Chapter 132: Knowledge Has A Price
Glen, the ripperdoc whose methods Joric had evaluated as "requiring immediate standardization," made a decision after Gloria's life was barely out of immediate danger. It was a choice that left Maine's crew speechless, yet entirely unsurprised.
Overnight, he packed up his entire "Thousand Needles" clinic—including the mountains of dubious, second-hand gear and jars of preserved organs—and moved everything to the Badlands bastion.
Facing the crew's skeptical stares, Glen rubbed his hands together, wearing a professionally slick, ingratiating smile. His excuse was grandiose: "Mrs. Martinez's condition is extremely complex! She requires constant, professional monitoring and delicate care! Shuttling back and forth from the city is too detrimental to the patient's recovery. I, Glen, always put the patient's health first. Moving the clinic here is simply a demonstration of my responsibility!"
But Maine and the others knew exactly what kind of abacus he was clicking in his head.
They had privately mentioned to David that the reclusive "Boss" possessed technology beyond comprehension. Theoretically, if one could pay an unimaginable price, a complete cure for Gloria's level of damage was not impossible.
Glen had clearly latched onto this information. Using Gloria's care as a pretext, he was stubbornly squatting in the derelict town, fantasizing about a chance encounter with the "Boss." He hoped to trade his accumulated "tuition"—likely scrap metal in the face of true high-tech—for a few crumbs of knowledge leaking from the master's fingers.
"That old slippery eel. His scheming is practically loud enough to deafen me," Rebecca commented unceremoniously, watching coldly with her arms crossed.
But she didn't kick him out.
After all, while Glen's techniques were crude and his concepts outdated, he still had practical value in handling common street gunshot wounds, cybernetic malfunctions, and basic maintenance. He saved the team a lot of trouble running back to the city.
When Joric concluded his trans-dimensional transit, his footsteps—now far heavier than before, a mix of unique metallic grinding and precision hydraulics—echoed once more in the depths of the desert manufactorum. His sensors registered an external environment significantly "noisier" than when he had left.
The bastion was no longer just Maine's original crew. There was now a silent, white-haired netrunner girl; an anxious boy forced onto the streets to pay his mother's medical bills; a semi-paralyzed mother immersed in pain and self-blame; and a clumsy ripperdoc with opportunistic intentions, forcing his way in.
The heavy metal doors of the manufactorum slid open with a dull hiss of hydraulics.
Joric's form—now visibly larger, encased in dark-red Dragon Scale Power Armor, with the new plasma reactor on his back emitting a low hum and a ghostly blue glow—suddenly filled the doorway.
In an instant, the low conversations and activity outside ceased.
All eyes were involuntarily drawn to him. The air thickened with a near-solid shock. The veteran members of Maine's crew—Maine, Dorio—though they had witnessed the "Boss's" inhuman nature before, still felt their pupils contract slightly.
They could viscerally feel the majestic power contained within that frame, far surpassing what it had been, and the cold, inhuman pressure that seemed almost solid.
The complexity and craftsmanship of that armor completely transcended their understanding of "cybernetics" or "exoskeletons."
Rebecca's mouth fell open. Her green cyber-eye focused rapidly, then defocused slightly, before she muttered a low, "Whoa..." Even she felt an indescribable awe.
The newcomer, Lucy, tensed imperceptibly. Her eyes, usually hidden behind a mask of indifference, widened slightly. Her gaze swept over the alien beauty and absolute power of the armor, and the stable blue glow of the energy core. A flicker of pure curiosity for the unknown creation flashed in her eyes.
And David, the boy new to this place, was so awed by the invisible pressure he almost forgot to breathe.
He looked at the steel giant walking out of ancient myth. When the crimson optical lenses swept over him, he felt as if some supreme being had seen through him, inside and out. A shiver, mixing fear and a sense of insignificance, rose up his spine.
Even Glen, who had been fretting over his tuition, temporarily forgot his predicament. His mouth hung open. His instinct as a ripperdoc (however clumsy) tried to understand the technical principles of the armor, but his mind went blank, left with only primal astonishment and confusion.
Joric's crimson optical lenses calmly swept the area outside the manufactorum. Like a high-efficiency scanner, he instantly captured, categorized, and archived all these new "variables" and their frozen expressions of shock.
The chaotic scene and emotional fluctuations triggered a very faint warning signal in his processing core—"Environmental Entropy Increase"—but it was immediately overridden by higher-level logic protocols. These bio-emotional responses and visual clutter were not worth wasting his precious computational resources on.
Glen practically scrambled forward, his face a mask of fawning eagerness and suppressed hunger. He stammered out his desire for "advanced study" and his willingness to pay a "reasonable tuition."
Joric's crimson optical lenses didn't even focus on him. A cold data-manifest was projected directly into Glen's visual interface, accompanied by a synthesized voice devoid of fluctuation: "Knowledge has a price."
The list was clear:
Standardized Neural Interface Implantation Protocol - Exchange for: Fully functional, unregistered prototype neural processor x 2
Bio-Tissue/Cybernetic Integration Anti-Infection Process - Exchange for: Unknown alloy sample with anomalous bio-compatibility (minimum 1kg)
Intermediate Trauma Response and Temporary Organ Maintenance Protocol - Exchange for: Preserved limbic system tissue sample from a severe cyberpsychosis subject
...
There were a dozen items in total. Each was a technique Glen dreamed of, something that could significantly elevate his clinic's level and income. But the requirement listed after each item made his heart sink.
These weren't standard goods money could buy. They were "special materials" that required delving deep into the black market, risking ventures into forbidden zones, or extracting from dangerous factions.
Glen's brain spun, estimating how many secret channels he'd need to open, how much life-threatening risk he'd have to take, and roughly how many eddies it would cost.
A rough calculation put the "cost" of fulfilling just this list at around fifty thousand eddies—and that didn't count the immense risk that couldn't be measured in money.
He froze, his lips trembling.
Knowledge was within reach, but the price was betting everything he had.
Not just his savings, but risking his life to collect these unknown, high-risk items, ultimately binding himself completely to the war-chariot of this mysterious entity.
The color drained from his face. He stammered, unable to form a complete syllable.
This sum... emptying his savings, selling all his equipment might barely cover it. But that meant everything he had built over a decade of scrapping in Watson would return to zero. He might even have to take on heavy debt, working desperately for years to pay off this "tuition," essentially selling himself completely to the mysterious being before him.
He stood frozen, plunged into an unprecedented, fierce internal struggle.
The thirst for knowledge burned his reason; the techniques on the list seemed within touch. But on the other hand, the fear of losing his freedom, of bearing a heavy yoke, made his feet feel like lead.
He wanted to learn, he wanted it so badly, but the cost was betting his entire present and future...
The expression on his face fluctuated violently between greed and fear. His earlier enthusiasm, doused by the ice water of reality, hissed and steamed but wasn't fully extinguished—it just turned into painful indecision.
"That old slippery eel," Rebecca crossed her arms, whispering to Pilar with schadenfreude. "I think his CPU is about to fry."
(End of Chapter)