Chapter 47: The Inter-Dimensional Test
Deep beneath the desert, within the ruins of 'Project Ursa Minor' Outpost Seven, the roar of reforging echoed day and night.
Fueled by the vast quantities of construction materials delivered at great cost by Maine's crew, Joric's machine-constructs—the silent Combat Servitors and the replica skulls imbued with his new logic-primaris—worked with astonishing efficiency. Industrial-grade plasma-cutters spat torrents of superheated ions, melting through corroded bulkheads. Heavy-lifter units cleared collapsed ferrocrete, opening the main thoroughfares. New composite armor plating was sanctified and riveted onto key structural points.
A subterranean sanctum, worthy of a Tech-Priest and integrating security, power, and research, was taking shape. The Central Reactor-Shrine, the Main Laboratorium, the Mechanicum Bay, the Defense Cohort Command-Center... the zoning was clear and logical.
But at the heart of this activity—in a temporary, heavily shielded test sanctum—it was unnervingly quiet. The only sounds were the low thrum of power conduits and the soft hiss of heat exchangers.
Joric's tall, crimson-robed form stood at the center. Before him, the Dimensional Sextant—that burnished-gold Dark Age relic—hovered within a complex containment-field, its living patterns pulsing like a slow, sleeping heart. The new, stable power supply had allowed his research into the artifact to proceed to a deeper level.
Yet, the deeper his research went, the more Joric understood the immense, chaotic risk of trans-dimensional transit for living matter. A random jump was suicide. Precise coordinate-targeting was, for now, beyond him.
"A direct energy or data-pulse would be useless," he analyzed aloud to his Old Friend. "The signal decay and distortion from the dimensional barrier would exceed 95%. We need a more reliable messenger—a physical vector capable of carrying the data and autonomously executing a directive in the target environment."
His gaze shifted to a corner of the workbench. There sat a newly completed, specialized servo-skull. Unlike the crude replicas, this one had been crafted from high-purity alloys supplied by Maine's crew and a fresh, vat-grown cogitator-brain. Its structure was far more precise, integrating a small, efficient, Joric-pattern power core and an enhanced data-transmitter. High-quality optical sensors gleamed softly in its sockets, awaiting activation.
"Its logic-core is loaded with the most basic survival and mission litanies. Upon arrival in the origin-universe, its primary directive is to achieve concealment, then attempt to transmit my encrypted data-packet," Joric mused, running final diagnostics. "My calculations project its arrival vector will be the same archeotech-ruin I departed from. If all goes as planned, the data will be received by the servitors and Skitarii I left on station. Then, the next phase can begin."
This data-packet was no simple status report. It contained a high-level Mechanicus identification-cant, his personal security verification-glyph, and an extremely short command-sequence. This sequence was the activation key for a deep contingency protocol he had left behind. Upon receiving the correct key, his stationed servitors and Skitarii would execute the new orders contained within the packet, initiating the next phase of his grand design.
"This will be a one-way transmission. A blind cast into the void," Joric stated. A mechadendrite carefully placed the specialized servo-skull into the focal-cradle above the Sextant. "We cannot confirm the state of the destination environment. We cannot confirm the messenger's survival. We cannot confirm the data will be received. The probability of success... is unquantifiable." But not to try was not an option.
"Old Friend, monitor all augurs. Log every quantum-level fluctuation of the transit."
++[Affirmative. All systems monitoring.]++
Joric's respirators cycled once as his metallic fingers keyed the final activation rune.
Power surged from the base's new primary conduits, flooding the Dimensional Sextant. The patterns on its surface flared to brilliant life, emitting a low, ancient, resonant thrum. A visible distortion-field rippled outwards, bending the light within the shielded sanctum. The specialized servo-skull was enveloped in a blinding white light, its very form beginning to blur and shudder.
"Power output stable... Coordinate Beta locked... Dimensional conduit forming..." Joric recited the data-feed, his optics locked on the event.
Suddenly, the light imploded into an infinitesimal point and then erupted outward in a silent, concussive wave. Instruments in the sanctum shook. Energy readings spiked and then collapsed.
The light was gone.
On the workbench, the Dimensional Sextant resumed its slow, steady rotation, its glow noticeably dimmer, the expenditure clearly massive.
And the specialized servo-skull... had vanished.
++[Transit complete. Energy expenditure is consistent with high-mass matter-transport projections. Brief, vectored dimensional fissure detected.]++ his Old Friend reported.
Joric stood in the sudden silence, tasting the lingering ozone and the strange, non-physical radiation on his sensors. It had worked. At least, the process had. Had his messenger survived the journey? Would it awaken in that dark universe and deliver its message? He had no way of knowing.
"A die cast into the abyss," he murmured, turning and leaving the test sanctum. He refocused on the construction efforts. "Now, we wait. And we continue to fortify our bastion."
Meanwhile, in Night City, the 'Edgerunners' reputation was rising, fueled by several flawlessly executed gigs. This new fame, however, was attracting unwanted attention. The fixer, Faraday, was probing them more frequently. Bounties appeared on the black market, seeking to acquire the "archaic" but devastatingly powerful weapons the crew now wielded. And faintest of all, rumors whispered that Arasaka and Militech security had both taken a preliminary interest in the crew's abnormal physiological enhancements.
Joric knew this litany well: the display of superior technology invites the covetous. While Night City's corporations were not, in his estimation, a true existential threat, his grand ambition—the establishment of an inter-dimensional resource and technology cycle—was just beginning. The steel tomb being re-consecrated beneath his feet was its cornerstone.
He would not tolerate interruptions to his Great Work. And to ensure he was not disturbed, he needed to demonstrate a level of power that would make these local vermin afraid to even approach.