Chapter 54: The Oath of Fealty
Joric's mechadendrites unconsciously traced a complex trajectory in the air, as if sketching some grand, unseen design.
"To complete the directives, you must be reforged. Not merely with new wargear or simple cybernetic calibration, but a complete, bespoke re-consecration, from your foundational frames to your tactical-doctrines. Only then will you possess even a sliver... of the probability required for success." The future he depicted was both tempting and filled with an unknown dread.
Reforged? After that, would they still be them?
This plunged Maine into a deeper conflict.
On one hand, Sasha, his crewmate, his family. He couldn't just watch her die. On the other... he would be leading his entire crew, the family he'd built, into an unknown, lethal future, possibly sacrificing the very freedom they had bled for. His fists clenched, knuckles white, his rugged face a mask of internal conflict. Dorio stood by him silently, understanding the weight of the decision.
Falco pushed up his shades, the lenses reflecting his own calculations. Pilar just rubbed his hands nervously, looking from Maine to Sasha, then at the floor.
It was Rebecca who broke the heavy silence, her voice raw and defiant. "Fuck! What is there to even hesitate about?! Maine! Sasha is family! For family, what does selling our lives even matter?!"
She spun on Joric, her green cyber-eyes blazing. "Boss! I, Rebecca, mean what I say! You save Sasha, and this life is yours! You tell me to jump, I ask 'how high?' You tell me to zero a corpo, I'll be the first one through the door! Let's delta-damn do it!"
Her declaration was simple, raw, and powerful—the pure, uncomplicated loyalty of the street. For her, the safety of her family eclipsed any abstract concept of freedom or future risk.
Rebecca's reckless, all-in pledge shattered Maine's deadlock. He looked at his crew: Dorio met his gaze and nodded, supporting Rebecca's decision. Falco, though silent, was resolute. Even Pilar, who always feared death, swallowed hard but didn't say a word against it.
They were a unit. Family came first, even before his own stubborn obsession with 'freedom.' He saw their shared resolve. For Sasha, they would bet the future.
Maine let out a long, heavy breath, as if expelling all his doubts. He looked up, his gaze hardening, meeting Joric's unreadable optics.
"Alright, Boss... you win. If you save Sasha... I, Maine, on behalf of my crew, the Edgerunners... we pledge fealty. From this day on, we're yours."
As the words left his mouth, he felt a strange sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted. But a shadow fell over him as well. What path had they just stepped onto?
Joric seemed to have anticipated this outcome. He inclined his head, his crimson optics pulsing steadily. "A logical choice. Your fealty, in exchange for Sasha's life... and the path to true power. The tithe is equitable."
To him, this was merely the beginning of a plan, another integration of resources and power.
"So, Boss," Maine pressed on, "now can you tell us? What is this mission that's worth our lives and our freedom?"
Rebecca's ears perked up. "Yeah, what is it? We hitting Arasaka? Or Militech? Like that bunker?"
Joric responded with a short, sharp burst of static from his vocalizer, a sound of pure, unadulterated contempt.
"Steal from your corps? Hmph. Their 'scrap,' built on a foundation of shallow understanding and short-sighted profit-seeking... you believe that is worth my time to assemble a dedicated cohort to acquire?"
His scorn was genuine, born from the vast, dimensional gulf in technology and understanding between their two realities.
The technology of the 41st Millennium might appear crude, brutalist, and terrifying, but its actual capabilities... it was the difference between a primitive, pre-conscious lifeform staring at a starship, and the starship's Machine-God itself.
"My objective is something that cannot be measured by the petty currency of this reality." His tone was flat, but the words carried a chill. "It involves domains your cognitive framework is not equipped to understand. To know the details now would provide you no benefit, only unnecessary mental strain and spiritual risk."
He wasn't being needlessly cryptic; it was a simple statement of fact. To explain the multiverse, dimensional travel, and the horrors of the Imperium would only cause panic and confusion. He shifted back to the practical.
"Your primary directive, for now, is to survive, and to ascend. Focus on your augmentation. Your training. Master the new wargear and doctrines. That is your only concern at this stage."
He glanced at the medicae-slab. "As for Sasha, I will uphold the pact. But understand: an operation against the Blackwall, while within my capabilities, requires precise calculation and resource allocation. It is not trivial. It demands my full attention, a significant expenditure of my own operational time."
Joric turned to Maine, his tone returning to the cold logic of a transaction. "You have sworn your oath, but this does not mean you are entitled to unconditional tithes. Wargear, augmetics, the rare components for your rituals of enhancement... these must still be 'paid' for.
"However, as my sworn assets, you will receive... an internal, sanctified rate. Far below market value. And you will have priority access to the resources of this manufactorum."
Rebecca muttered under her breath, "Scrap, and here I thought we'd finally get some free chrome..."
But she wasn't truly upset. The streets had taught her one thing: nothing is free. If Joric had offered it all for nothing, the real price would have been something terrifying, something they couldn't see.
This... this felt real. A clear transaction.