Chapter 113: New Intelligence
Moiré's detailed report regarding the contact between Maine's crew and Arasaka was uploaded to the sanctum's Central Information Processing System immediately after the event, as per protocol.
According to Joric's pre-set filtering criteria, the report was automatically categorized as "Non-Urgent / Non-Technical External Dynamics." A duty-assigned Servo-Skull received the data and filed it into the queue of pending documents, without triggering a high-priority alert.
At the time, Joric was completely immersed in his research.
He was first optimizing the energy flow structure of the Dimension Transfer Array, then diving into the final assembly and calibration of an advanced Exoskeleton Power Suit and Power Fist.
During such critical research phases, any external information that posed no immediate threat and did not involve core technology exchange was systematically delayed.
Having set the last calibration parameter, Joric slowly withdrew from his state of intense concentration.
As he flexed his slightly stiff mechanical fingers, he habitually murmured to the Servo-Skull hovering beside him, "Old friend, let us review the accumulated trivia."
His gaze calmly swept the list of pending items, finally pausing on the entry about Arasaka.
"Ah, that," he said softly, with a hint of belated recollection, as if finally remembering a minor detail. "It seems some corporations have finally learned manners while we were busy with research."
With the report opened, the information about Arasaka's contact officially entered his perception.
He manipulated a mechanical tentacle to display the report, his crimson optical lenses rapidly scanning the text.
In the silent sanctum, only the low hum of energy conduits and his steady, almost self-talk, voice echoed.
"Old friend, look at this," he murmured, addressing the silent Servo-Skull as was his habit, though the metal skull would only execute pre-programmed commands. "Arasaka... finally learned to use feelers instead of clubs."
He continued scrolling through the report, his thoughts flowing between the data points, his words serving to organize his own logic. "Appeasing us... to be expected. They were hurt last time, and now they smell the scent of technical meat scraps leaking from Militech. Typical corporate logic: seek profit, avoid risk."
His gaze lingered on the analysis of Arasaka's potential motives in the report, a slight mechanical click coming from his neck joint.
"These behemoths, old friend, are essentially no different from automatic mining machines. Input resources, output profit... As long as they don't jam my cogs or pollute my energy supply, their internal strife and greed are just background noise."
He closed the report interface, filing it into a directory labeled "Potential Trade Nodes."
"No immediate response required. If they remain docile, perhaps we can, like Militech, discard some useless technical off-cuts for the rare minerals or quiet we need. But if..."
His vocal pitch did not fluctuate, yet the following words carried a cold finality. "...If either party again misjudges the situation and attempts to test my limits.
"Old friend, we will have to clean up the waste faster and more thoroughly than we did with Biotechnica and that unfortunate Arasaka director. Noise must be eliminated."
The monologue ended there.
Joric's attention shifted completely from the report, as if he had merely brushed a speck of dust from a precision instrument.
To him, the corporate movement had been categorized, evaluated, and given a clear response protocol. The matter was handled.
His core calculation instantly moved to the next item on the agenda: an encrypted report from the Warhammer 40,000 universe, sent by Ignis—a problem that truly required his full processing power.
Joric's mechanical fingers tapped lightly on the control panel, opening the encrypted file in a projection.
"Old friend, it seems the news we were waiting for has arrived." He murmured to the silent Servo-Skull, slightly adjusting the focal length of his optical lenses to lock onto the key information in the projection.
The report clearly confirmed two things: the Forge World Nexum had completed its review of his previous exploration report, and more importantly, the preparations for his promotion ritual to Magos had entered the substantive phase.
"At least three weeks ahead of schedule," he continued his self-talk, a mechanical tentacle unconsciously tapping the edge of the control panel, creating a rhythmic tap-tap. "Even with Fabricator-Magos Casper Vhorx pushing it, the bureaucratic gears of the Mechanicus rarely turn so smoothly."
This sudden progress was slightly unexpected.
Given the typical nature of the Adeptus Mechanicus, such promotion procedures usually involved weeks, sometimes months, of tedious paperwork and layered approvals.
"What do you think, old friend?" He turned to the Servo-Skull, as if soliciting the silent partner's opinion. "Is our supervising Magos suddenly in urgent need of bolstering his faction's strength, or... has that rogue AI sample from this world unexpectedly demonstrated value beyond our initial assessment under Mars' evaluation standards?"
Several possibilities flashed through his efficient logic core.
However, he quickly reigned in these divergent thoughts.
"Unnecessary speculation without supporting data is merely a waste of time," he decisively closed the projection. "Since the path to promotion is open, this aligns with our core interest. As for the exact reason..."
His voice carried a note of definite conclusion. "...We will ascertain the truth once we return to the Forge World."
For now, he needed to prepare adequately for this important return journey. The current situation was clear: he needed to return to the Warhammer 40,000 universe as soon as possible to complete the promotion process.
"The rank of Magos is more than just a title, old friend," he continued his self-talk while pulling up other related data interfaces. "It means authorization to independently lead large projects, the qualification to requisition more Skitarii, the right to request a personal Forge-ship, and... access to knowledge previously kept under severe strictures. This is an indispensable part of our plan."
However, before activating the dimensional transfer and returning in person, he had to ensure that this temporary base and research sanctum in the Cyberpunk world could operate stably in his absence.
"We cannot leave and immediately have our base overthrown." He pulled up the recent status reports for the Badlands bastion and Maine's crew. Combining them with the current power dynamics in Night City, he began a quick and comprehensive risk assessment.
"Militech," he reviewed the related data logs and trade journals. "Through past transactions and deterrence, they are in a relatively stable state of 'cooperation.' As long as we don't unilaterally cut off the supply of technical scraps, they shouldn't risk a provocation in the short term."
"Biotechnica..." his voice carried a cold resonance. "Though outwardly silent, the resentment from the death of Elliott Kwan will not easily fade. Vigilance is necessary."
"As for Arasaka," he displayed the latest Counter-Intelligence activity logs and Moiré's purge report. "They just paid the price and should be focused on internal restructuring and tentative outreach. The risk of large-scale offensive action is low."
His analysis shifted to Maine's crew. "The crew has undergone preliminary enhancement and modification. Their combat effectiveness is far above the street average. They possess both dependence on and reverence for our power... but their capability to independently counter corporate-level schemes remains limited."
Finally, his attention returned to the real-time data flow of the Dimension Transfer Array.
"Despite multiple optimizations, stability has improved, but transferring a unit with my high energy signature..." He quickly calculated the energy requirements and spatial structural tolerance limits. "...Still requires precise preparation. The round trip, plus necessary downtime, is estimated to take several weeks to months."
Joric's mechanical body turned slightly before the control panel, his crimson optical lenses sweeping over the ordered equipment and flashing indicators within the sanctum.
"It seems, old friend, that we must make comprehensive arrangements before we depart."
(End of Chapter)