Chapter 104: The Crew's Feedback
While Joric was immersed in data analysis and future projections, Maine's crew spent several days recovering from the severe backlash of two rapid trans-dimensional jumps.
The physical fatigue and neurological disruption faded, but the memory of that experience—the sensation of consciousness being shredded and forcibly reconstituted—lingered like a phantom ache.
The power boost was real.
When Rebecca ran her fingers over the cold casing of her Heavy Bolter, she felt an unprecedented sense of security. Pilar's eyes gleamed with pure joy as he tuned his Flamer. Even Sasha and Kiwi couldn't hide their awe at the new capabilities of their Electronic Warfare suites.
These upgrades had elevated each of them several tiers above their previous limits, a qualitative leap unimaginable for street-runners in Night City.
However, the journey to that alien world, and the soul-tearing transit, acted like a bucket of ice water, sobering them from the intoxication of power.
They clearly realized that in the Mechanical Lord's grand design, they were beneficiaries of power, yes, but also observed test-subjects, and tools to be deployed into unknown danger at a moment's notice.
This realization settled over the crew like an invisible film.
In moments of silence, Maine would unconsciously clench his new metal fist, feeling the energy capable of crushing an APC, yet his brow would furrow deeper. The burden on his shoulders was heavier now: not just to lead them to survival, but to find a fragile balance between power and the price it demanded.
Dorio remained solid, but her gaze was more scrutinizing, constantly assessing the surging power within her, wondering if invisible strings were attached.
Rebecca would fall silent after bouts of excitement, her green cyber-eye staring unfocused at the barren Badlands outside the workshop, lost in thought.
Even Pilar, usually the most erratic, would sometimes stop fiddling with his new weapons, his long mechanical fingers tapping his knee in a rhythm of hidden anxiety.
A complex emotion spread silently through the team. The reliance on and joy in their new strength was real, but the deep, unseen shadow of the future pressed just as heavily on their hearts.
In a crew meeting, Maine finally voiced the issue.
"The Boss's upgrades are nova, no doubt," Maine said, looking at his crew, his voice steady. "But that transit... honestly, if we have to do that again soon, I don't know if we'll all come back intact. It's not just motion sickness. It feels like being disassembled and put back together wrong."
Dorio nodded. She had felt that bone-deep wrongness. Even her enhanced frame struggled to resist it. "We need to let the Boss know. This isn't complaining; it's critical combat feedback. If there are more missions like this, our bodies might not hold up to frequent jumps."
Rebecca, despite her excitement over her new power, agreed. "I was laid out for half a day after we got back. More tired than after a full day of fighting. If we had to shoot right after a jump? I probably couldn't even hold my gun steady."
After discussion, Maine decided to formally raise the issue the next time they saw Joric.
The opportunity came quickly. Joric required long-term physiological data post-transit to fully assess the impact on augmented subjects.
Maine's crew was summoned to the manufactorum again.
Unlike before, their steps lacked anticipation as they entered the cold, humming space. A heavy, unspoken dread hung over them. The air still seemed to carry the faint memory of their consciousness being torn and stitched back together.
After a series of precise scans and data-logging, Maine stepped forward.
He took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts, then spoke with as much objectivity and respect as he could muster, detailing the crew's concerns regarding the physiological load of trans-dimensional transit.
"Boss, we are grateful for the power you've given us, and we are willing to execute your missions," his voice rang clear in the vast workshop. "But the physical and mental strain of two consecutive jumps was extreme. We are concerned this will impact mission efficiency, or even result in non-combat casualties."
Silence fell in the manufactorum, broken only by the hum of machinery.
Dorio stood behind Maine, a silent pillar of support. Rebecca wasn't looking around; her lips were pressed tight, the memory of the transit still fresh. Pilar fidgeted. Falco pushed up his shades, trying to read something in Joric's expressionless metal faceplate.
Joric's crimson optical lenses turned to Maine, listening silently.
He didn't respond immediately. His cold gaze seemed to penetrate flesh, scrutinizing the operational status of every component within them.
After a moment, he pulled up the detailed physiological data he had just collected, running a rapid comparison with pre- and post-transit logs.
Data-streams cascaded through his vision. Parameters, waveforms, and energy readings were processed at high speed.
The analysis confirmed Maine's report. Their nervous systems showed clear signs of repair following high-intensity trauma. Neural synaptic transmission efficiency had dropped slightly. Micro-stress residues were detected in several implant energy-circuits.
These were silent confirmations that the feeling of being "disassembled and reassembled" was not entirely subjective.
"Data analysis confirms," Joric's synthesized voice broke the silence. "The integration level between your biological substrate and existing implants has not reached the optimal threshold to withstand frequent, short-term structural stress from trans-dimensional transit. This information is valuable."
He acknowledged the issue, attributing it to the insufficient fusion of their bodies and tech.
For Joric, this was a critical experimental data-point, helping him define tolerance standards for future biological transits.
"In return for providing critical data, you may submit one request," Joric continued. His logic-core determined that appropriate rewards maintained crew morale and loyalty. "Within reasonable parameters, I will consider it."
Maine was prepared. The crew had discussed this.
He glanced at Dorio, then addressed Joric. "Boss, we request a custom weapon for Dorio. Her strength is immense, but she lacks a primary combat implement that can fully utilize her capabilities."
Dorio was the crew's vanguard anchor. Her enhanced body was a weapon, but against higher-level threats, relying solely on fists and feet was limiting. A weapon matching her monstrous strength and combat style would massively increase her suppression capability and survivability on the front line.
Joric's gaze swept over Dorio, instantly recalling data on her combat patterns, peak strength output, and skeletal structure.
"Acceptable," he granted concisely. "Based on her combat data, I will design a melee implement suitable for her. Estimated time for design and fabrication: seventy-two hours."
The answer brought a collective sigh of relief to the crew. A sense of gratification, too. Joric was not entirely unapproachable; their needs and feedback were valued and met with tangible responses.
"Thank you, Boss," Maine said on behalf of the team.
"Return to your bastion. Maintain standby status. You will be notified upon weapon completion," Joric ordered, his attention already shifting to the technical parameters and material selection required for Dorio's new weapon.
(End of Chapter)