V3 Chapter 118: Cawl Is Back?
Looking at the terrified clerks before him, Duvette let a friendly smile spread across his face.
He clapped his hands lightly, and the scribe at his side stepped forward at once, handing him the data-slate carrying the review list.
Duvette scanned the names on it, then cleared his throat.
The mess hall, already fallen quiet, grew heavier still with dread. Hundreds of clerks stared fixedly at the data-slate in his hand.
"Kyle Byrne. Ninth-Rank Clerical Supervisor, Final Review Office."
The moment Duvette read the first name, a middle-aged man near the centre of the crowd began to shake violently. His cutlery fell from his hands, and he slid straight off his seat.
"Maurice Tarrant. Second Officer, Dispatch Transfer Office."
Another clerk collapsed to the floor, mouth working to protest, but only ragged, broken gasps made it out of his throat.
The colleagues sitting beside him scrambled away fast, one of them the very person who'd been laughing and chatting with him only minutes before.
Duvette went on reading down the list, and every name that fell brought a fresh stir through the hall.
Some dropped to their knees to pray. Others tried to hide themselves within the crowd, only to be dragged straight out by the Inspectorate personnel standing by.
These were people who'd used their positions to embezzle Imperial assets, or who'd sat on critical dispatches to profit their own families.
Several of them had deliberately delayed relief for worlds at war, simply to wait for a higher payoff, and in the end had cost millions of Imperial citizens any chance of rescue.
"Every one of the above will face the Imperial Inspectorate's final judgment."
Duvette finished reading through the main list, but didn't hand the data-slate back right away.
His finger stopped on one last name at the very bottom, and he looked across the hall to a figure sitting alone, isolated from everyone around him.
It was a young clerk. The people around him had already started putting distance between themselves and him the moment Duvette walked through the door.
Clearly, this young man hadn't been especially well-liked by his colleagues even on an ordinary day.
"And. Fabian Gelferin."
The moment he heard his own name, every trace of colour drained from Fabian's face.
He lowered his head slowly, hands clenched tight, thinking of the records still hidden away in his own quarters and office.
He'd used his official access to read a great many sealed archives, and had copied down a good deal of history the Imperium had forbidden from circulation.
Fabian knew exactly what that meant. The Imperium had never cared for anyone questioning the past, and it would show even less mercy to some ordinary scrivener who'd tried to dig the truth out from underneath a pile of lies.
Duvette handed the data-slate back to the scribe, then gave a nod to the armed escort personnel standing to one side.
The carapace-armoured personnel moved at once, taking hold of the listed clerks one by one.
Wailing filled the mess hall fast. Some clung to table legs and refused to let go; others knelt, begging for mercy.
The escort troops pried their fingers loose one at a time, and dragged the officials, every last shred of dignity gone from them now, toward the door.
Duvette glanced at the damp patches spreading slowly across the floor, and raised an eyebrow slightly.
He'd assumed, going in, that people who'd climbed this high within the Imperium's administrative machine would have at least some measure of nerve. Clearly, he'd overestimated them.
Fabian was the last one led out. He held his own hands out to the guard of his own accord.
Duvette walked up beside him, studying the young man's dazed, stricken face.
"Not going to cry a little, beg me for mercy?" Duvette asked.
Fabian raised his head, and forced out a smile that looked worse than crying would have. He was quiet a few seconds, and finally answered, low, "I know what I did. I'm willing to accept whatever comes of it."
Duvette let out a short laugh, gave his shoulder two pats, and walked straight past him.
That reaction only left Fabian more uneasy still, though he didn't dare ask what it meant.
At the mess hall's door, Duvette suddenly stopped, and turned to look back at the clerks still sitting where they'd been.
Hundreds of eyes fell on him at once, and the hall fell quiet again.
"I do hope the rest of you will serve mankind a little more diligently from here on."
Duvette bowed to the room with perfect courtesy, the smile still warm on his face. "Enjoy your meal."
With that, he turned and left the mess hall, leaving the clerks behind, still shaken.
Duvette didn't much care how deep a shadow this visit would leave on them. He simply hoped that the next time any of them thought about taking a bribe, they'd remember exactly what had happened here today.
The escort column continued on through the dispatch complex's internal rail passages, the listed officials locked away separately inside sealed transport vehicles.
The wailing carried on the whole way, right up until they caught sight of the Administrative Correction and Reformation Centre, run by the Machine Cult.
Once they saw their fate laid out clearly before them, the officials in custody lost every last shred of composure.
They began slamming themselves against the transport walls, screaming with voices near to tearing their own throats apart, begging to be put to death immediately instead.
Of course, their crimes had already been reviewed, and the sentence had already been formally issued by the Regency's own tribunal. No amount of screaming was going to change the outcome now.
"That's the last batch for today." Duvette walked over to Tyrion, waiting on the Inspectorate's platform, and handed him the fully signed documents. The Chancellor took them, a slightly stiff smile crossing his face.
"You're responsible for vetting and arranging interim successors for the affected departments." Duvette said. "Send the final list to the Regency's office for approval. Don't let these positions fall into another batch of worms' hands."
"I'll personally review every candidate myself." Tyrion answered. "The administrative apparatus won't grind to a halt because of this purge."
Duvette looked at him a moment, and didn't press the point any further.
Tyrion knew perfectly well he was still under the Imperial Regent's own watch. He wasn't about to make a foolish mistake now, of all times.
The others were led into the reformation centre one after another. Only Fabian still stood where he was.
He looked at the officials being dragged toward the operating tables, then at Duvette, who was about to leave.
"Lord Erdmann. What about me?"
