The Dead in the Accounts

Rovi looked down at the parchment in front of him.

The automatic quill scratched across the paper, emitting a dull rustling sound.

This sound filled the entire hall.

Hundreds of low-level clerks like him were hunched over their desks.

No one spoke, only the sound of pages turning.

The muffled roar of air filtration machines could be heard in the distance.

Rovi put down his pen and rubbed his sore wrist.

He glanced at the sand timer beside him.

The sand was almost gone.

This meant "morning prayers" were approaching, and it also meant he had been working for fourteen consecutive hours.

He picked up a gray-brown cube from the corner of the desk and put it in his mouth.

This was Corpse Starch.

It had no taste and felt like damp chalk in his mouth.

Rovi chewed vigorously, forcing himself to swallow.

His stomach twitched, then accepted the undignified food.

On this agricultural planet called Fertility II, only this stuff could fill you up.

He had to eat.

If he didn't, he would die.

Rovi had transmigrated into this body three days ago.

Three days prior, this Rank 4 Scribe named "Rovi" had died of overwork, collapsing at his desk.

No one had noticed.

Until a soul from Earth took over the shell and picked up the pen again.

In this damned universe, even death wasn't a rest.

Rovi swallowed the last bite of starch, his gaze locking back onto the ledger before him.

It was a copy of the Seventh Agricultural District Eastern Granary Quarterly Output Details.

There were problems with the data.

Rovi flipped through the pages.

"Received: Three million tons of standard wheat."

"Losses: Twelve percent."

"Tithe Paid: Two million six hundred thousand tons."

"Balance: Forty thousand tons."

Rovi stopped his finger.

He had majored in auditing in university.

Accounts like these were full of holes to him, like a sieve.

Twelve percent losses?

Unless there was a nest of Tyranids living in the granary, such a high loss rate was impossible.

The normal loss rate should be controlled within three percent.

Where did the extra nine percent go?

That was two hundred and seventy thousand tons of grain.

Rovi kept quiet.

He controlled his facial muscles, showing no surprise.

In the screwed-up world of Warhammer 40,000, knowing too much usually meant being turned into a Servitor:

A living tool whose frontal lobe had been removed and replaced with mechanical prosthetics.

He picked up his pen, dipped it in the inferior ink, and wrote an equation on a piece of scratch paper.

Two hundred and seventy thousand tons of grain, at black market prices, was enough to buy a small shuttlecraft.

It was also enough to hire a Hive City gang to slaughter everyone in the Seventh District.

This money hadn't gone into the treasury, nor the Governor's Mansion.

Someone was stealing the Imperium's taxes.

A chill ran down Rovi's spine.

The previous Rovi hadn't died of exhaustion.

The previous Rovi was poisoned and killed because he discovered this loophole.

Now he has taken over this mess.

If he signs the audit report tomorrow, he will be the first person responsible if the Imperial Tax Official investigates, and he will be sent to the pyre.

If he doesn't sign, the people who stole the grain will make him "suddenly die" again.

This is a dead end.

"Rovi."

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Rovi immediately closed the ledger, crumpled the draft paper into a ball, and held it in his palm.

He stood up, lowered his head, his movements as precise as a trained Servitor.

"Supervisor Kase."

Standing before him was a mountain of flesh.

Supervisor Kase was wearing a silk robe that was stretched taut, his belt digging into his fat.

He held an electro-whip, its tip glowing with a faint blue light.

His face was like fermented dough, his small eyes squeezed into the mounds of flesh, emitting a cloudy light.

"Finished?" Kais asked.

His voice was very nasal.

"Still verifying the final data, sir," Rovi replied.

His voice was steady, without any inflection.

Supervisor Kase took a step closer.

"Verifying?"

Kais chuckled, the fat on his face bunching together.

"This is just a formality, Rovi."

"Fill in the numbers according to last year's template and stamp it. It's that simple. You've already been delaying for two hours."

Kais's gaze fell on Rovi's tightly clenched right hand.

"What are you holding?"

Rovi's heart skipped a beat.

He opened his hand, revealing the crumpled draft paper.

"Scrap paper, sir. I made a mistake in the calculation process, I'm recalculating."

Kais glared at Rovi.

Rovi did not evade, his eyes empty and numb, like any overworked, drained Clerk.

A few seconds later, Kais lost interest.

He tapped the desk with his electro-whip.

"Listen, kid. Tomorrow morning, the Tax Official's shuttle will land."

"Governor, that newly appointed little brat, is impatient."

Kais pressed the switch on the electro-whip.

Zzzzt.

A blue arc of electricity flickered.

"She needs this report. I need it too. If you don't hand it over before dawn, I'll send you to the fertilizer plant."

"I heard the grinders there have been short on Lubricant lately."

Kais finished speaking and turned to leave.

His boots clanged heavily on the metal floor.

Rovi sat back down in his chair.

Cold sweat soaked through the linen shirt on his back.

Kais was the one stealing the grain, or at least an accomplice.

What he had just said sounded like an urging, but it was actually a warning.

Kais was telling him: Copy the fake accounts, don't make trouble.

Rovi's eyes gradually turned cold.

Copy the fake accounts?

No.

Doing so would be suicide.

The Imperium's tax inspectors aren't fools.

This kind of shoddy accounting trickery might fool that newly appointed young Governor, but in front of a professional tax official, it's as laughable as being naked.

Once a problem is found, Kais will immediately push Rovi out to take the fall.

"I'm the Supervisor, I'm only responsible for signing; the actual accounting was done by this Clerk."

Rovi could practically hear Kais saying that in court.

He had to save himself.

Rovi flipped open the ledger again.

He needed a way.

A way that could balance the books, keep him out of trouble, and shut Kais up.

He didn't have a system, psychic powers, or a Bolter.

He only had his brain.

And this pile of messy accounts.

Rovi picked up his pen and began drawing a flowchart on another clean sheet of paper.

Grain is harvested from the fields, enters the primary processing plant, is shelled, dried, boxed, transported, and stored.

Every step involves losses.

Rovi closed his eyes, recalling supply chain management books he'd read in his past life.

If the grain was truly missing, it had to have gone somewhere.

If not in this ledger, then in another.

He stood up and picked up a stack of half-height scrolls.

These were the Waste Disposal Records and the Servitor Maintenance Logs.

The surrounding Clerks glanced at him listlessly before lowering their heads to continue working.

People who meddle in this hall don't live long.

Rovi spread out the scrolls.

He began to check the "biomass fuel" section.

Fertility II's mechanical operations required energy.

Besides geothermal and nuclear power, a large amount of biomass fuel was used here.

That is, burning straw, rotten leaves, and corpses in furnaces.