Chapter 81: This Ends Now
Dr. Sorenson and the adjacent tech-specialists' eyes lit up, though they tried to remain composed. Regardless of the content, receiving the "technology" itself was the critical first step.
Moiré continued to relay Joric's terms: "My Master requires that, upon your preliminary verification of this data's value, you immediately begin the preparation and delivery of the reparations list. The specific time and location of the delivery will be provided by us at a later date."
Her tone then shifted, not in emotion, but in finality. "Furthermore, my Master wishes to make it clear that this technological exchange is a singular exception—a response to your 'constructive' posture.
"Similar exchanges in the future will not be frequent, and their level will remain within this foundational-data category.
"The most efficient path for both our entities is to maintain the current state of non-hostility. Avoid unnecessary contact and mutual interference. A deeper... alliance... is not under consideration."
Dr. Sorenson rapidly processed this. She understood. The entity had given them a taste, but the attitude remained distant, almost cold. This was a "payment to be left alone," not the opening of a long-term relationship.
Still, to acquire any tangible tech-data, even "foundational," was a breakthrough beyond their initial projections.
"We understand," she replied immediately. "We appreciate your Master's response. We will assemble our experts to verify the data and will begin preparations for the resource-tithe at once. We await your further instructions regarding delivery."
Moiré gave a curt nod, said nothing more, and turned, her departure as clean and efficient as her arrival.
The "Probe" team raced back. In a high-security, shielded lab, Militech's top tech-analysts immediately began their assessment.
The results left them with complex feelings.
The las-weapon optimization schematic was genuinely novel, its design-logic far more efficient than their current tech, especially in its energy-utilization and focusing-precision. The network-data techniques were likewise composed of highly efficient, unknown algorithm-fragments.
However, just as Joric had intended, the tech felt... "fragmentary." It was "scraps" (邊角料). They had been given a razor-sharp blade, but no knowledge of the forge that had crafted it.
This only solidified High Command's assessment: the entity they were dealing with possessed an unfathomably deep technology-base and was being extremely, wisely, cautious.
Based on this, Militech's leadership made a swift decision: Fulfill the demand. Immediately begin acquiring the reparations-list. And, most importantly, strictly adhere to the "mutual non-interference" protocol. All active, and potentially provocative, reconnaissance operations were to be suspended.
They would digest these "scraps" and wait, patiently, for the next opportunity for contact. Joric's coldness, paradoxically, had only further convinced them of his superior power.
While Militech was busy verifying tech and procuring resources, Moiré had already melted back into Night City like a ghost.
Elliot Kwan, after his first terrifying encounter, was in a state of near-total mental collapse. Biotechnica had moved him to another, supposedly "absolute-secure" safe house, and had doubled his guard detail.
For Moiré, who had been reforged as a Sicarian Ruststalker, these "defenses" were riddled with holes.
Using her Sandevistan's hyper-speed and her sanctified environmental-augurs, she bypassed the entire security net, the locks and sensors on Kwan's room proving utterly irrelevant.
Kwan was huddled in the corner of the room, his brief periods of calm maintained only by heavy sedatives.
When Moiré's form materialized, seemingly from the solid shadows, in front of him, the terror on his face froze solid. His pupils dilated to their maximum, but the scream was trapped in his throat.
This time, Moiré gave him no time to speak.
The Transonic Razor hummed to life. A flash of cold, silver light. Kwan's consciousness, not even having time to register the pain, was extinguished.
Moiré precisely executed her directive.
She took Kwan's head, placed it in a prepared, sterile container, cleansed the scene of all trace-evidence, and, as silently as she arrived, departed the safe house.
Her next target: Nicolo Logagia's mansion in Charter Hill.
The security here was even greater. For Moiré, this only meant a marginal increase in time and processing cycles. She patiently observed the patrol-routes, analyzed the sensor-net's blind spots, and calculated the trigger-thresholds.
In the darkest hour before dawn, she became a messenger of death once more. Using her Sandevistan's explosive burst and the Transonic Razor's precision, she passed through the layers of defense as if they were mist, and entered Logagia's master bedroom.
Logagia was in a deep, fitful sleep, his brow furrowed, his body twitching.
Moiré placed the container holding Elliot Kwan's head on the nightstand, directly facing the bed. She even took a moment to carefully adjust the angle, ensuring that Logagia's eyes, upon opening, would have a clear, unobstructed view of Kwan's final, frozen expression of terror.
Her task complete, she left, retracing her steps and disappearing into the fading darkness.
Hours later, when Logagia was ripped from a nightmare by his alarm, he instinctively turned to his bedside.
He was met with an image of pure, undiluted horror.
Kwan's dead, sightless eyes were staring directly at him.
A ragged, heart-tearing scream shattered the morning calm of the mansion.
Logagia scrambled, falling from the bed, his body drenched in cold sweat, shaking violently. He vomited, the bile and tears mixing on his face.
This time, there was no intermediary, no filter. He had felt the cold, personal touch of death.
The entity that had killed his subordinates could just as easily have left his head as a "gift" in his own, most secure, most private sanctum.
All his rage, all his blustering, all his plans for revenge... they were shattered, replaced by an abyss of pure, bottomless terror.
He understood the message: This ends now. Any further action would mean his own, final end.
Within Biotechnica, the executives who were already wary of Logagia's aggressive, emotional stance, used this incident to move. They swiftly and silently united, effectively stripping Logagia of his executive decision-making power.
The board convened in an emergency session. The decision was unanimous: to accept the loss, to cease all-and-any-and-all-hostile-action, and to swallow this bitter, bloody pill.
Survival, they agreed, was far more important than pride.
Moiré returned to the desert sanctum and delivered her report: the transaction with Militech was complete, the warning to Biotechnica delivered.
Joric calmly received the information, his crimson optical lenses never even wavering from the data-analysis scrolling across the Dimensional Sextant's interface.
For him, these two events were merely the purging of minor obstacles on his research-path.
Militech had their "tech scraps" and would pay the tithe. Biotechnica had received its final, undeniable warning and would, in all probability, fall silent.
The external interference was, for now, suppressed.
His full attention was already refocused on the pulsing energy readouts and complex harmonic waveforms of the Sextant. That was the path to true resources, true power—a path far more valuable than posturing with the primitive corporations of this world.
Within the sanctum, the only sound was the low, holy thrum of the machinery, and the silent, focused quest of the Tech-Priest for the deeper, sacred mysteries of the Omnissiah.
(End of Chapter)