Better Judgment:
The Dr. Wily Story

By Hadrian (Hardman) Howell

Chapter 12

199X

“We're running out of time, Albert,” Tom urged me on.

“It isn't like class is going to start without us, Tom,” I reassured him. “Especially not today.”

“He said this could make or break our grade!” Tom responded urgently.

“Alfred Gibbs says a lot of things, and I only trust about half of them,” I grumbled to myself more than out loud.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Tom. I'm sure it'll be fine.”

It WOULD be fine, if he'd only stop worrying. We'd done this presentation about four times now, each time to glowing and warm responses and a shower of praise. The LWLN Series A Waste Management Drones had made quite a splash, and our time... well, more Tom's time than mine, had been consumed with magazine editors and short, novelty news report segments, mostly local, about our achievements. Every time someone asked me about the Cat and Fleas, I wanted to laugh in their face and tell them they hadn't seen anything yet.

And no one really had. While Walter K Weisel had done a great job of selling us to his friends (and they were some powerful friends indeed), Tom and I were in dire need of a solid, consistent source of funding for our research to take a physical shape. Isaac kept recommending a military contract, but Tom was uneasy about designing weapons with higher AI functions, a concern I shared but was less full of conviction over.

I was getting tired of being shown off like some sort of prize dog. I longed to return to REAL scientific work, not this fifteen minutes of distraction. Tom, of course, was drinking in all the attention. He thrived in environments like this, at least outwardly. He was nervous and pensive in private, as anxious as I was to get back to what we felt was really important, but he was much more tactful than I was. He always had been. That's why he did the talking. In interviews, I tended to sound much more condescending and combative than I usually meant to, but on some level, I did mean to. Not sure why.

We both stepped into the 'Building The Future' classroom, all eyes within instantly on us. Gibbs had been making a short introduction/explanation to the class the way he always did. I'd seen a lot of strange, interesting, and engaging presentation in this room, but this time, it was Tom and I doing the presenting. This ratcheted up the level of strange for me, personally, given my somewhat antagonistic relationship with Alfred Gibbs.

To hear him tell it, Walter K Weisel had almost demanded we be given this 'opportunity' to speak as all other innovators had to this classroom. What I SUSPECTED, however, was that Gibbs was looking for more information on what Tom and I were accomplishing, and was planning to steer the Q&A afterwords toward making us outline our future plans. He knew just how to push my buttons too, to elicit the responses he was looking for.

Confirming my suspicions, Gibbs was grinning like a shark, a stark contrast to his normal James Lipton-like demeanor when introducing the day's speaker. I tried hard to breath regularly as we stepped up on the small stage, our work hidden behind a small curtain, not unlike when we'd done this in the garage. There was a smattering of applause and some cheering from where Mikhail was sitting as Gibbs surrendered the floor to us.

“Hi everyone,” Tom smiled. “You know who I am, and I know all of you, so we can skip the introductions this time.” This got a bit of a chuckle from some of the more humorless drones in the room, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “We're here today to tell you about one of the first stepping stones on the path to the future of advanced robotics, the LWLN Series A Waste Management Drones.”

I pulled back the curtain to reveal the Cat, which got an even bigger laugh from the crowd. It always did.

Tom launched into his rehearsed speech perfectly as the laughter died down, explaining it all again as he had to Walter. The Cat went to work on our assembled refuse, but stage two was a little different this time around.

“You were all given a candy bar of your choice as you entered class today, correct?” Tom asked as the Fleas began to return to the Cat. “I'll ask you to eat it at this point, and we'll take some questions while you all do that. When you're finished, please be so kind as to throw the wrapper anywhere you please.”

We both fielded questions this time, ranging from the strange (I think Mikhail asked us a few of his questions just to try and throw us off) to the overly technical. As the wrappers began to hit the floor, the Fleas dispersed again to collect the trash as it touched the ground. This drew a fairly positive response from the class room.

“Okay, I admit, that's pretty cool,” I heard Cossack say out loud. This made me grin.

“Yeah, you haven't seen anything yet,” I said to myself.

The hour of Q&A that followed the end of the presentation flew by, and I was checking myself at every word to make sure I didn't say more than I meant to. By the end of the class, Gibbs's shark-like grin had transformed into a decidedly more demure expression of frustration, but it wasn't easily read. I came back an hour or so after class had ended to pack up the Cat and Fleas and get everything back to the garage, and he was still at his desk.

“I figured you would be here.”

“Excellent work, Mr. Wily,” he said.

“I know.”

I was surprised when you asked to meet me here after class,” he said, standing up, “especially after you resisted my offer so fiercely..”

“I'm not much for cloak and dagger stuff,” I told him. “I prefer to live in the real world, and not some fantasy constructed for me by people who want to misuse my talents.”

“I never said your talents would be 'misused',” he countered, “merely... put to a higher purpose.”

“Every man who's ever used the words 'higher purpose' like they mean it never does,” I said.

