Captain-Commissar, aka Commissar
1. Oh Michael, I know one member of the Ordos who doesn't feel that way...(editor)And so I remembered warmly my own elevation, watching these six graduating commissar-cadets to the rank I'd held for the longest time: Commissar of the Imperial Guard. Their fresh faces, not tampered by cynicism, their bodies untouched by age. I could have held the ceremony on my own authority, but General Vidowicz, of the Palatine Sentinels had chosen to make the trip. He probably wanted an excuse to visit the Senatorium Imperialis. I know I did so many times, before it became one of the places I worked at, and therefore avoided assiduously.
"Cadets, present arms!" I spoke firmly, distinctly, without hurrying or yelling. It was a small room, and would have been painful or difficult for everyone to follow if I did. They obeyed instantly, with parade-ground precision, unsurprising as these cadets would soon be evaluating what 'parade-ready' meant in their regiments, now that they graduated.
Keeping a keen eye on discipline, morale and acting as a counterweight for the regiment's normally-commissioned officers, these were political appointments, chosen to brand each regiment to the God-Emperor of Mankind and link them to him permanently.
Ha! I sound like my own manuals, I gotta get out of here, get some air, maybe hit a beach and play some ball with people whose brain isn't congested with all this stuffy ink and stuffier folderol.
This was the last formality, thank the emperor. After holding the salute for one minute for each one in their number, they dispersed, then the General's aides and mine breaking up and returning to billet. Or so I thought.
"Commandant Goldenrod?" The Custodian Guard assigned to my person, Quintus, as I referred to him, his actual name being longer than my own entire service record, did not often deign to speak to a mere mortal, such as myself, so I steeled myself for something dire.
"What is it, Quintus?"
"Why did the General bother?"
"He wanted an excuse to visit the palace, I imagine?"
"He's one of the palatine sentinels, his duty billet is in the palace."
"Then I have no idea..."
"Was he... trying to curry favor?"
"From me? I'm a Commiss.. I'm a Commandant, not that it means much difference, both are incorruptible, and treat favoritism as a disease to be expunged!"
"I am no expert in 'mortals', but even I can tell that's part wishful thinking. Your position as one of the..." Michael growled inwardly, even he's doing it, choosing his words carefully, like I'm not a fellow soldier! Lesser, I can take it, I'm a lesser member of the Senatorium.... he raged. "...expanded members of the Senatorium is wholly political, and your impact on all manners of affairs here on Terra."
"I still hold myself to a higher standard than that! And I hope he's not foolish enough to think being present entitles him to anything he hasn't earned..."
"He is probably hoping you'll put in a good word on his next promotion board." My adjutant, who'd caught up with us, and was speaking in fierce whispers, added.
"I haven't had many of those, not since I was a Commissar, sitting on Colonel's promotions..."
"Lord-General Militant promotions have gotten rarefied, the Imperial Regent's new structures mean the only time one's promoted, outside of brevet postings, is when new divisions and higher formations are formed."
In truth, I was getting older, so some of this was swimming in and out of my consciousness, but I wasn't so old I'd forgotten how rare they'd gotten, just my own role in this, since it'd not been called upon since I've gotten the role. As an member of the Senatorium Imperialis, I was of course consulted on which generals were best to recommend to Lord Gulliman as his aides and such, but he was tasking that to his council ex-terra right now, and counting on us only when we sent him entirely new formations, which, for entire armies, took quite a while. We were far more likely to send him individual regiments to plug holes in his lines. I missed being a regimental commissar, involved with day-to-day activities, fundraisings for veteran affairs, breaking up *cough* illegal gambling rings, catching the odd poker game with the officers, with leisure passes for the winner. I was getting nostalgic again, as my adjutant droned on.
"This is just balderdash! It matters not if he came or not!" I was getting agitated, I should calm down, the medications I was taking lately would not tolerate that often... But I knew they were right, even as a regular commissar, paying favor for favor was an everyday occurence, and the only way to keep the equilibrium between the Chain of Command, and the 'political chain of command', i.e. Commissars, and their ability to motivate the troops and keep them on the straight and narrow.
"I wasn't implying you were." The Custodes' immense bulk made how soft he could speak so surprising, but I welcomed it, he didn't need to blare my business around like a loudspeaker. "But clearly, he's seeing an interest in doing the things he is..."
"And what can I do about that? I'm only a minor functionary, leading academies of learning."
"You are a decorated officer, and a member of the Senatorium, the Ordos..."
"The ordos will take one look at my old carcass and laugh so hard it'll hasten their demises..."1
"I'll keep my own counsel, on what the Ordos feel interesting." The Custodes spoke, brooking no argument.
"Do as your conscience wills, if we all did that a little more, I'm sure our world would be a better place for it!" Michael said, and retired to his bedchamber.
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