Upper Hive, private residence of Administrator Peron.
Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the hive city's eternal industrial smog and brilliant neon lights flickered. Inside the bedroom, the air was sweltering and heavy.
Jessia moved with a blank expression, her body glistening with beads of sweat. Beneath her, Peron—the Administrator in charge of starport logistics—panted heavily, his face flushed crimson. The layers of fat on Peron's body shuddered violently with every movement, sweat dripping down his almost invisible neck and soaking the silk sheets beneath them.
"Ha... Jessia... my goddess..." Peron's small eyes, squeezed into slits by folds of flesh, were glazed with dazed lust as he mumbled nauseating nonsense.
Jessia didn't respond, nor did she even look at him. Her gaze drifted over Peron's bald head, staring at an ancient mechanical clock on the wall.
Three minutes left.
She silently calculated the time in her head, her body practiced and rhythmic in its mechanical cooperation.
In this dark 41st Millennium, especially for those on Forge-7 at the edge of the Segmentum Obscurus, the most valuable thing had long ceased to be gold or the staggering strings of numbers in the Helios Group's accounts. It was the qualification to escape.
As things stood, many of the "low-lives" in the Under-hive were still killing each other over a few starch balls, thinking those were the most important things in the world. But in the eyes of high-ranking officials like Jessia—those with access to Astropathic communications—this planet was already a graveyard.
The rumors of war had leaked, and Warp storms were savagely tearing through the nearby shipping lanes. The main force of the Imperial Navy had long since withdrawn to guard more vital strategic nodes. All that remained were a few cowardly Planetary Defense Force units and this group of decadent administrators lost in their dreams.
Forge-7 was now an isolated island.
The Helios Group was indeed wealthy; they owned eight large cargo ships within the star system. But that was exactly the problem: they were all system-bound vessels. They had no Warp drives and no Geller Field generators. These ships were fine for transport within the system, but if they dared to fly beyond it, they could drift for hundreds of years without ever reaching another human outpost. And if they tried to force entry into the Warp without protection? They'd be doomed instantly.
This was why the Helios Group was so desperate to excavate the "Forbidden Zone" in Sector 9. The Rogue Trader wreckage buried there was the only thing within dozens of Astronomical Units that might contain functioning Warp drives and Geller Fields. If they could dig them out and install them on their own cargo ships, they could flee. Anything else was a dead end.
"Huff... huff..."
With a long, shuddering sigh from Peron, the nauseating transaction finally ended. He slumped onto the bed like a heap of melted lard. Without a second's pause, Jessia rolled out of bed. She walked barefoot across the expensive carpet to the nightstand.
On it lay a magnetic card stamped with the highest-level transit seal of the Segmentum Obscurus Starport Authority.
[Special Category Departure Permit].
With this, once the Helios Group secured a ship, she could take her private assets, bypass all tedious inspections, and board directly. Even if the Group failed to secure a ship, as long as a passing Imperial warship or another Rogue Trader vessel deigned to dock, this card could buy her an incredibly expensive ticket out.
Jessia picked up the card and tucked it into her handbag.
"Darling... when is the next time..." Peron grumbled on the bed, reaching out to grab her wrist.
Jessia sidestepped him. "When I'm in a better mood," she threw back coldly, turning to walk into the bathroom.
She turned the water to the maximum flow and the highest temperature. Scalding hot water washed over her smooth skin, turning it red. Jessia used a stiff brush, scrubbing forcefully at the places Peron had touched. She didn't feel "dirty" in a moral sense; she just felt disgusted.
To stay alive, to avoid being buried with this doomed planet, she was willing to sell everything: her body, her dignity, even the interests of the Helios Group. In her eyes, the family and the company were merely tools. Only a living Jessia Hell was real.
Twenty minutes later.
When Jessia stepped out of the administrator's residence, she had changed into a fresh, form-fitting uniform. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her face wore a mask of freezing indifference. Once she left that bed, she was once again the iron-blooded Executive Director of the Helios Group.
A hover-car was already waiting at the door. "To Headquarters." Jessia sat in the back and immediately opened her data terminal.
Ten minutes ago, the battle report for Sector D had been updated. That useless Zeman had retreated, bringing back even worse news: a crazed female Machine Spirit had awakened on the ship and taken control of all the defense systems.
Helios Group Headquarters, Top-floor Meeting Room.
