Chapter 17: The First Trade
A few days later, Rebecca and Pilar were back in the Goodwood—now patched up by Falco and no longer spewing black smoke—bouncing their way back into the derelict town.
This time, their mood was completely different. The terror was still there, but it was overshadowed by a nervous anticipation and a buzzing curiosity.
They parked carefully outside the repurposed garage. The servo-skull was already hovering in the air, its crimson optic locking onto the vehicle, running a quick identity scan. It issued a soft click—its version of a greeting—and gestured for them to enter.
The manufactorum was even more "orderly" than when they had left. Salvaged parts and materials had been sorted and stacked with grim efficiency. It was still a crude hovel, but it pulsed with the energy of a functioning workshop. Joric was at the central workbench, a mechadendrite deftly manipulating a las-welder on a complex, gauntlet-like piece of armor, sending sparks flying.
"Boss! We got the stuff!" Rebecca hopped out of the car, her voice laced with an excitement she couldn't hide. She and Pilar dragged a heavy metal case and a bulging fiber-mesh sack from the back seat.
Joric paused his work. His crimson lenses turned to them, flickering once. "Efficiency: acceptable. Place the items on the scanning slab."
They did as instructed, hauling the containers to a cleared area on the workbench. A slender, new mechadendrite extended from beneath Joric's robes, its sensor-tip glowing with a soft blue light as it began to scan the delivery.
++[Inventory Confirmed:]++
++-One (1) high-yield power cell. Charge remaining: approx. 32%. Casing exhibits impact trauma and minor electrolyte leakage. Internal structure: fundamentally sound.++
++-Seventeen (17) assorted circuit boards and processors, mixed-designation, exhibiting physical damage and/or heat-scorch.++
++-Approx. 3.5kg unidentified alloy fragments. Composition requires analysis.++
++-Two (2) canisters, low-grade synthetic lubricant.++
++-Three (3) data-shards, contents unread.++
"The power cell meets specifications." Joric's voice was flat, betraying no satisfaction or disappointment. "The rest... is primarily low-grade scrap. The impurity content is high. Reclamation utility is below optimal projection." The sensor-tip of the mechadendrite lingered on the "trash" circuit boards and alloy fragments, its light shifting.
Rebecca scratched her head, a little embarrassed. "Uh, yeah, time was short, the good scrap is hard to come by... This was the best we could pull from a few depots and junk-heaps. Pilar almost got flatlined by Maelstrom just grabbing that battery!"
Pilar nodded quickly, rubbing his neck as if remembering the close call.
Joric didn't comment on their troubles. His attention seemed to have been captured entirely by the "scrap." He extended another tendril, carefully lifting a scorched circuit board, observing a unique, spiral-patterned nano-circuit layout.
"An interesting configuration... sacrificing stability for extremely high, instantaneous data throughput. Is this world's electronic warfare doctrine truly so… extreme?" He then picked up a dull alloy fragment. "Amorphous metal? A self-repairing coating? The craft is crude, but the logic..."
He fell into a brief,data-processing silence, as if he were seeing the unique evolutionary path of an entirely different tech-tree within their garbage. What was useless junk to them was, to this Tech-Priest, a priceless sample of this world's foundational, heretical logic.
After a moment, he seemed to remember the other half of the transaction.
He turned and retrieved a long, rectangular metal case from a storage space beneath his workbench. The box was riveted from crude steel plates, utterly devoid of aesthetics, but it radiated a sense of rugged reliability.
"This is the agreed-upon compensation," Joric said, opening the case.
Inside, resting on a crude foam bed, was a pistol. But its design was unlike any projectile or energy weapon common in Night City. It was larger, heavier, with the distinct, brutalist aesthetic of the 41st Millennium—a form born purely of function and power. Its dark metal frame was inlaid with precision heat-sinks and energy conduits. The muzzle was wide, hinting at the complex coil-structure within.
"A portable armament based on plasma principles," Joric intoned, as if describing a simple tool. "I have restricted the power output to within stable safety parameters and re-written the energy-control litanies to ensure reliability. It fires a projectile of superheated plasma, effective against unarmored targets and light-skinned vehicles. Warning: sustained fire will lead to core overheating. A 1.5-second interval between discharges is advised."
He lifted the heavy pistol and offered it to Rebecca, who was practically vibrating with interest.
"It is compatible with your common universal power-jack. It can be recharged from a high-yield battery or a direct vehicle-power link. Test it."
Rebecca held her breath as she took the weapon. It was heavy, and a cold sense of power radiated from it. She fumbled with it for a second before Joric's brief, verbal instructions guided her to the safety and the simple iron sights.
"Whoa..." she whispered, her green cyber-eye bright with excitement. "This thing... this thing looks like it could slag a Slasher's ride in one shot."
Pilar leaned in, peering at it. "Plasma? For real? The stuff the corps are working on is still unstable as hell..."
"The primary transaction is complete. You may depart," Joric dismissed them. His attention was already back on the "interesting" scrap, a mechadendrite beginning the careful disassembly of the scorched circuit board.
"Next, I require a wider variety of alloy samples, and... if possible, an intact cybernetic component containing a new-model neural processor. Compensation will be adjusted accordingly."
Rebecca and Pilar, clutching the incredible plasma pistol they had just traded for a box of junk, left the manufactorum in a daze. They were halfway back to the city before the excited discussion finally burst out.
"Did you see the inside of that thing? I've never seen a design like it!"
"And he just... gave it to us? For that scrap? Is Maine even gonna believe this?"
"He'll believe it when he sees what this damn thing can do!"
Back at Maine's warehouse, the reaction was even more dramatic than they had anticipated. Rebecca, as if presenting a holy relic, placed the crude, riveted metal box on the table.
Dorio picked up the pistol, tested its weight, her brow furrowed. Falco immediately pulled out a portable scanner, but the readings only confused him more. "The energy signature is... strange. It's too stable. And the structural principles... I can't get a full read."
Maine said nothing. He picked up the pistol and walked to the makeshift firing range in the corner—a few plates of scavenged armor plating.
Following Rebecca's relayed instructions, he aimed at the target and pulled the trigger.
There was no deafening gunshot. Only a deep, powerful V-THOOM, as if the air itself had been instantly ionized.
A blazing, white-blue orb of plasma shot out and struck the target.
There was a blinding flash and a soft hiss.
The heavy armor plate had been melted clean through, leaving a hole the size of a fist. The edges of the hole were a warped, molten, re-solidified mess, the surrounding metal glowing blue from the intense heat.
The warehouse was dead silent. Everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the smoking hole.
That kind of power, that kind of damage, was beyond anything they were used to. Even top-end mil-spec weapons rarely produced such a clean, utterly devastating result.
Maine lowered the pistol. The muzzle was still smoking, the air thick with the smell of ozone. He stared at the molten hole for a long time before slowly turning to look at Rebecca and Pilar, his expression intensely complex.
"He..." Maine's voice was dry. "That... tech-nomad... what else did he say?"