"Gearslot, we need these heat sinks before tomorrow, in working condition."
"Yes, boss, I remember. It will take some time because of shitty quality. Will have to get creative, but I will get you enough, maybe even a few spare ones."
It's going to be a long day. I hoped that diving into work would distract me, let me focus on something else. I've never been much of a fighter, not the one to jump to a fight, but I've made a decent techie. That's why I never had need for a combat chrome, at least not until now. No one would catch me off guard with the kind of chrome I'm packing now. The guys think that I'm jumpy because of Scavs, that I'm afraid. But it's not that, fuck that noise. I'm not afraid, I'm angry, angry at myself for being that stupid and letting Scavs to blindside me, angry at the traitor Camhead, but most of all angry at that merc kid for making me feel like shit. I can't stop remembering disgust at that kid's face. The one who saved me, even with what Maelstrom done to her.
It used to be so simple, us versus them, reliable chrome versus whimsical flesh. I hated the weakness of meat, as far as I could remember. The inborn lung and heart defects that made me struggle for every breath when I was little. I was useless, a cripple surviving only due to pity and leftover scraps. Only when I grew up enough to get the chrome I could finally become someone, could start living. It is then I realized that I don't care about the meat like the others, that the faulty feedback from the synth-lungs didn't even bother me too much. Even not properly configured, it just worked, just fucking worked, and eventually I fixed it, myself, because I figured out how. From that moment the Chrome was my ally, one that I understood, one that doesn't betray or breaks if you work on it, one you could rely on. And Maelstrom were the ones who understood me, kindred sparks.
And it stinged, the shame. The brother, one of our own joining the Scavs, the very same blasted vultures that almost unmade me. I know that most of new members of Maelstrom aren't sharpest tools in the box and aren't that different from your average ganger in Night city, except for the chrome. Same hunger for power, same boneheadedness, same stupid posturing. Not like the old ones, those who looked beyond and didn't blink at the Truth. But I still thought that we all should feel the same where it counts. You don't betray the spark.
It wouldn't sting so much if the merc was just some random stupid muscle. But I saw her song, the feeling, the rush. And I found her other records, her sneaky gigs and fights. It all felt so right, but at same time wrong. How could she have so much trust, such perfect control of her meat. I've never felt any non-borg so composed, so sure of their abilities. And the last one, "The jump", oh it felt incredible, the raw expression of the freedom. But that blazing nova of a spark in the kid made it all worse. Now it wasn't enough to leave the meat in ignorance, now it felt unbearably unfair that in her eyes we were just mindless crazy borgs. For the first time I considered breaking a taboo, to show an outsider something from our old ones.
Of course I wouldn't show her one of initiations. According to the old ones initiation is horribly misunderstood even by our fresh muscle. The gonks turn the sacred ritual of looking behind the veil into a macabre party, a celebration of carnage. I'm not so sure myself, not like you could call the old ones less gruesome in their ways. One thing I know for sure is that even most merciless old ones wouldn't torture that kid as revenge for her brother's actions. They would call it a deed of dim sparked, those who lacks the core to deal with the problem directly with force or brains to solve it cleverly. Oh, the old ones would totally zero the Oni, maybe even ritually and set up initiation out of it. But they wouldn't make a farce out of it by kidnapping his family, making her fight in rigged duel, like Animals.
The one I want to show the merc is "The sunise" by the Gazer. The legendary Maelstrom techie, ancient even among the old ones. He has been there when Inquisitors executed Metal warriors. He has been there when Maelstrom was made out of broken ideals, chrome and hatred. He has been there when Arasaka tower went into nuclear inferno. He was one of those who fixed salvaged radioactive tech from the rubble. He never was close to the core of a gang, mostly minding his business and fixing our stuff when needed. Yes, that creepy borg who sometimes freeze for few days gazing into nothingness. The writer of dances that only we could really understand.
"The sunrise" is my favorite dance of his. It has been recorded when Gazer was hired to automate solar panel arrays around the Night city a long time ago. One guy optimized the whole system better than any corpo ever could. Because he could feel it, he could become it. There are a lot of different records of the dawn in all possible ways, infrared, wide spectrum, exotic particles, even flesh-meaty, sensual ones. But "The sunrise" is different. There are no eyes, no fleshy touchy, it is a sunrise how the machine experiences it. The ignorant would laugh at the idea of diagnostic data meaning anything, but the dance pulls you deeper, deeper in, beyond your limited body and only then you see it.
It starts in nothingness, complete silence and darkness. You don't know how long it last, as you lose the grasp on time. And then you feel first pings of sensors, harbingers of the sun. You feel as your whole body, the forest of solar panels is getting ready, a cascade of tests rolls through you as a wave. You preen with your mirriad limbs, reaching to it, claiming it, you are ready. You don't know how much time passes, but then you feel it, not as heat on flesh, not a gentle warmth or scorching blaze. No, you feel the sun as a pure energy. The surge goes through your veins, lightning in its essence, unending and evergrowing. The complex systems direct, control, collect, transform the energy, every part of the system in perfect unison and in perfect balance. And you are beautiful, the silicon-metal flower, artificial but full of life, ideal in its function. You feed the chaotic city, ugly in its flawed form, broken, its power lines lopsided, its core unstable, the contrast to your brilliance. But you don't mind, you will nurture it with your power. It will learn. It will evolve. Some day we will be beautiful together. And then it ends, but you remember, you remember the power in your veins, remember the beauty of harmony. Not natural, but harmony made by you, by your will, by your spark. And nothing else matters, you feel whole.
This is what Maelstrum is for those who looked for more. Looking behind the veil, looking underneath. Going beyond frail flesh, embracing that you could be more. This is what I want to share. I look at the huge heap of heatsinks that probably need some dark necromancy to make them work. Well, maybe a bit later.