‘Only by marriage, and barely by that. I think we are cousins thirteen times removed? Or he might also be a distant uncle. Or possibly nephew – I confess the details escape me. I only found out after agreeing to the assignment.’

No response. Besides the blank stare. I shifted, uncomfortable. Even the statue-like footman looked awkward.

‘Governor Dolos?’ I eventually asked.

‘Hmm?’ She blinked.

‘May I take my leave?’

‘Oh… but of course,’ she replied warmly. ‘As I said, I fully support your project, as it would appear does Governor Zanwich. This does not surprise me – I always thought the two of us were of a similar mind.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, rising.

‘Take dessert with you,’ she demanded. ‘Stylee, wrap him a slice.’

‘Very kind, governor.’ I bowed. ‘But I am quite satisfied.’

‘Wine then,’ she said. ‘Fill his glass.’

Stylee grimaced. ‘Pardon me, Governor Dolos, but the glasses are part of a limited set that has been in your family for centuries. I worry one of the military grunts may attempt to snatch one if we–’

‘A bottle, then,’ she snapped, glaring at him. ‘And don’t interrupt!’

A bottle was pressed into my hands. It was best not to argue.

‘I look forward to seeing you again soon,’ Governor Dolos said from her chair. It seemed she did not intend to rise. Whether this was appropriate to her status, or because she was reluctant to test her equilibrium, I could not say.

I bowed for what felt like the hundredth time, my focus with Mizar. Through its eye, I watched the aircraft descend, their landing jets flaring like fallen stars, fuselages marred by the weapons of our enemy. A crowd had already gathered to greet the returned heroes. I hastened to join them.

As the door closed behind me, I could hear Governor Dolos demanding her servants fetch the genealogy tomes.

‘It was coming up right behind me, and my lascannons couldn’t pierce that damn hull. But then, just as the damnable greenskin was about to unload its incendiary missiles, I switched targets. Aimed for his payload instead. Not sure what orks use in place of promethium, but it was sufficient to consume not only his craft but most of his squadron. And that, my friends, is how an upstart greenskin colloquially known as the Bringer of Flames met his end, consumed by the fires of his making. And if you thought orks already smelt bad, trying catching a whiff of one that’s chargrilled.’

A roar of laughter drowned all other sounds. I felt Mizar recalibrate its audio sensors, even as I approached the ever-expanding throng, still clutching the bottle I had been reluctantly gifted. I had debated disposing of it en route, but did not wish to risk Dolos’ servants stumbling across it.