it quietly behind him.
"Cleo?" He asked softly. A clattering from the backroom of the small office, and then a figure emerged.
The room was a complete mess of spare parts, littered about with no semblance and order. Half repaired armor, welding joints, solder, silicon computer boards in static free bubble wrap, and other materials scattered in the room skittered across the floor and snapped under the heavy weight of the approaching figure. She cursed.
"Damn it all…I really need to clean this place up." Doan's smile grew wider. Her voice always cheered him up.
"I'd be more than willing to help…I'm sure we keep a generic emulation of the Storm Tornado somewhere on base." Cleo raised her head up and brushed back her short but stringy light red hair, smiling widely.
"Doan!" Doan couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he viewed one of her blue eyes, enlarged unnaturally through a magnifying glass dangling from a headband. She pulled it off and shook her hair out, then ran over and easily caught him in a bearhug.
"Nice to see you too." Doan muttered gently, returning the embrace.
For the most part, Doan was a somber reploid, a temperament that went along with being witness to death and destruction since the early days of 2118. More than 10 years ago…
But whenever he was with Cleo, it all seemed to evaporate, like dry ice that had seen the end of its time. It was magical, it was beyond his understanding…
And deep down, Doan knew it was love.
"No, I think I can clean this place up well enough without any spiffy gadgets from the main tactical computer. You'd probably just end up making it worse." Doan shrugged and backed away from Cleo, looking at all her yellow goldenrod armor, the blond hair and the blue eyes. God, she was beautiful.
"Thought I'd offer it anyhow, Cleo." Cleo sighed and shrugged, and Doan continued. "But I came down here for a reason, Cleo…" She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in a pout.
"Ooh, pooh. Didn't come down here to just be with me?" Doan shook his head sadly.
"Don't have the time right away…but soon, I will." Cleo narrowed her vision, then aahed in shock.
"Your armor…"
"Time to make discussion reality. You up for it?" Cleo nodded her head.
"Basic modified jetpack…along similar lines to Bastion's previous Powerstorm, right?" Doan began to speak, but Cleo silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Never mind, never mind…I'll find the schematics." She walked over to a desk with a chair in obvious disrepair and brushed the few junk pieces off of it, clearing some free space. Pulling a drawer out, she pulled out a mess of rolled up blueprints, examining her scrawl on the edge of one after another with her frenetic blue eyed gaze.
Doan tried to keep the sly grin from wrapping itself fully around his face. Cleo was like this…a brimming vat of natural exuberance that seemed to come out of nowhere. It allowed her to work extensively and for long hours without rest, and it also made her more helpful than a cup of coffee in the morning to others around her.
"Oh, for the love of buttermilk…" Cleo muttered disdainfully, sifting through the wrapped tubules and throwing the useless ones over her shoulder. "Landchaser Mark Three…enhanced shield matrix designs…External Buster suppression cannons…Where the HELL did I stash the schematic of your Flight Armor?" Doan pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged and walked over, reaching into Cleo's desk and opening up the main compartment, littered with pens, paperclips and post it scrap notes…
And pulled out a picture frame. His picture was in it, of course. Cleo loved Doan, loved to brag about it to her close associates…and loved to show it off. This picture was of particular embarrassment to him…it had been taken by a street photographer, only moments after Doan had bought himself and Cleo ice cream cones, she tripped and ended up spilling it on his head. Somehow his usual stoic and emotionless look fit the situation in that photo opportunity, him calmly looking up at the sky above as rivulets of sticky sugar confection ran down his brown shaggy hair and dripped onto his nose with a delicious Chinese Water Torture.
Of course, Cleo was in the photo as well…and she'd come out of it smelling like a rose. Then again, with that goldenrod dress she had picked out for that very outing, she deserved to. Doan had just dragged out a pair of blue jeans and a gray T-Shirt.
He shook his head and brought himself back to reality, then flipped the frame over and checked behind the image.
Sure enough, he let a small smile cross over his face and pulled out the small sheet tucked with care behind the picture. He unfolded it and put it out in front of Cleo's squinting eyes.