The atmosphere was so oppressive it was suffocating. High-ranking executives sat on either side of the long conference table, but no one dared to speak. Saul sat at the head of the table, his expression dark enough to drip ink. On the holographic screen before him, footage of the three "Cleaner" drones slaughtering his men played on a loop. The mocking laughter of the Machine Spirit made everyone present feel a stinging shame.
"Who can tell me," Saul's voice was low and raspy, suppressing an impending explosion of rage, "how the 'elite' troops we spent five billion credits to maintain are at this level? Chased like dogs by three piles of junk robots from thousands of years ago?"
The Security Director lowered his head, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "Chairman... those are Abominable Intelligences, supported by starship defense systems. Zeman did his best, but our heavy weapons couldn't be deployed effectively in such cramped terrain..."
"Excuses!" Saul slammed his hand onto the table. "I don't want excuses! I want the engines! I want the Geller Field! Now!"
"Time is running out, don't you idiots understand?!" Saul stood up, pointing out the window toward the pitch-black sky. "The Warp storms are drawing closer. Yesterday, another smuggler ship trying to jump went missing. If we can't dig that ship out and fix it within six months, every single one of us will die here. No matter how much money we have or how many factories we own, we'll just be slightly wealthier corpses."
Everyone remained as silent as cicadas in winter. They knew the situation, but they were all powerless.
Just then, Jessia pushed the door open and walked in. The click of her high heels on the floor was sharp and loud. She walked straight to her seat and set her handbag on the table.
"Since we can't break into Sector D," Jessia began, her voice calm, "let's change our thinking. We need more technical support..." She looked at Saul. "But before that, Uncle, I believe there is a hidden threat we must resolve first."
"What threat?" Saul frowned.
"The Under-hive." Jessia pulled up a file. It concerned Andy—though it only contained a few blurry photos and some indirect intelligence. "Recently, a mysterious force appeared in the Under-hive. They stole our Black Box, blew up our factory, and seized our data. Intelligence analysis suggests they possess immense technical capabilities and might even hold powerful technologies unknown to us."
Jessia's fingers tapped on the table. "I was thinking, since we've hit a technical bottleneck in Sector D, why not capture these people? If they can crack the Black Box, they might be able to handle that sharp-tongued Machine Spirit. I request to mobilize a heavy-armored unit, coordinated with Mid-hive mercenaries, to conduct a carpet search of the Under-hive. Once we capture the technical core of this group, whether for the Black Box or the starship, it will be of immense value."
On the surface, it was for the Group's benefit, but it was also Jessia's private agenda. She felt that the person who stole from her was a variable—a danger if left alone, but a powerful bargaining chip if held.
However, Saul rejected her without a second thought.
"No." Saul waved his hand with a look of impatience. "Jessia, you're being too sensitive. Do you have any idea what time it is? They're just a bunch of Under-hive rats scavenging for trash who got lucky and found some high-powered weapons. Right now, our entire military force must be concentrated on Sector 9. Every gun, every bullet, must be used against that cursed Machine Spirit. Splitting our forces for the Under-hive? A waste of resources!"
"But..." Jessia tried to argue.
"No 'buts'!" Saul decided arbitrarily. "Zeman may have lost, but he brought back vital intelligence. The Machine Spirit is fierce, but it's stuck in the ship and can't move. I've already contacted several large mercenary warbands in the Mid-hive and Tech-Priest Zol of 'Gear Heart.' We're going to spend money—big money! Hire more heavy firepower! I don't believe that with enough shells, we can't level a measly Forbidden Zone!"
A chorus of agreement filled the room. The executives nodded one after another, believing this was the right path. In their worldview, there was no problem money couldn't solve; if it didn't work, it just meant you didn't use enough money.
Jessia looked at this fanatical and blind group and sneered inwardly. These old fogies had been blinded by fear. They were putting all their chips on that one ship, completely ignoring other possibilities. What if the frontal assault failed? What if the Machine Spirit self-destructed in a fit of rage? Then the Helios Group would truly be beyond redemption.
Jessia stopped speaking and silently put away the file on the Under-hive. As the meeting continued and everyone excitedly discussed which mercenary group to hire or which bunker-buster bombs to purchase, Jessia's mind drifted elsewhere.
Since the Group refused to send troops and since Saul's lot couldn't be trusted... she would have to find her own way.
The mysterious person from the Under-hive, who could play with the Black Box so skillfully and crush a Cleaner squad like ants—Jessia was certain that was no ordinary scavenger.