Having escorted away the deeply resentful RDA leadership, Osiris, guarded by Maine's squad, entered the core interior region of the Pioneer. Dr. Grace Augustine was waiting near the laboratory threshold, a clear expression of anxiety coating her face as she gazed in the direction where the RDA personnel had departed.
"They won't give up easily, Osiris," Grace said, lowering her voice. "I know the RDA's greed all too well. Once they set their sights on something, they will always find a way to get their hands on it."
"I am aware," Osiris responded placidly, his forward stride never faltering. "But they are even better at calculating the cost. Until they confirm they can safely crack the starship's defenses or are certain they can suppress us, the most they will dare to do is test our boundaries."
He stepped into the quiet laboratory, and the heavy alloy door slid shut soundlessly behind him, temporarily sealing out the external world. At the center of the lab, several independent components dismantled from the Predator starship emitted a spectral glimmer upon the analysis tables. Osiris did not inspect them immediately; instead, he walked over to a secluded corner and slowly closed his eyes.
His consciousness plunged into the deep, traversing an unutterable dimensional threshold to establish a link with his main body located far away on Necromunda. A massive stream of data—regarding the discovery of the Predators, their astonishing physiological traits, the potential of the Yautja Prime biology, and most critically, the warning of the "Vengeance Hunt"—was precisely transmitted across.
The feedback from the main body's consciousness was not one of astonishment or anxiety, but rather a cold interest akin to discovering a rare mineral vein.
A biological species capable of stably providing resources for longevity? Interesting. Within the territories of the Imperium—especially when facing those high-ranking bureaucrats and military commanders who possess absolute power yet harbor a terror of aging—the value of this resource is sufficient to purchase an entire fleet, or even the loyalty of a sub-sector. The demand for rejuvenat treatments can never be truly sated, and here, a new, stable channel appears to have materialized.
However, when calculating the cost of acquisition, the main body's "disposition" turned cautious.
Projecting forces across dimensions on a massive scale causes energy consumption to grow exponentially, and carries the risk of exposing our core technology. Once the secret of dimensional transit becomes known to other factions within the Imperium—particularly other sub-cults within the Adeptus Mechanicus—what we lose will not merely be a technological monopoly, but it will highly likely invite endless avarice and conflict. The losses would far outweigh the gains.
The consciousness of Osiris (the second avatar) responded to this evaluation:
Correct. The risk and yield are unbalanced. The Predators are by no means easy prey, but if it is merely to cope with the immediate 'Vengeance Hunt' and attempt a small-scale 'harvesting' operation, our localized forces should prove sufficient. The iron tides of the Skitarii or the Knights of the Near-Light House are fully capable of crushing these hunters who worship individual martial prowess. They might be able to flex their muscles in front of Hell's Gate and the Na'vi, but before a true war machine, they are far from enough.
An intent of agreement came from the main body, carrying a trace of regret:
A correct assessment. The large-scale acquisition initiative is temporarily shelved. The current priority is to utilize this 'Vengeance Hunt' to capture as many specimens as possible while ensuring our technical secrets remain uncompromised. Focus strictly on the assets you can mobilize—the Skitarii at the Death World facility, the Knights of the Near-Light House, and Maine's squad at your side are fully capable of executing this defense and hunt. As for the longer term... perhaps a more efficient, covert method of exploitation can be forged in the future.
Understood.
Osiris severed the connection and slowly opened his eyes. Both Grace and Maine were watching him, evidently noticing his brief, prior "absence of mind."
"Has the situation changed?" Maine asked shrewdly.
"No, the direction has simply been clarified." Osiris walked to the analysis table, his fingers gently brushing past the cold surface of an alien component. "The RDA wants a piece of the pie, while we have a larger dilemma to manage."
He looked toward Maine, issuing directives: "Heighten security vigilance, Maine. Parker won't let this rest, and his underhanded schemes will only multiply. As for the research findings they desire..." A cold smile flitted across the corner of his mouth. "We can prepare a 'gift' for them. A simplified report regarding the basic physiological architecture and lifespan of the Predators can be 'leaked' to them after appropriately expunging critical data. Let them perceive the value, but also clearly discern the hazard. Sustaining their desire while maintaining their terror serves our interests best."
His strategy was explicit and composed: utilizing existing, fully controlled assets to transform the impending crisis into a finite harvesting window. The revenge of the Predators was total annihilation in the eyes of the RDA, yet in his eyes, it had become a meticulously arranged hunt with manageable risks. Though the greater treasury represented by that starship and the clan behind it could temporarily not be mined with full force, he was resolved to claim the immediate "interest." On this Pandoran chessboard, he remained the player who understood the rules of the game best and held the strongest leverage.
Deep within the forge vessel Eternal Seeker, the main body of the Tech-Priest was engaged in a silent, fierce calculation.
The biological marvel and technological treasury represented by the Predators acted like a magnet emitting an enticing radiance, firmly drawing the core logic of his machine consciousness. The reality of being unable to execute a large-scale harvest—or even a deep investigation—acted like an invisible shackle, causing a disruption akin to "unreconciliation" to manifest even within his core logic, which trended toward absolute rationality.
The clearer his cold logic told him the cost and risks of large-scale cross-dimensional operations, the more difficult it became to thoroughly suppress that almost instinctual desire to possess and parse rare resources and unknown technologies. This was not emotion, but rather a sharp contradiction generated between the optimal solution deduced by pure rationality—that the knowledge and power augmentation brought about by securing them far exceeded the cost—and the obstruction at the current execution level.
Just as his massive processing core was weighing options repeatedly, attempting to map a viable path through the maze of risk and return, a psychic signal flagged with "Authorized Access" knocked gently against his consciousness barrier.
It was Elendire, the Aeldari Ranger from Craftworld Ulthwé.
Her psychic projection materialized within the chamber packed with data interfaces and power conduits like an elegant phantom, entirely incongruous with the surrounding cold mechanical environment, yet carrying an ancient mystique.
"Lord Magos," Elendire's voice echoed directly within his consciousness, ethereal and clear, laden with the distinctive cadence of the Aeldari. "The threads of prophecy have suffered a disruption once more. I see that the ripples of that exploration, which will exert a profound impact upon the river of my people's destiny, have already commenced their diffusion. And within this interwoven tapestry of fate, I foresee that you... are facing a dilemma involving resources from a distant stellar realm."