'Which of you clones is in charge?

A white and gold-armoured trooper, wearing armour as white and gold as the others, stepped forward.

'I am, of course. Ma'am, you do not have clearance to land'

'Oh dear, silly me, I seem to have done so anyway. What do you propose to do about it?

'You must obtain the proper retroactive clearance.

'Fine, I'll do that. I was on my way to an audience with the Imperial Commander anyway. He is empowered to grant me a retroactive landing permit I suppose?

The trooper's mouth opened and closed for a moment, before he came to an obvious decision. 'Yes ma'am, I suggest you do so.

Brielle was already pushing through the squad, her course now clear in her mind.

In what felt like entirely too short a time, the dish had returned. Lucian had spent the intervening period engaged in meaningless small talk with those on either side of him. The man introduced as the 'Procreator General' was, despite Lucian's initial misgivings, a likeable enough fellow, despite the fact that conversation with him was somewhat awkward because eye contact was not made with human eyes but with his multi-spectral, artificial ones. Lucian had been mildly curious as to Raffenswine's position within the ruling elite, but had thought twice about broaching the subject, knowing that many cultures found such topics vulgar. Lucian suspected this might be literally true in the Procreator General's case.

The elderly woman to Lucian's right turned out to be one of the most unpleasant individuals Lucian had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and he had in his time spoken with some highly unpleasant beings. Though she feigned an air of disinterest in her surroundings, she reminded Lucian of a haemonculus of the xenos eldar that he had once had cause to meet. She shared the eldar's apparent distain for other beings, clearly being of the opinion that all such lower creatures were a simple waste of flesh. Lucian was quite pleased when the Catachan face eater was placed before him.

Luneberg tapped his goblet twice with a silver spoon, the diners immediately hanging on his coming words. 'My friends, our finest chefs have prepared for us a dish of supreme delicacy. You have all seen with your own eyes that the creatures were in good condition, if necessarily sedated when presented to you. They have now received the tender mercies of our kitchens, and await your pleasure. Enjoy!

The servant lifted the dome covering the dish, placing the face eater on the table in front of Lucian. He looked around at the other diners, seeing that every one was nodding in appreciation, yet none seemed willing to eat first.

'My dear Lucian' Luneberg called from across the table, 'I trust such a dish is nothing exotic to one such as you' Every diner in the hall looked up at him, pleased, he judged, by the distraction.

Lucian saw immediately that Luneberg sought to test him. Fine, he thought, better men than him had tried. 'I have eaten many such dishes, my dear Culpepper' Lucian said, using Luneberg's forename deliberately, weighing up the risk in terms of breaching etiquette, 'though never so exquisitely prepared as this variant'

An appreciative murmur emanated from several nearby diners. Lucian had the distinct impression that they were enjoying the spectacle.

'Well' Luneberg leaned back in his seat, 'you will have to demonstrate the correct manner in which such a dish is consumed. We are but a frontier world, and the ways of high court are slow to reach us.

Now Lucian knew Luneberg was upping his game. What did the Imperial Commander have to gain from doing so? Did he seek some pretext under which to take offence at Lucian's deportment? Wars had certainly been fought over such trivial matters as which direction the svort was passed after dinner, so such a motive was certainly not out of the question.

'Certainly' Lucian looked down at the dish before him. The fleshy, translucent meat of the Catachan face eater lay on a bed of delicate green shoots. Lucian knew a little about the creature's habits, and knew, full well, how it had come by its name. When first offered for the diners' inspection the creatures were very much alive, though as Luneberg had stated, sedated enough to stop them from launching themselves at the guests. The creature spasmed, indicating to Lucian that he was expected to eat it alive. Fine, he thought, he'd eaten far more repulsive, though less dangerous creatures before, and would do so again were it to aid the survival of his dynasty.

That thought in mind, Lucian reached for an eating implement, judging expertly which of the score of utensils at his placing was set aside for the task at hand. He chose what he took for the filleting knife, guessing that he would need to make an incision that would incapacitate, as opposed to awaken, the deadly creature.

He raised the knife as a, literally, deadly silence gripped the hall. The face eater twitched once more. In one fluid motion, Lucian sank the knife into the part of its flesh that had moved, slicing away a thin morsel of still-convulsing muscle and popping it into his mouth. He chewed, as a polite round of compliments rippled through the diners.

'Well, I must say, that's one way of going about it. I prefer to wallop the blighters with a mallet myself!

The diners let out a nervous titter, picking up the miniature hammers set amongst the cutlery, and tapping the food upon their dishes nervously. Lucian chuckled inwardly as he saw that, in many cases this just served to make the food angry. Lucian noted, however, that Raffenswine, seated next to him, was eating the dish as Lucian had, and within minutes half the diners in the hall were doing the same.

'You've made quite an impression upon my court, my dear Lucian', said Luneberg. 'I hope the meat is to your taste?

Lucian nodded. 'Yes my lord. The dish is quite exquisite' he lied. In fact, it was quite tasteless. He saw immediately that Luneberg had served such a dangerous dish not for its taste, but for its entertainment value. Clearly, some form of ennui had descended upon the court, driving it to ever more contrived distractions, from its hyper-cultured mores to its culinary eccentricities.

The entree consumed, Naal had ordered the main course to be served. Lucian had scant chance to discover what manner of dish this might be, however, before a commotion at the far end of the hall caught his attention.

He looked around the table, catching Korvane's eye. His son appeared pained, yet none of the diners appeared to have noticed. Looking closer, Lucian saw that the other guests appeared to be concentrating especially hard upon their neighbours, heads nodding eagerly in determined agreement with the most insignificant of statements.

As the commotion grew louder, the diners turned their heads away from the direction from which it emanated, assiduously ignoring its source. Lucian heard a raised voice, and knew, an instant before she appeared, that it belonged to his daughter.

Relief flooded through him, for his daughter was safe. As she stepped from the shadows, exasperated servants trailing behind her, he made to stand to greet her. Before he could however, Korvane coughed, drawing his attention to his son. With the slightest of motions, Korvane shook his head, and indicated Luneberg, who was staring, red-faced, into his goblet. The Imperial Commander's servants were in some distress, for they appeared not to know where to look, so obvious was their master's displeasure.

Brielle walked straight past him, and then past Korvane, and sat, before the attendant servant had the chance to pull out her seat for her. She swung her legs up onto the table, and crossed them, resting them on its edge. The movement caused priceless crystal goblets to tumble and smash upon the stone floor, and the crimson liquid within spilled across the table's surface. She reached across the table and lifted a crystal decanter, pouring herself a glass of its contents.