"Looking for this?" Cleo blinked a few times, then grinned a toothy smile and quickly put all her other schematics away back in her desk. She laid the Flight Armor design flat out over the oblong cherry wood surface and smoothed out the creases, keeping either hand on the edge to pin it down completely.
"Doan, you've got a knack for finding these things. Where was it?" Doan stepped slightly behind Cleo and put an arm around her small waist.
"The place you put it. Behind my picture." Cleo wrinkled her nose up and let the smile take over her face.
"Oh, dear…it figures as much." She pointed to the algebraic scrawl in a box by the Flight Armor's main sketch and harrumphed. "So Doan, just to make this clear, you were basing this mainly off of Bastion's Powerstorm Armor?" Doan rubbed his chin.
"Yeah…but I've been thinking if we could also add in some magnetic levitation devices…" Cleo raised a hand up, then turned and looked at him in surprise.
"Screwing with the design?" Doan shrugged.
"It's just that…a design. Magnetic levitation…simple enough. The Angel's Advantage uses that." Cleo snorted.
"Well, yeah…once again, Bastion's. Even I'M not sure how they got that thing to fly. And fly like that…Doan, this is technology YEARS beyond what they should be capable of. Magnetic levitation…I'll be lucky if I can give it temporary hover, and even then I'll be tearing my hair out designing the co-variables. Keeping yourself suspended in midair around the earth's magnetic field is not easy." Doan tapped the side of his head for a few moments, then brushed back his brown hair.
"I may know of a few people that may be able to help…met 'em in the chaos around Sigma's Sixth." Cleo lifted her eyes up.
"Oh? Just who would that be?"
"A pair of reploids…Calling themselves Allegro and J.K. Horn. I'd tell you to look up Bristol, but she's off on that spirit walk. With my friend Wycost close on her heels. E-Mail would work best."
"Got the address?" Cleo asked softly. Doan shook his head.
"I know that Cain would. I'll go get it from him." Cleo stood up and folded the schematic away, carefully tucking it back behind Doan's picture and putting the frame in her desk.
"Hold on then, Doan. I'll go with you. I have some status reports he needs to check off on." Doan walked up ahead and turned around, leaning against the doorframe with an easier pose. Cleo made him relax a bit more and loosen his usual dour attitude.
That is until she took a huge step forward and slipped on a bunch of circuit boards, flailing forth and rotating into a 180 that would have caused her to smash onto the ground backfirst. She let out a surprised cry, her arms flailing but failing to find something to support herself.
Doan caught her easily in his powerful arms, holding her steady as she got her bearings. But strangely, Cleo didn't jump from him as she should have.
Instead, Doan could feel a throaty vibration begin to emanate from her body…purring?
"Uhh…Cleo…" Doan began in slight nervousness.
"Oh, shut up." She muttered hoarsely, wrapping her arms on his shoulders and pulling herself up into an embrace with him.
Doan was surprised…but then again, not particularly. It hadn't been the first time Cleo had pulled this kind of stunt. Breaking her kiss, he couldn't help but let his faint smile grow larger.
"My dear, you entice me…" Cleo rolled her eyes playfully.
"Oh, dear. And all this time I thought I was just thanking you for saving me…" Doan silenced her long sentence with a fiery smooch that left her seeing stars in her eyes.
They held it for what seemed like a blissful eternity to Doan…
That is, until he picked up on the external whooping, cheering and applause in the Hangar Bay. And realized both he and Cleo were out in the doorframe of her office, in plain view of every Tom, Dick and Harry about the area. Breaking the embrace, he quickly turned around as his face turned deeper shades of magenta. Cleo had no such inhibitions.
She stepped forth and swept out a mighty bow for the audience, then grabbed Doan's hand and jerked him out, kissing him again. The reply was like an uproar of approval. Doan was really turning a beet red in discomfort now. Thankfully, they began to walk out of the Hangar Bay, and Doan sighed in relief. Hanging around there any longer might have caused his synthskin to stay that color.
"Cleo, why do you do that?" He asked as the sliding doors parted and they walked out into the hallway that led to the connecting elevator. The blond haired reploid batted her eyes for a moment and grinned.
