Chapter 29: The Galvanic Rifle
The purely technical appreciation Joric showed for the blood-stained "trophies" sent a chill down the spines of everyone except Maine and Dorio. Pilar instinctively touched his own neck.
"You have fulfilled the agreement," Joric stated, setting the cyberware aside and turning back to Maine. "As per the covenant, this is your compensation."
He moved to a weapons rack on the far side of the manufactorum and retrieved a strangely shaped weapon. It possessed a long, somewhat heavy barrel, its body cast from a dull alloy. Its lines were archaic, almost clumsy, featuring a large, manually-cocked hammer mechanism and a complex capacitor-housing near the stock. It looked more like an ancient flintlock musket from a museum or some bizarre steampunk creation, completely at odds with the sleek, high-tech firearms common in Night City.
The weapon's surface was covered in fine heat-dissipation grooves and energy-conduction tracery. The grip was wrapped in a non-slip black composite, and the trigger guard was wide enough for a gloved finger. It radiated a faint smell of ozone and quenched metal.
"A portable, directed-energy weapon based on electro-fusion principles," Joric explained, handing the rifle—which was almost as tall as Rebecca—to Maine. "I have designated it: 'Galvanic Rifle'."
Maine took the weapon. It was heavy and cold in his hands. He examined it, his brow furrowed, clearly surprised by its antiquated appearance.
"It does not fire conventional projectiles, but rather, specialized alloy-core flechettes." Joric clarified. A mechadendrite offered Maine three strange rounds, each as long as a finger, gleaming silver-grey, with stabilizing fins. "The core contains a superconducting coil and a micro-capacitor. Upon impact, the kinetic-fuse triggers a full discharge of the stored energy in an instantaneous, high-intensity electro-motive burst."
He paused, his crimson lenses sweeping over the crew. "The effect is analogous to detonating a small EMP grenade within the target's structure, but far more focused. It will instantly ablate unshielded electronics. Against biological organisms, it causes catastrophic neurological annihilation and systemic, internal structural failure. It is highly effective against light-armored vehicles and most cybernetically-augmented individuals."
Maine's thick fingers traced the cold metal, weighing the heavy, specialized rounds. His skepticism rapidly gave way to shock and grim understanding. He could easily imagine the horrifying effects of such a weapon, especially against chromed-up enemies.
"Preem," Maine finally grunted, a flicker of suppressed excitement in his voice. "Looks weird, though." He made a few practice motions, aiming and cycling the action. It felt unfamiliar, but the weapon's potential was undeniable.
"The ammunition requires a specific ritual of fabrication. Currently, I am the only source," Joric reminded him flatly. "Thus, you have only these three rounds. Expend them wisely. Return for replenishment when necessary."
"Understood." Maine carefully secured the Galvanic Rifle and its unique ammunition. "A weapon like this... you save it for when it really counts."
The transaction was complete. The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly. Rebecca eyed the strange rifle curiously, but Pilar nervously pulled her back.
Maine considered for a moment, glancing at his crew, then back at Joric. "Boss," he began, "your skills are nova. Pilar's life, Rebecca's eye... we trust your work. Seein' as how you're here... could you maybe... tune us up? Our chrome... most of it's cobbled together over the years. Compatibility's always been an issue. We ain't running at peak."
Joric's optical lenses scanned Maine's heavy sub-dermal plating, Dorio's visibly chem-strained augmented muscles, Falco's patchwork of mismatched sensors. His database had already logged these inefficiencies. Upgrading Maine's crew would objectively increase their operational effectiveness, survival rates, and mission-completion probability, thereby making them more efficient assets for him. It was a logical investment.
"Affirmative," Joric replied quickly. "Your cybernetic systems exhibit significant redundancies, conflicts, and performance bottlenecks. Optimization should yield a composite combat-effectiveness increase exceeding thirty percent, and reduce routine maintenance requirements by fifteen percent."
His immediate agreement relieved Maine, but everyone knew this "Boss" made no gifts.
"The price?" Maine asked directly.
Joric's crimson lenses seemed to flicker.
"I require a military-grade 'Sandevistan' neural-booster system," he named the specific cyberware. "Preferably an Arasaka or Militech model, current generation, or no older than three years standard. The core processing unit and the energy regulator must be intact."
Sandevistan! A collective intake of breath. That was top-tier, heavily restricted chrome. It allowed the user to perceive and react at hyper-speed, moving like a blur, dancing between bullets—the kind of edge that made legends. Not only was it astronomically expensive, but acquiring one usually meant taking it off a dead corpo-spec-ops trooper or a legendary solo.
Joric elaborated, his technical curiosity evident. "Its temporal-dilation effect and the mechanism by which it balances neural-overload are... of significant interest. I wish to study its design."
Maine's brow furrowed deeply. This was a far harder task than scavenging battlefield cybernetics. It meant actively hunting someone equipped with a Sandevistan, or navigating the most dangerous strata of the black market. Either path was drenched in risk.
He was silent for several seconds, weighing his crew's capabilities against the potential reward. He glanced at his companions, saw the hope in their eyes, especially the raw hunger for more power, for better odds, in Dorio's gaze. He gave a heavy nod.
"Deal. We'll get you the Sandevistan. As... down-payment... you tune us up first."
"Logical." Joric inclined his head. "Who will be first? Maine. Your systems are the most complex, and exhibit the most conflicts."
He turned toward the modified medical chair, now bristling with interfaces and articulated arms. A mechadendrite gestured toward it, an invitation.
Maine took a deep breath, stripped off his jacket, revealing a torso heavily scarred and plated with thick implants, and lay down on the slab without hesitation.
The mechadendrites descended like living things, the cold tips of their tools gleaming with calibration light.
Inside the desert sanctum, the next phase of the "upgrade" had begun.