"You?" Duvette turned back to look at him. "Someone wants to see you."
Fabian couldn't tell what fate that answer meant for him. All he could do was follow after Duvette.
The two of them boarded a Custodian-escorted grav-vehicle and left the dispatch complex, taking the dedicated route toward the Tower of Hegemony.
Fabian kept his head bowed the entire way there.
He'd imagined the Inquisitorial Tribunal coming for him. He'd never once imagined being taken straight to the Inner Palace.
Once the grav-vehicle reached the Tower of Hegemony, the Custodians lining the route made it clear to Fabian that this summons had gone far beyond any ordinary administrative inquiry.
After passing through several layers of identity verification, Duvette brought him into the core command area.
The moment Fabian stepped through the doorway, he saw the towering figure in blue power armour seated behind the command table.
Roboute Guilliman. The Primarch of the Imperium.
Fabian froze in his tracks, nearly forgetting to breathe.
He finally knew who'd wanted to see him, and the fear in his chest only grew heavier for it.
Duvette knocked on the already-open metal door and walked straight in. "Today's business is done. The last batch of those implicated has already been sent to the reformation centre."
Guilliman looked up from his administrative documents, then turned his gaze to Fabian, still standing outside the door.
He gave the young scrivener a nod, and signalled for an attendant to take him to the adjoining waiting room first.
Fabian saluted at once, and followed the attendant out of the command chamber, the heavy soundproofed door closing behind him.
"I've been considering the vacant High Lord seats." Guilliman brought up a list. "Do you have anyone you'd recommend?"
Duvette looked over the vacant positions and shook his head. "I don't know Terra's own administrative people well enough. Tyrion's a better man to ask about this."
Guilliman didn't argue the point. Duvette's eyes, though, had settled on the vacant Lord Commander Militant seat. He thought it over for a moment, then reached out and tapped the empty position.
"This one, actually, I do have someone in mind for."
"Who?" Guilliman asked.
"My old commanding officer. Marshal Slaydo, who once led the Sabbat Worlds Crusade." Duvette looked at Guilliman. "His ability and loyalty are beyond question, and he understands the Astra Militarum's command structure as deeply as anyone alive."
"Slaydo once told me that once the Sabbat Worlds Crusade concluded, he meant to reform the Astra Militarum's command structure himself. Supreme command of the expeditionary force has already passed to Macaroth now, and Slaydo himself is still in the Sabbat Worlds sector — it would be simple enough to call him back to Terra."
Duvette paused. "I think he's the most suitable candidate for Lord Commander Militant there is."
Guilliman called up Slaydo's file, and read through it at tremendous speed. The man's service record, and the key events of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade, unfolded before him one after another.
"You're right. His experience, ability, and standing all meet the requirements." Guilliman closed the file. "I'll have him recalled to Terra to complete the final review and transfer of authority. If his records hold up, he'll take up the post of Lord Commander Militant."
Duvette nodded. If Slaydo could coordinate the vast array of regiments and fleets across the entire Sabbat Worlds Crusade, he certainly had the capability to take over the Astra Militarum's supreme command structure as well.
"Too many of the High Lord seats have been under the long-term control of Terran families." Guilliman went on. "The Imperium needs new members drawn from other walks of life — people who earned their place through ability, and who understand what the front lines actually need better than anyone."
"I'll agree with that much." Duvette said. "At the very least, Slaydo's not going to sit on some war-torn world's six-month-old request for reinforcements just to serve his own interests."
Guilliman glanced at him, then closed the candidate list and ordered an attendant to bring Fabian in.
The soundproofed door opened again, and Fabian, guided by the attendant, walked up to the command table. He kept his head down, doing his best to control legs that were still shaking.
"Fabian Gelferin." Guilliman said. "Raise your head."
Fabian raised his head slowly, looking for the first time directly at the returned son of the Emperor. Guilliman's gaze alone made him feel as though everything he'd ever hidden had already been seen straight through.
Guilliman explained to him the purpose behind the Order of Historical Truth, and the responsibilities this new institution would carry going forward.
It would review ten thousand years of the Imperium's own archives from scratch, hunt down every record that had been altered or deleted, and piece together the true history beneath it.
Fabian would become one of the Order's first members. The research he'd once carried out in secret would no longer be treated as a crime — if anything, the very records he'd hidden away now stood as proof of his own ability.
Only once he'd heard all this did Fabian realise he'd stepped well clear of death and torment both. The tension in his body eased, just a little, and the look of a man who'd survived something terrible crossed his face.
"Don't celebrate too soon." Guilliman said, watching him. "You'll be handling some of the Imperium's most dangerous secrets. This work demands loyalty, and an unshakeable will."
"If fear ever leads you to bury the truth, or private interest ever leads you to falsify a record, your ending will be no different from what became of those people today."
Fabian straightened at once, and bowed deeply to Guilliman. "I will carry out every task you give me. I will never let a false record slip into the true history."
Guilliman nodded. "Someone will take you to the Order of Historical Truth's new offices. Your household servitor, Lexilis, will go with you — he's already waiting there for you."
Fabian bowed once more, then withdrew from the command chamber under the attendant's guidance. Even after the soundproofed door closed, none of what had just happened felt entirely real to him yet.
Only Duvette and Guilliman remained in the room. Duvette checked the time, and was just about to take his leave to get some rest, when a data panel in front of Guilliman suddenly lit up.
The Primarch read through the message that had just arrived, his expression turning serious fast. Duvette stopped where he was, and asked, a little puzzled, "What is it?"
Guilliman raised his head to look at him.
"I've just received word."
He paused.
"Belisarius Cawl has returned to Mars."
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