"Because I like to. And because I know that for all your whining about public uproar, you don't particularly care if they all jump off a bridge in the long run…as long as I still love you." Doan smiled a bit, shaking his head.
Cleo'd had him pegged since day one, and knew him like no other.
Compared to her, Wycost was nothing more than a cool acquaintance.
Which in all reality, the Bronx Bomber was.
"Emilius Cristoph…Born August 17th, 2063." Bristol rattled off absentmindedly. She moved the mouse cursor to the scroll bar and directed the view downwards. There was a picture of him…looked like it had been taken late in his life. She brushed back a strand of blond hair with reddish highlights and blinked.
"Following childhood in the United States, Emilius Cristoph graduated with honors at Stanford University." Bristol snorted. "Great…he was a rich boy. I wonder if he made captain of the debate team…" She hit his College dossier, grumbling and smacking herself in the face almost as soon as it opened up. "Peachy. Not only captain, he defeated Harvard's debate team as well. What else were you involved in, Mister Cristoph…"
Her mumbling was quiet. It had to be, seeing as Bristol was located in the Computer Terminals of the Congressional Library. Several other people were also about at the other ports, ranging from old to young. The young tended to be wearing headphones and playing internet games. Bristol smiled a bit.
That particular annoyance hadn't changed since the dawn of the Second Millennium. The diverse grouping allowed her the kind of anonymity that she thrived in.
Bristol wanted to remain unnoticed as possible. The scanners at the door had ID' her as a reploid, and that in itself raised some eyebrows. Few chose to, or had the opportunity to participate in research activities. And up until 2124, after Mega Man X had successfully defended all reploids' inalienable rights to live and be treated as equals to humans until proven to be a danger, no reploids had been allowed in the Congressional Library.
The Capital had provided many interesting sights to Bristol. The Lincoln Monument, the Washington Monument, the White House(She had chosen to avoid that rendezvous for reasons of going unnoticed…) and the famous Reflecting Pool of Forrest Gump fame.
What was that saying, she thought again?
"Been there, done that…" She shrugged. So she'd seen the sights. It brought her no closer to her goal.
Thankfully, she knew her way around the net. That was digging up a lot of information on Cristoph.
"Became a United States Senator for Philadelphia in 2100…Retired to join the GDC with much fanfare in the year 2112." She frowned. "The man was in the GDC five years before X was even discovered." She hit the 'more info' button, and the screen came up with an error message.
"Odd." There should have been more, but aside from the long rather syrupy monologue about his unwanted death during Sigma's Sixth, there was nothing.
Bristol knew something was up. There was absolutely no mention of MI9 in this. And if this search didn't do anything, no other net searches would. She'd tried all the others in New Denver.
"But…" She brought up the Yellow Pages website. Perhaps if she could find where Cristoph used to live…
Another dead end. He wasn't listed. At least not in the public directories.
"Doesn't mean I can't find him…" She narrowed her vision and accessed the employee's login directory.
Usually, people were too lazy to create specialized passcodes for employees. They almost always created a generic passcode that they instructed all their employees to use. They also made it incredibly easy to remember. It'd only take a few tries…
*Enter User ID
Employee
*User ID Accepted. Enter Password
User
*Password incorrect. Re-enter password.
Bristol frowned. That wouldn't work. But what else would the Yellow Pages…
"No…can't be that easy…"
Yellowpage
*Password accepted. Welcome to The Yellow Pages Website.
Bristol had to grin, and she even lifted a hand up in triumph a few centimeters. She was in.
List information on Emilius Cristoph.
"Deceased…only phone number listed?" She shrugged. "I'll take it." She had a phone tracer with her, and once she was outside, she'd dial it.
And then, the number flashed across the screen. Success.
Bristol logged off, shut the Browser down and got up from the computer terminal. She'd found what she was looking for here. Slinging her blue overcoat across her arm, she walked on. The security guard at the door…another reploid…gave her a short nod of farewell as she exited.
Bristol smiled at that.