“That may be,” he nodded, seemingly sad. “But you don't even know what I offer. You could at least hear me out.”

I snorted derisively. “I suppose I could, but you'll have to talk fast. This only takes about ten minutes to pack away.”

I almost missed the flash in his eyes. “Al-”

“-bert.”

“Al,” he started again, “the world is a frightening place. What's even worse is that its all careening out of control. You can see that, can't you?”

“That depends on a certain definition and world-view. Not everything is 'glass half empty'.”

“But it is undeniable,” Gibbs pressed on, “that there is something going very wrong with the world. War, violence, third-world nations that cannot feed or clothe themselves while others worry about how much they pay for luxuries... This is not a sustainable society we've made.”

“None of them are,” I countered. “The Romans came as close as anyone, and even then it fell to its own vices and idiotic rulers.”

“And America is the new Rome,” Gibbs shrugged, “no one can deny that. But it is the world, as a whole, that I'd rather take care of. I asked you some time ago what you would do, if it were up to you. Let me tell you what I would do, in lieu of your answer.” He stepped out from behind his desk, coming closer to me as he spoke.

“Quite honestly,” he said, his tones low, “I would burn it all down. Cull the weak and mindless from the herd, and direct the rest to form a better, more sustainable society. Somewhere warm, with beaches, I think, for personal taste. Homogenize the population to avoid any nasty racism business, and crush the dissenters beneath my foot.”

“As I said before, you dream big,” I commented. His honesty in this moment was a little frightening, but it could still be an act. I was never sure with him. I was comfortable in the knowledge that he wouldn't try anything too dangerous here, as he was doing his best to speak softly to avoid being recorded by the security cameras.

“Yes, I suppose I do. But I also know that my dreams are nothing compared to yours. Not Thomas Light's. Yours.” He had a small smile on his face, unnerving as all hell. “I'm not nearly as smart as I know you are. I'm just a recruiter. A plant. I do this as a pawn in a greater scheme, and I know my place, but you? No, Al, you're a leader. A visionary. You're the type of man to burn your image into the zeitgeist of human society for decades, maybe even millennia to come. Anyone can see that, so what are you so afraid of?”

“You have it wrong,” I snapped. “I don't want to change the world, I'm just interested in providing the tools so that humanity can better ITSELF. There's no point FORCING change on the population, through magnanimity or conquest. People have to arrive at conclusions on their own, or it won't take. All I can do is push them in the right direction.”

“Well, then,” he smirked, “if you're so smart, why not figure out how to push them towards world unity and peace? You've been avoiding military work, so you obviously believe in peaceful solutions, and people are oh-so-suggestible, so why not take a more direct approach?”

“Because I choose not to,” I scoffed. He was trying to play to my ego.

“Cowardice is unbecoming of a man who could be great,” he scoffed.

I found myself getting angry. “Caution is what saves great men from obscurity,” I countered.

“But this isn't caution,” he snapped. “This is cowardice. A truly great man, one who DESERVES to be remembered for ages to come, should explore all of his options. You know nothing about what I can offer you, you resist me at every turn, and by closing the avenue to your goals that I offer, how could you ever claim to know, truly, that you might one day be great?”

I considered this as he kept talking. “I know Walter Weisel,” he said. “He is a kind, well-intentioned man. But like you, he refuses to take the real risks and try something entirely different. He's funding you for the moment, but he isn't letting you run free, is he? No, he's making you crawl, inch by inch, toward the things you WANT to do, isn't he? Imagine how different your presentation here could have been today, if you hadn't been so limited.”

“Like I said, you're very well informed,” I said uneasily. I admit to feeling some frustration as to how our work had progressed so far, and I understood Walter's methods of perfecting a project before moving on to another, but it was undeniable that a snail's pace meant we wouldn't see some of our more advanced work take physical form until... until I was in my fifties, to be honest. That thought did not appeal to me.

Gibbs must have read my face. “Look,” he said, that smile of his returning in an instant, “I'm catching quite a lot of heat from my employer for failing to rope you in so far. All I ask is that you meet him, see what you think. He can't deny you if you refuse to his face, and I'll stop bothering you. Does that sound fair?”

“You're employer?” I asked. This was the first time Gibbs had mentioned a meeting with the person who had placed him here.

“He's a wealthy gentleman from England. You may know him already, actually. He's in town on business, you could meet him tomorrow and have this all done and over with before the weekend.”

The thought appealed to me. “Who am I meeting, then?”

Triumph shone in his face. “Tomorrow, Al, you'll meet Mr. X.”

20XX

“Tomorrow,” I said to my assembled Mega Man killers, “we're going to kill Mr. X.”

“About time!” Forte grinned.

“Wait, wait... We're doing WHAT?” Punk asked.

“You heard me.”

“I thought he... I don't know... isn't he our... not friend, I guess, but... uh...”

