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listed among the titled members of the family. As with the Landsknechte and Imperial Bureaucracy, an Adjudicator was required to forswear their family title upon joining the order. A supposed hedge against the aristocracy gaining too secure a grip on the levers of power.
    Of the services, only the Imperial Space Navy allowed its officers to retain their titles – a reminder of a time when the security of the Empire rested directly on the shoulders of the great families.
    An Adjudicator. That was more than she’d found out in a month. ‘What do you know about your Aunty Roz?’ said Genevieve.
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    ‘Not much. She died before I was born. But Mama says I look just like her.’
    At midnight, Leabie gathered her guests at the edge of the great balcony, looking down into the artificial forest below.
    Artificial wasn’t the right word, thought Genevieve. The plants and the birds were as real as any you’d find on Earth. Even the gravity down there was Earth-normal, far cheaper than modifying the creatures.
    The guests formed a long line along the edge of the balcony, leaning on the railing with drinks in hand, chattering. Spotlights were moving over the dark canopy of the forest. The Baroness had promised them all a surprise, something she could guarantee they’d never seen before.
    Thandiwe had insisted on accompanying Genevieve back to the party. And of course Mr Fact and Mr Fiction had insisted on accompanying Thandiwe. The little girl was something of a celebrity, dukes and barons making a point of chatting with her under the watchful eyes of the kinderbots. Genevieve had caught Leabie watching her youngest daughter, smiling.
    The rumour mill had it that little Thandiwe’s Aunty Roz hadn’t died, that this was a cover story for something far more interesting. Something with official scandal attached. There would be people talking about it at the party tonight, carefully out of the earshot of the Baroness herself. Genevieve had heard every imaginable rumour during her research. Perhaps she’d done something dashing, like joining the resistance. Perhaps she’d fled to an outer colony after being busted for tax evasion.
    You couldn’t find out from Centcomp. There was a hole in the datascape. The closer you got to Roslyn Sarah Inyathi Forrester, the less you could find out, until right at the centre of the picture there was nothing. Someone had done an incomparable job of erasing all trace of the younger Forrester sister.
    Duke Walid, for reasons best known to himself, wanted to find out why.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Leabie’s voice. She hovered above them on a comfortable AG seat, the spotlights flashing 40
    across her in their twisting manoeuvres. ‘If you’ll direct your attention to the forest below.’
    There were shapes moving down there, among the trees.
    Genevieve leant over the balcony, wishing the spotlights would pick out something and stay with it. Intriguing flashes of motion, something emerging from the forest…
    ‘I’d like to introduce you to the latest microreclamation project of House Forrester. Extinct for almost two millennia.’
    Whatever those things were, they were big . A hush was rippling through the crowd, stilling the coughs and the clinking of ice cubes in glasses.
    ‘ Indlovu ,’ said Lady Forrester. ‘The elephant.’
    ‘Ooooo,’ said everyone.
    The elephants meandered out of the forest, probably coaxed out by hidden bots. They were oblivious to the crowd high overhead.
    They were bloody enormous. Quadrupeds, bodies slung low with weight. An extra limb at the front, like a tail. Genevieve could see a baby indlovu trailing after its mother, a miniaturized version of the adults.
    ‘Just to show you we never do anything on the small scale,’
    laughed Leabie.
    The grand clock struck a chime. Everyone realized it was midnight.
    ‘To absent friends!’ called Leabie, raising her glass. ‘Wherever they may be.’
    Among the cheers and the laughter, Genevieve looked across