The world may have been full of dangers…
But friends came in complete strangers.
"We need something really tangible to tinker with." J.K. Horn muttered, chewing on his pita pocket with a fazed look on his eyes. "I mean, it's a fine thing to ponder theoretical science, but let's get realistic." Allegro looked over from the internet uplinked computer at the far end of the kitchen and gave a small shrug.
"Whatever it is, it better not involve high powered explosives. No way I'm getting around that kind of thing again." Horn smiled a bit and swallowed his bite of food, standing up and pushing the plate away.
"Considering the last project that blew up in our faces, I don't blame you. But I made a promise to myself I'd start making worthwhile contributions to the Hunters, gadgets to help them fight off Sigma."
"Everyone in the world has a beef with him." Allegro muttered, clicking out of a chatroom and turning completely about. "Me especially…his blasted revolution took my brother." Horn watched the grim faced Allegro stare ahead blankly, clenching his fist up and silently screaming at the demons inside of him. Horn nodded silently, then walked over and put a hand on Allegro's shoulder.
"I know. I miss Andante as well. He was a good reploid…dedicated to URFAWP's goals."
"The goals still exist, don't they?" Allegro whispered. Horn nodded.
"Yeah…only the means to get to them have changed. We stop Sigma, we stop the full brunt of the Maverick threat…and the need for the Hunters."
It was then that Horn's computer began to beep in a series of happy tones…the theme to 'Green Acres.' Allegro turned about and tapped on the computer monitor's desktop display…one icon that looked like an old fashioned snail mail letter.
"Hey Doc…you've got mail." Horn ruffled his young cohort's hair and chuckled.
"Knock off the puns, boy. And open it already! My E-Mail address is pretty well hidden…only viruses, friends and major government officials bug me." Allegro rolled his eyes.
"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish. All right Jules." Horn grimaced at the mispronunciation of his name.
"Don't call me that, Legs." Allegro grinned.
"Point taken." The mail inbox popped up and flashed the message tag and address. "Hey, this one's from the MHHQ. Title: To Horn with Love?" Allegro turned back around and waggled an eyebrow. "Hey doc, you got an affair going on there that I don't know about?"
Horn promptly rolled his eyes. "Allegro, I'm an old reploid…one of the oldest in existence, save for X. and he's not a true reploid, but discounting that…who in their right minds would consider me sexy?"
"Phyllis Diller, Greta Garbo, Blanche from the Golden Girls…"
"ENOUGH, Allegro…" Horn muttered, tapping the command to open the letter. It was text, with a rather big image attachment…someone had sent pictures.
The two of them read the letter…twice. The image file turned out to be highly sophisticated diagrams.
"The armor's main thruster systems will run off of Doan's primary power core, much like the rest of his internal functions. However, the problem is including minor maglev…minor. I just need enough to keep him hovering, but the electromagnetic calculations are way over my head. Doan informs me that you helped design Bastion's Angel's Advantage armor, which is a COMPLETE Maglev system. It should hopefully be a simple matter to add a hover function to the existing design. The attached file is the schematics for the Flight Armor that I've named 'Archangel.' The thing isn't made via replicator, either. I'm an old school engineer, which means we build it from solid metal. I hope you can help…Once you've got the Maglev Systems figured out, warp out to the MHHQ and head down to the Hangar Bay. Ask for Cleo, and the pit crews'll lead you in. Once again, thanks for your time, and thanks for being there for all of us. –Cleo."
Horn tapped the side of his head for a moment, silently processing the schematics in his mind and puzzling out the specifics. Then he looked down at Allegro.
"Do you know this Cleo person?"
"No…but I do know Doan. He went with us alongside Wycost when we stopped Cairo from being overtaken…and flooded. Doan's a good fighter…and a good friend. I say this is worth looking into and figuring out. Besides, Flight Armor seems a bit more safe than designing explosive shells." Horn grinned from ear to ear, then downloaded the schematic and transferred it over to his replicator folder.
"You go replicate that Flight Armor so we've got a physical structure to fiddle with. I'm going to write this Cleo back a reply and tell her we'll drop in when we've got the maglev systems functioning."
