My engraved, if slightly smudged, invitation stated it was some hours until the banquet, so when there came a knocking on my door, I chose to disregard it, assuming it was merely a servant. But it came again and again until, finally, I could ignore it no longer. I rose with a curse, flung the door open and found myself standing face to face with Flight Commander ­Lucille von Shard.

She was an impressive sight in her dress uniform – the double-breasted tunic a vibrant blue adorned with brass buttons, her epaulettes woven from gold thread. A grey half-cape was slung over her shoulder, the corresponding hand resting on the pommel of her sabre, and upon her head rested a peaked cap adorned by a crimson plume. She would have looked every inch the consummate Imperial officer, bar two notable flaws.

The first was that sneering smile. And the second was the foul-smelling buzzard perched upon her left shoulder. Though it was a scrawny and hunched thing, its beak was the length of a flick-blade, and its yellow eyes glared at me with a predatory hunger.

‘Flight commander?’ I said, glancing to the wall-clock. ‘Why are you…?’

But she was already inside, inspecting the décor.

‘Not bad,’ she said, gaze lingering on the bottles of wine gifted by the governor. ‘Well stocked too. You don’t mind?’

I would have said I did not, but she had already snatched a bottle. My offer of a glass was rejected by a wave of her hand. Instead, she flicked the seal and took a long swig.

‘Swear this used to taste better.’ She frowned, glancing to the bottle. ‘This planet is really going to the dogs. I hope the food is good tonight, it’s the only reason I got dressed.’

‘Do you often attend such lavish events?’

‘I’ve been to a few,’ she said. ‘When you liberate a planet they sometimes treat you to a modest repast, or occasionally a ceremonial fast. It’s important to pay attention during the briefings.’

She took another swig before belching pointedly. She must have caught my expression because her face split into a broad grin. I think that was the first time I saw her real smile. It might have been pleasing on the eye had her amusement not been founded on my discomfort.

‘Is this how you intend to present yourself this evening?’ I asked.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please. This is not my first soirée. I know how to play my part.’

Her heels clicked together. Suddenly she stood tall and proud, her gaze steel and her jaw rockcrete, uniform unmarked by crease or blemish. She was at once a perfect soldier. It was uncanny. Even the scar on her lip was in keeping, a keepsake earned in combat.