Fuel is Food

Rovi flipped through the files quickly.

He found it.

The Seventh District's biomass fuel output had been abnormally high over the past three months.

Combustion efficiency had increased by forty percent.

Rovi's heart sank.

Straw couldn't produce heat with such a high calorific value.

Unless something else had been mixed in.

Like the 270,000 tons of wheat that had been "lost."

Kais and his people hadn't shipped the grain out to sell.

With Warp Storms occurring so frequently, it was difficult for smuggling ships to get in.

They had burned the stolen grain as fuel.

No, they hadn't burned it.

Rovi examined the data further.

The fuel factory's export records showed that this "high-energy fuel" had been transported to the Black Market in the lower levels of the Hive City.

They had disguised the wheat as waste briquettes, smuggled it out of the Granary, and sold it to the gangs in the lower levels.

That was far more discreet and safer than selling grain directly.

Rovi closed the file.

The evidence chain was complete.

But he couldn't take this to the authorities.

Before his report even reached the Governor, Kais would have him killed.

Besides, who knew whether Kais had people inside the Governor's Mansion?

The newly appointed female Governor, Alicia van Valantius.

Rumor had it she was only twenty, having just inherited the scepter from her dead father.

The entire Executive Council was waiting to see her make a fool of herself.

Rovi couldn't count on her.

He had to handle this himself.

He picked up his pen and began filling out a new form.

He didn't enter the real figures.

In the "losses" column, he put "three percent."

Then, in the "Servitor maintenance expenses" column, he added a zero.

Next, he added another zero to the "Holy Defense Facilities repairs" column.

He spread the missing 270,000 tons of grain across thousands of tiny, unverifiable line items:

"Consumables for the Appeasement Ritual of Harvester No. 734's Machine Spirit: 500 tons."

"Repairs to the waterproof lining of the Eastern Sector Irrigation Canal: 8,000 tons."

"Transport costs for incense and candles used in prayers to the Emperor: 12,000 tons."

Rovi's hand was steady.

He was falsifying the accounts.

But his false accounts were a thousand times more sophisticated than Kais's.

Kais's false accounts were simple and crude: "lost."

Rovi's were "reasonable expenses."

In this religiously fanatical Imperium, no one dared investigate how many consumables the "Machine Spirit Appeasement Ritual" had used.

That would be disrespectful to the Machine God, the Omnissiah.

Nor would any tax collector dig up an Irrigation Canal to verify how many layers of coating had been laid beneath it.

Two hours later.

Rovi put down his pen.

The accounts balanced.

On paper, Granary Seven wasn't just free of a deficit; thanks to "heavy investment in infrastructure maintenance," it had laid the groundwork for increased production next year.

It was a perfect report.

But it still wasn't enough.

This had only solved the immediate problem.

Kais would be delighted when he saw the report, because Rovi had cleaned up his mess for him.

Then Kais would kill him.

By demonstrating this kind of ability, Rovi had shown that he knew too much.

Only the dead could keep secrets.

Rovi needed a shield.

He pulled a small knife from his pocket.

He used it to sharpen pencils.

He picked up the perfect report and gently scraped the least conspicuous spot on the bottom of the page with the tip of the knife.

The paper fibers frayed.

It looked like a flaw that had already been there.

But held up to the light, the frayed fibers formed a tiny line of code in High Gothic.

Only someone trained in cryptography could read it:

"Fuel is Food."

When he was done, Rovi felt a faint pang of emotion.

As a longtime Warhammer fan, before being transported here, he'd seriously studied High Gothic vocabulary and grammar using Latin as a basis. Now it had finally come in handy.

Then he stood up.

His legs had gone numb.

Cradling the thick ledger, he headed toward the Supervisor's office at the end of the hall.

The office door was ajar.

The sounds of chewing and a woman's giggling came from inside.

Rovi knocked.

"Come in," Kais said, his voice muffled.

Rovi pushed the door open and entered.

Kais sat behind a broad mahogany desk, with a provocatively dressed maid in his arms.

Roast meat and red wine sat on the desk.

On this planet, those things were worth far more than human lives...

Without looking around, Rovi walked up to the desk and handed over the ledger with both hands.

"My lord, the audit is complete."

Kais pushed the maid aside and grabbed the ledger with his greasy hand.

He flipped through it quickly, looking only at the final result.

"A surplus... of forty thousand tons?" Kais narrowed his eyes. "What about the losses?"

"Three percent, my lord."

At that, Kais looked up, a flash of murderous intent in his eyes.

"Three percent? What happened to the other nine percent? Did you conjure it out of thin air?"

"Pages fourteen through forty, my lord," Rovi replied calmly.

"I classified it under 'necessary religious ceremony expenses' and 'preventive infrastructure maintenance.'"

"These items don't require a physical inventory, only the Priest's prayer records and the work crew's signatures."

Kais froze.

He turned to page fourteen.

The entries were dense, yet there wasn't a single thing he could fault.

"Machine Spirit appeasement expenses..." Kais muttered.

He looked up and, for the first time, studied the frail Scribe carefully.

"You're clever, Rovi." There was no praise in Kais's voice, only wariness. "You've plugged the hole."

"I just want to stay alive, my lord." Rovi lowered his head. "If the tax collector finds a problem, I'll die too. I don't want to die."

The words dispelled half of Kais's suspicions.

People who feared death were easiest to control.

"How did you get the work crew's signatures?" Kais asked.

"I imitated their handwriting," Rovi lied.

He hadn't imitated anything. He'd used fading ink. The signatures would blur by tomorrow, looking like old entries that had faded with age.

Kais closed the ledger, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Good. Very good."

Kais stood, walked over to Rovi, and patted him on the shoulder.

Rovi caught the nauseating smell of liquor on him.

"You've done me a great favor, Rovi. The tax collector will be satisfied. The Governor will be satisfied too."

"It's my honor, my lord."

"You can go back now." Kais waved a hand. "Go collect two extra rations of Corpse Starch. That's your reward."

"Thank you, my lord."

Rovi gave the Aquila Salute and turned to leave the office.

The moment the door closed, Rovi heard laughter from inside.

"That kid's a genius, hahaha! From now on, dump all these rotten accounts on him!"

Rovi stood in the hallway, expressionless.

He knew he was safe for now.

Kais wouldn't kill a goose that laid golden eggs—not until he'd squeezed all the value out of it, anyway.

And the contingency he'd left behind—

That line of code he'd scratched out with his knife was the real killing blow.

The report would be submitted to the tax collector tomorrow. After reviewing it, the tax collector would file a copy with the Governor's Mansion.

If the female Governor really was, as rumored, descended from a Rogue Trader, with an elite education and a keen mind, then she would surely understand the code.

This was the bait Rovi had cast out.

He was taking a gamble.

A gamble that the new female Governor wouldn't be content to serve as a puppet.

A gamble that she was looking for a sharp blade to pierce through the layers of darkness.