New York. Staten Island.
The Thunderhawk came in low over the harbor, its lost-mass engines producing a sound somewhere between a growl and a pressurized exhale. Black and white livery. It moved with the unhurried weight of something that had never needed to hide.
The landing platform atop Imperial Heavy Industries rose to meet it.
The belly hatch descended with a hydraulic groan, and the ramp had not finished settling before a figure stepped out onto it. Jessica moved with her boots locked to the ramp's magnetized surface, one hand loose at her side, the other resting near the plasma pistol at her hip. White ceramite plate, trimmed in pale gold at the pauldron edges. Her power scythe rode diagonally across her back, the haft slotted into a bracket above the backpack unit.
She stopped at the end of the ramp and looked across at the building. Her jaw was set.
A breath. Slow, measured.
She raised her ceramite palm and brought it down once, sharply.
Five Stormtroopers in auxiliary power armor filed out behind her, each carrying a standard grenade gun in both hands. Their boots rang on the platform. No hesitation, no formation dressing. They fell in behind Jessica and moved.
The lobby reception staff crowded forward on instinct. Security personnel spread to intercept. Neither group managed to complete that thought before the combat team had walked straight through them, the Stormtroopers' armored shoulders cutting the clusters apart without slowing. One security officer tried to physically block the path and was simply moved aside, not struck, just redirected with the flat of a ceramite forearm.
Jessica did not glance at any of them.
"All outsiders, clear my path. I will not say it twice."
One hand had found the plasma pistol. She had not drawn it. She did not need to. The remaining lobby staff read the room and dispersed in overlapping waves, pressing back toward the far walls, watching from behind pillar edges and reception counters.
The elevator accepted the combat team without ceremony.
It rose.
The mechanical sound of the ascent filled the enclosed space, faint and constant, cables and counterweights working in the dark shaft around them. Then a soft chime, and the doors opened onto a wide corridor with dim, directional lighting.
The Lamenters were already there.
Eight Astartes in black and white power armor stood along the corridor walls in pairs, helmet lenses locked forward, none of them moving. They might have been architectural features except for the slow, slight shift of weight as Jessica and the Stormtroopers stepped out and began walking toward them.
The lenses tracked.
One Lamenter in the center of the corridor stepped forward, grenade gun coming up to a non-pointing ready position.
"Lady Jessica." The voice from inside the helmet was low and flat. "Lord Doom has given explicit orders. No interruptions. You cannot proceed."
Jessica did not stop walking.
"Move." She kept her eyes on him as the distance closed. "I am here on Mr. David's direct authority. I am here to see Doom in person."
"Move. I am saying it again."
The Lamenter held his position. His lenses found hers through the eyepiece, steady and unimpressed.
"Lady Jessica, we acknowledge your rank. But our orders come from Lord Doom, and Mr. David has issued us no standing instruction that supersedes them. We cannot confirm the real purpose of your visit."
"If you wish, you may wait for Lord Doom to become available, at which point"
The floor shook.
Jessica had planted both boots and pushed, the anti-grav unit in her power pack kicking in for a fraction of a second to amplify the launch, and then she was airborne in the corridor, crossing the distance in one motion. Her fist connected with the Lamenter's breastplate at the center of the Aquila.
The sound it made was not a thud. It was a crack, sharp and total, like a bolt round detonating inside a sealed container.
The Lamenter left the floor.
He traveled the length of the corridor and came down on his back roughly twelve meters away, ceramite scraping a long scar across the tiles.
Every remaining Astartes raised a bolter simultaneously.
Every Stormtrooper behind Jessica raised their grenade gun simultaneously.
The corridor was very quiet. Muzzles pointed at helmet lenses. Helmet lenses pointed at faces. Nobody's finger moved to a trigger.
Jessica drifted back to the floor. She tucked her trembling arm behind her back before anyone could see it. Her expression did not change.
"You Lamenters are brave." Her voice was controlled, only just. "I have told you. This is a direct order from Mr. David. Without the primarch present, Mr. David commands this entire operation."
She looked along the row of raised bolters.
"Go ahead and fire, if you want to find out what comes after."
From the far end of the corridor, the fallen Lamenter rose from the floor, and then rose further, lifted by something invisible. An invisible hand peeled him upright and set him on his feet.
The door at the corridor's far end opened. Scarlet light spilled out from the room beyond, deep and pulsing, not firelight, something older and more deliberate.
Doom stepped through it.
He wore a dark green cloak over his armor, loose at the shoulders, and he was carrying his helmet under one arm. His face was tired around the eyes in a way that training exhaustion did not explain. He took in the scene without urgency, his gaze moving from the Stormtroopers' grenade guns to the Lamenters' bolters to Jessica, floating back toward the floor.
"Jessica." He released the Lamenter he had been holding with his telekinesis. "They were following their orders correctly. Why make it their problem."
He paused.
"Besides." A faint dryness. "Everyone here knows you are Master Nolan's student. Against the primarch's only disciple, how many of them were going to pull the trigger?"
Jessica landed. She let out a breath through her nose and curled her lip.
"Don't attach the Primarch name to this. I don't speak for him, and I'm not using him as a threat." She looked Doom up and down. "And you. Lord Doom, with all your great authority. You have rejected transfer orders from headquarters, not once, multiple times. Do you understand that Mr. David sent me here personally? That counts as face. Do you want to come back in restraints instead?"
"I have explained my position to Mr. David." Doom's tone was even, patient. He did not raise it. "These are actions authorized by Lord Nolan himself before he departed. Recovering the target is a direct standing order, and it takes precedence over administrative transfer requests. Moreover, the target has made contact with an alien species we have no existing intelligence on. That is not a secondary concern. That is exactly the kind of situation the standing order was written for."
He met her eyes.
"Is that less important than a reassignment notice?"
Jessica stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned and gestured behind her. The Stormtroopers lowered their grenade guns and stepped to the sides of the corridor.
She walked forward past Doom without pausing. He stepped aside to let her through, and she crossed the threshold into the room beyond.
The scarlet energy was thicker inside. It rose from the floor in low, slow currents, collecting in the corners, pooling along the edges of the workspace. Whatever Doom had been doing in here, he had been doing it for some time.
Jessica swept her gaze across it once, taking stock, not touching anything. Then she turned back and looked at Doom through the doorway.
"You'd better give me a perfect explanation of what's inside, otherwise it won't be me who will come to you next, but my teacher... the audacious Lord Doom!"