"Rightyo, boss." Allegro said cheerily, trotting out of the kitchen and out of the main house towards the laboratory shed set up beside it.
Julius Kinnian Horn grinned from ear to ear, scratched his grayish reploid hair and began to type a positive response. He even found himself whistling.
Now, they had a REAL project to work on. And working on projects kept the scientific mind of Horn happy.
Dive Man was a hulking monstrosity, with a tacky periscope headpiece that served no real purpose aside from decoration. He had often wondered in his robotic mind what had possessed his maker, Sergei Cossack to design him with that.
He was not an enigmatic sort, and despite his blocky exterior was very frank and open. Neither was he particularly advanced in his thought processes, not even coming up to scratch against Drill Man.
But that didn't bother him. He, Skull Man and Dust Man didn't hold any real concerns about the other five. They had been upgraded because they were more advanced. The three remaining robots were content to continue their functions around the hidden sections of the Citadel and leave the world be.
There was a saying Dive Man had bothered to look up in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations…
"Ignorance is bliss." He repeated drily. Spoken by someone called 'anonymous,' the robot had found it to explain most things quite easily. Cossack and the other more advanced robots usually smiled or made some kind of emotional response, although why Dive Man could not understand. The reaction he had surmised they were responding with in those cases was something called 'humor.' There were some things that Dive Man would never know. Once again, he used his saying.
Tapping the fourth level main computer online, Dive Man ran a scan of the entire facility.
In the first level, the only one the public ever saw, Kalinka and Bright Man were currently busy with a tour group of fifteen people…and two seemingly robotic individuals. Dive Man's logic circuits dictated a high chance of them being reploid, a super advanced robot that was capable of human emotion and thought. That was the level of intelligence that his five fellow robots, 'The Foregone Five' as they called themselves were quickly progressing to. Back when Light had been alive, he and Cossack had theorized that given enough time, simple robots could gain sentience merely by experiencing everyday life over an extended period of time. Exposure to the reploids had seemed to speed up the process dramatically for the silicon children of Cossack.
He brought his mind away from reploids and back on the two people he knew in the tour group. Kalinka and Bright Man.
Kalinka was older than 60 years of human age by now. But she had been very careful over her longevity to preserve her body by avoiding harmful ultraviolet rays and harmful chemicals present in alcohol and nicotine products. There had been no cosmetic surgery anywhere in her past, and there were very few wrinkles. Her blond hair held few signs of gray hairs, and her eyes still sparkled as brightly as they did when she was 20. People who did not know her well could easily mistake her for a woman in her early forties. Kalinka had often found that 'humorous' as well, Dive Man remembered.
She was also very active for her age…and not in the realms of physical activity kept on a tennis court. She was still very attractive, and inclined to be with men more than most women.
That practice had slowed a bit after she had tried to, as most humans would put it, 'put the moves' on Mega Man X a little more than a year ago. Somehow, Dive Man surmised reploid and human anatomy wasn't compatible, at least sexually.
A scan of the Citadel's Second Level also showed green across the board. All systems nominal, and he watched, he also saw that Dust Man was present in that vicinity. It had been long ago that Cossack had removed the many spike traps present in that layer…a devious part of Wily's scheme to crush Mega Man in the 4th Robot Rebellion, they did not hold a place there after Kalinka was freed from Wily's clutches by Mega Man's mysterious brother, Proto Man. He also went by the name of Blues, much as Mega Man was sometimes called Rock. It was mainly a Japanese thing, though.
The Third Level showed green as well…the third level was nothing more than an extension of the second. It was more precisely a long run across the Citadel's upper levels and spires by use of temporary hoverplatforms, an obstacle course where one false move sent one plummeting many many meters down to the Citadel Courtyard Below.
And the Fourth Level…the one buried underground where natural light did not shine, and the waterways, hidden bunkers and laboratories and power systems were all situated, was where the rest of Cossack's merry crew was located.