“Yeah, that's over now,” I snapped. It was over the moment the idiot had asked... pah, ORDERED me to kill Tom. Like THAT was ever going to happen. Overstepping his bounds like that? Oh, Mr. X and his little secret society was going away now. Funding be damned, the Book of Revelations was officially on my list. It was a short list. I kept it that way. Usually with coercion, but yeah, sometimes with murder. I'm a villain, it's what I do.

“How are we going to do this?” Enker asked. “If we just storm into his base, isn't that going to call some pretty heavy military might down on our heads?”

“Buck up, you sissy,” Forte said, nudging him in the side. “There isn't anything they can bring heavy enough to stop all of us.”

“Yeah, with 60 plus Robot Masters kicking in, even Mega Man would have to think twice about trying anything,” Dark Man rumbled.

“Wrong,” I said, commanding their attention again. “Every other series has its orders. They will be taking out some other targets for me, all of them Book related. YOU all will be accompanying me to stomp Mr. X personally.”

The assembled Robot looked at each other. Ballade was still absent with his duties, but Enker and Punk had worked together before. With that exception, none of the others were much for teamwork. Forte was... well, Forte. Arrogant, hotheaded and completely overconfident. Dark Man was a different beast altogether, more methodical and much more used to having his own minions, the Sentinel Drones do the work for him. Doc Robot was built for the direct approach, but he seldom spoke, which I appreciated most of the time. He didn't stay silent this time, however.

“Master Wily,” he croaked, his voice strange and mechanical in contrast the the humanoid tones produced by just about everything else in my bunker, “This is a tactically weak strike team.”

“What do you mean, 'weak?'” Forte barked.

“I gotta go with hot head on this one,” Punk seconded. “How can we possibly be considered weak?”

“We lack numbers,” Doc Robot replied dryly. “One of our number remains AWOL. Another is yet incomplete. Another still was the product of a Time Travel anomaly, and is probably unable to be recruited again.”

King, Zero and Quint. I gave Doc Robot a look that shut him up. Why he had that kind of information was beyond me, but the point he raised was valid. With only these six, why, I couldn't POSSIBLY hope to overrun Mr. X's finely crafted defenses in his Book of Revelations home, now could I?

Ha, Yeah freakin' right.

My three latecomers stepped into the room. “Aw, man,” Punk sighed. “THESE guys?”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Buster Rod G replied.

“I think it means they don't like us,” Mega Water S sighed, nudging his shorter comrade. “In fairness, I don't like you either, so we have something in common.

“Why you-” the smaller monkey-like robot began, but was plucked off the ground by his other team member.

“Calm down,” Hyper Storm H rumbled, rolling his eyes.

These three, based in a little bit of Chinese mythology and constructed as a trio back when I'm certain I had no idea what the hell I was doing, were pretty much the bottom of the barrel, scraping wise, I could come up with. I'd had enough material left over for the assemblers and everything I thought I needed, so I started flipping through my older files to try and come up with another thing I could build. While the thought of attempting to recreate Quint and his Sakugarne had occurred to me, I also knew that was going to end poorly, since Quint had been a de-weaponized Mega Man from the future and had proved MUCH less capable in combat than his present day self.

What? Don't look at me like that. This is science fiction, not magical fantasy. Yes, there's going to be time travel involved. At least I'M doing something SOME doctors seem unable to and keeping that nonsense to a minimum. Give me some credit.

I snapped my fingers to silence the assembled robots and get their attention again. “Look,” I sighed, “I know you weren't all designed as a team. Hell, you aren't even all the same series, AND you're being put in the field for reasons totally outside of your design specifications. BUT, that does not matter, because you WILL work as a team, you WILL destroy just about everything in your path, and when the time comes, you WILL stand by and bear witness to the moment when I, personally, shoot Mr. X in the head. Do you understand all of that?”

It was a testament to the independence of the Mega Man Killers that I was not greeted to a rousing chorus of 'Yes, Lord Wily!' but rather to a lukewarm, vaguely positive reaction.

“Good enough,” I growled. “Now get out of my sight, all of you. I have a pretty full day tomorrow, but I've also had a VERY full day today. I need some sleep.” I had been awake for... quite some time now. Probably much longer than it felt like, really. Call it, maybe, a day? Maybe two by now? Being in my bunker for prolonged periods of time, as well as teleportation-based jet lag, screwed with my perception of time quite badly. I knew it was 3:00, but I wasn't sure if that was a.m., p.m., or even if it was the day I thought it was.

I couldn't conduct an invasion on the scale I was hoping to in this condition, so I needed some rest before we got underway. With everything ready, the bunker was teeming with Robot Masters, Fortress Guardians, and a non-trivially HUGE amount of Sniper Joes, all of which were waiting for my order. I wasn't going to screw this one up like I had with the Roboenza episode. Not this time.

I got to my lab, fully intent on getting some sleep when I spotted something. The Evil Energy capsule, still on the table, was flickering and waving about hypnotically. I stared at it for a moment before sighing. Dammit all. Just one more thing, and then sleep. Just in case the worst should happen tomorrow.

Just one more thing.