"Did you sleep for ten thousand years like Lion?"
"Then why is your hair completely white?"
Guilliman's clone summoned, through the communications channel, someone who could truly perceive the past by touching objects. Then he walked to the desk and quietly questioned his original self.
"Because I was too tired." Guilliman raised his head. "Can you imagine it? I've been back for two or three generations now, but I still haven't cleaned up all these messes."
The clone had already guessed where Guilliman's white hair had come from, but he still wanted to ask.
He wanted to know just how miserable his original self had it.
Perhaps clones naturally felt greater empathy for their originals, or perhaps he simply could not bear to watch any longer. In any case, the clone walked over and moved all the parchment piled beside Guilliman's legs onto the desk.
"Thank you, but I don't have time to deal with these matters just yet."
Guilliman thanked his clone. He thought this Thunder Warrior merely wanted to help move the pending affairs from beside his legs onto the desk.
As for helping him handle those affairs... Guilliman would not have minded. These matters had been backlogged for a long time. They were neither particularly important nor confidential; they simply required someone to handle them and bear the responsibility of doing so in the Regent's name.
The problem was that the new Thunder Warriors had once been commoners from the Tyran Sector. The Imperium's messes would quickly overheat the brains that could rapidly process hundreds of battlefield situations, bring on phantom pain, and then send them away grumbling.
Yet to Guilliman's surprise, this "new Thunder Warrior" stood beside the desk and began helping him deal with the mountain of accumulated affairs.
Just like Guilliman himself.
Handling multiple