Ash 15, 124
The Imperial Academy
Academia is always something of a paradox, and the Imperial Academy was the paradox to beat all others. It was grand in scale, of course; the grounds and facilities could support enough students and professors and administrators to constitute a large city, or perhaps a small army. Scale was nothing unusual in the Gelerian Imperium. What was paradoxical was how atomized it felt, with legions of students and instructors all more-or-less engaged in their own projects, their own private studies.
Every student knew, on some level, that this was an artificial dam holding back a great sea of obligations, binding laws, hierarchy, and the oppressive bureaucracy which Gel'Grandal exported like lesser cities did flour and wheat. Some day they would graduate (or not), and the dream would end. The sea would rush in, and they would be swept back out into the world, to toil and labor and think for the benefit of the Imperium.
For the students of the College of Artifice, however, that dam was especially flimsy. Technological development was the secret to the Imperium's dominion over the western half of the continent, and constant advancements were needed to balance the concerns of Gelerand's burgeoning empire. The Palace of Spires, visible from every north-facing window on campus, kept a close eye upon the work of its engineers, and it was whispered among the students that even from your first day of class they kept lists of who might be worth further investment... and who would be better-suited designing tools for the army's latrine diggers.
Just important--to the Imperium, anyway--were matters of funding. The college's budget for space, materials and arcana were generously allotted, but the unofficial motto of the department was "Von wem viel gegeben wird, von dem wird viel erwartet." And as far as the funders were concerned, much was always being given. Thus, even noviate engineers were soon exposed to the Imperium's methods of ensuring returns on its investment.
~~~
Valentin Valentin had spent several years on this campus, though not in this college. He would be the first to admit (though in a formal, dry register, such that it could not be construed as any admission of weakness) that he had essentially no expertise in the matters of artifice. Nevertheless, he walked with such casual authority that the students found themselves scrambling to get out of his way. The instructors, meanwhile, found their own dread in something else- the little black leatherbound book which he held against his thigh as he strode through the halls.
As far as the auditor was concerned, he didn't really need to know anything about the glowing scrivening and ticking automata which stuffed the workrooms and gymnasia of this side of campus. He knew finance and he knew people, and that was enough to let him decide which projects were worth their keep.
By the time midmorning was finally turning afternoon, he had gotten through interviews with seven of Professor Windrow's students, their names and projects safely recorded in his little book. There were dire red x's next to a few of the names, though he had expressed his opinion of their projects in much more energetic terms while they were present. If there was one thing which brought Valentin joy, it was haranguing people who could not protest.
He turned the corner into a room, making a show of checking his notes even though he remembered all the names on his list perfectly well.
"Olga Barber." he read, not in the tone of a question at all, "I am Senior Auditor Valentin, of his Imperial Majesty's Office of Revenue, here to conduct the annual project review. I see here that your grant is... military funding, is that right?"
The lawyer looked up from his book for the first time since he entered the room.
"I'll be needing a justification of costs for your term research." There was no 'please' forthcoming.
