The Imperial bureacracy always expands, to meet the needs of an expanding bureaucracy.

This is also the problem I found on Prol IX, among others. But simply put, the Administratum was running out of file storage, because they stored most of their files on paper. For several galactic sectors, over thousands of years. Beyond that, the Prol system did have a 10th planet they could expand to, but a faction of the Administratum refused to allow expanding past the ninth planet, and instead demanded older files be burned to make room for new files.

The headache I had came when meeting both these factions, upon which they refused to let me search and grab the 'useless stock ownership files'.

Luckily, I had a large Crusade fleet and my Astartes to pound on table with. And another trick, which I rarely used since people were generally far friendlier to me.

"Honored scribes of the Administratum, I am proud to announce you the good news. Because of a huge Ork threat to the North, I am forced to conscript every single person in this system as my frontline troops, to screen the brave Astartes you see beside me, as they battle the small, harmless Orks. You have 15 minutes to pray to the God-Emperor to protect your souls, which is as much as the usual survival time is, when facing an Ork Waagh on the frontlines. But don't worry, your final service as cannon fodder will be fondly remembered and your martyr deaths recorded, while I search for these 'useless files' by myself." I intoned in a proper eulogy for these brave scribes who were about to die.

The brass typewriters stopped, as a hundred high-ranking scribes froze, with concerned disbelief engraved on their leathery faces. As a Crusade commander it was my God-given right to recruit or conscript any faithful human from the Imperium of Man, or execute the unfaithful. It's right there, in the word Crusade.

A hesistant Grand Scribe rose and hobbled his way towards me. "Lord Lancefire, as you can see I am quite old and beyond the usual age for battlefield heroics. May I be excused from the Crusade, and perhaps make myself useful by finding the ancient records you are searching for?"

"I am tempted to say no, honored scribe. Exceptions to the rules are bad for the Imperium, after all. Aren't you better saying your prayers now, and join the Angels of the Emperor in righteous death?" I asked a bit rhetorical.

The man nodded gently. "Then we should perhaps retire to my chambers, and say our prayer together, Lord Lancefire. My fine collegues can barely wait to spend their lives for the Emperor, since tending to old files is such a bother. You are our Saviour, delivering us from eternal boredom. Better to die in glory, than live in shame!" he chanted as we walked slowly.

I could almost see consternation in the eyes of his fellow scribes, being sent to their inevitable deaths. Maybe hear? No, the large hall was deadly silent.

In less time than it took us to have some tea and chat about my known exploits at Fenris and Cadia, a dozen cyborg servitors arrived with a stack of files, each from a different corporation long extinct, yet still alive as a legal entity. Law is such a wonderful tool, when you're the one wielding it.

The Grand Scribe scanned the documents with professional eyes, including a cyborg eye with code bar scanners and other tools.

"Thousands of ships, advanced mining equipment and crygenic vats...I suspect you're about to find a hoard of treasure in the Galactic Center, if any of these miners arrived there." he mused with a suspicious voice while going over the corporate assets listed in the flies.

"And this is why Rogue Traders exist, Grand Scribe. If there is some treasure there, I will risk my life and sanity to find it, while the Imperium benefits in numerous ways afterward. However, I am not a thief and a scoundrel, as to abscond with these documents for free. I have a few solutions to the data storage problem, here in Prol IX." I explained in a gentle voice, while waving my hand to magically disappear the files into my tesseract.

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"Oh? Some kind of sub-space storage?" the scribe asked with interest in his eyes.

"That is also a possibility for the Administratum in general, although not one I can offer. There are a thousand Astartes Chapter and Rogue Traders, maybe even some Forge Worlds who have found ancient dimensional pockets and could be convinced to trade them away. No, I have three separate solutions. One, is to conscript those rebels who want to burn books, and send them to war. Second, is to create extra storage via moon excavation and deep wells planet-side. Thirdly, is for me to provide a large data-core and have your scribes digitize and store all the data there, while only maintaining a fraction of paperwork for the type-writers." I proposed in a sterner voice.

The man nodded with a thoughtful look. "Very generous, Lord Lancefire. Perhaps the same type of Ancestor Core which has my tech-acolytes praying so furiously?"

"Exactly like that, yes. I presume our ancestors did use that core model for other things, but the Federation grade data-core I have is absolutely empty. It could store the entire data in this system with ease, and continue doing so for 40000 years more." I said with a careless shrug. There, have 40000 reasons to approve my deal!

The Grand Scribe rose and patted my armored shoulder. "You really are our Saviour, Lod Lancefire. We will not need to dig underground tunnels if we can store the data on a secure cogitator core. It is secure, right?"

"Well, the Great Enemy is pretty good at ruining things, so perfectly secure is not exactly possible in our universe. But, my Astartes have numberous tech-marines with techsorcist skills, and that can make cogitators a thousand times more secure than otherwise. After that, adamantium walls, firewalls and guards would also help, not to mention a Gellar field or even a planetary-size barrier powered by the magnetic field of the planet. We use the same things back home in the Eastern Fringe, and works great." I whispered in a secretive tone.

"Indeed, this would be a good trade, even acceptable to my superiors on Holy Terra, no matter what you actually find in the galactic core. I will write a conscription list, and let you know which of the current scribes are better off being sent to die against the Orks. Otherwise, it will be difficult to obtain approval in the Administrative Council." the Grand Scribe demanded in a slightly murderous voice.

I shrugged again, already composing a glorious eulogy for these scribes about the field-test the anti-Ork virus for me. There would be no survivors on those Ork worlds, if my guess about the Eldar Spinner virus was correct. And probably was. There weren't any survivors from when the Biel-Tan used it to cleanse Maiden Worlds of humans either.

"Well then. Let me start my own thing, while you do yours, honored scribe. Meet again tomorrow, same time?" I asked with an easy voice.

"Of course, Lord Lancefire. It was an honor to meet you." he replied as a fellow man of culture.

Only 3 days later, we returned to Klybo without a single shot being fired. Plenty of hex wards and headaches while my brain healed, but I haven't had to kill anyone. Yet.

There were some 6000 scribes trembling in the lower decks waiting to die, but they should have given me the files when I asked politely.

A company of Lamenters was distributing to them the official Imperial Guard primer manual, which noted how Orks were weak and would run away when shot at. I don't think many of them belived the book they had created and printed, but perhaps it helped with morale a bit. My Lamenters were certainly amused.