Dive Man frowned a bit. As of late, Cossack had been slower pulling himself free of stasis mode, what humans called 'sleep'. Kalinka had also been a bit more concerned about him, and the doctor had been displaying signs of fatigue and a decreased resistance to the chilly sub-basement interior. What that meant, he was not sure of. The doctor was however, between one hundred and 110 years of age…definitely a long amount of time, given the human race's average lifespan of 85 years. Perhaps his system had merely grown too old, and he was beginning to wear down into his final cycles.
Dive Man shrugged. Robotic terms for a human worked for his limited understanding, but it did not explain the true nature behind Sergei Cossack's affliction.
His thought processor shifted gears again as the main computer began to release a series of short lived chimes…a phone ring.
Someone was trying to place a call to the Castle Citadel's secret locale.
Dive Man's logic circuits estimated a high 87% chance that it was either Doctor James Cain, Mega Man X, or Zero, all from the MHHQ. There was also a 10% chance that it was Hazil, the medical technician reploid who had warped into the Citadel's lower levels to upgrade the five Robot Masters for combat in the 22nd Century. There was only a 3% chance that it was a wrong number, or more sinisterly, a trace program by a government organization or the Mavericks.
The odds set, Dive Man brought up the main computer's vidlink and hit the access command.
It was the face of Mega Man X who appeared on the screen, looking somewhat blank.
"Greetings, Mega Man X." Dive Man said blockily. "I estimate that there is a 84% chance you wish to speak with Doctor Cossack." The blue armored prototype nodded his head, acknowledging the truth in Dive Man's words. Dive Man shook his head back and forth. "I am sorry to say he's unavailable."
"Hey Dive, who's on the line?" Dive Man twisted his head back around to identify the oncoming figure. Back from the shadows cast by the fourth level's dim lights, a silver and goldenrod armored four and a half foot figure walked out, a strange turban about his head.
"Pharaoh Man!" X exclaimed happily. The robot raised his eyes up and pulled the fabric away from his mouth, letting a smile fill it.
"How do, X?" The father of the reploid race shrugged.
"I just wanted to see how Cossack was doing." Pharaoh Man's bright expression faded out and he lowered his head somewhat.
"Not good, X." X raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"It's the lack of heat down here." Pharaoh Man explained. "He's…he's caught a cold. Pretty bad one, too."
"Oh, cripes…" X gasped. "At his age…"
"I know." Pharaoh Man interjected grimly. "We're all doing everything we can. But Cossack's no spring chicken, and his chances aren't good."
"He's not the only Doc having problems." X replied sadly. "James Cain went in for his medical checkup a while back…he's got an aneurysm buried so deep in his brain it can't be operated on."
"That's not peachy…" Pharaoh Man said easily. "Not good at all. So…"
"We're keeping him calmed down. If his blood pressure goes up again…it'll set him off. Not fun losing your…" X groped with the words, then shrugged.
"Pharaoh Man, Cain was the closest thing I had to a father before Cossack came along. I owe that man my existence…all reploid's existence. If he hadn't come along and dug me up…"
"I know, X. I know." Pharaoh Man replied. "When we heard about you, it was a big deal here. Light, leaving another Mega Man for a new age? We sure felt like old school…but we knew you'd eventually come. Looking for that capsule Light sent us special delivery, and for answers to what life was like back when your true family was alive."
"Yeah." X sighed and pulled his helmet off, scratching at his black hair. "So tell me, Phare. Should I come down there?"
"Yeah." Pharaoh Man replied sadly. "We could definitely use the company. Can you break away long enough to get here?"
"I'll be able to tomorrow. Will that work?"
"Yeah." Pharaoh Man clipped raggedly. "You just keep yourself safe, all right?"
"That seems to be about all I'm capable of these days. Until tomorrow, Phare. I'll bring along some status reports and such for the Foregone Five to review. X out."
The vidlink signal faded, and the computer console dimmed its output a little bit. Dive Man turned up to Pharaoh Man.
"Will he be here?"
"Oh, he will. X keeps his promises." Pharaoh Man replied, slipping his turban back into place. Turning around, he walked back into the gray shadows, clucking his teeth.
"Just hurry it up, X. Cossack's hurting bad."