Across Italia, the standardized forms have streamlined the collection of information. Italia is stable, richer, and has effective governance. In Milan, Gallienus feels quite satisfied. Perhaps the Senate will be ready.
The plan wasn't to form a civil service with standardized forms. He didn't set out to make an effective bureaucracy. There was no intent to formalize rule, instead of the usual patronage deal where local elites provided letters that sent data—inefficient, flowery letters that belonged in books, not government reports.
All Gallienus wanted was to give the Senate some responsibility. He asked for advice on Dacia, and then he asked them to create a way to rule Italia from Rome. The effective reports were for the benefit of the Senate when the Res Publica was reborn.
The plan was simple: give the Senate more and more power until he became redundant, and no one realized the emperor was gone.
"These little forms are nice, but I need to know if they can really handle the empire. The Dacian suggestion has the Fifth get their Dacian legate," says Gallienus.
"Yes, Caesar. I believe a Dacian will be a good fit to defend Dacia."
The aide's eyes are hopeful. Perhaps Gallienus isn't just a barracks emperor; perhaps he really means to reinstate the Senate.
"Why do you want to give power to the Senate, anyway?"
The owner of this voice is Hairan, son of Odaenathus, the man who restored the East and the dignity of Valerian—the man who was called Agrippa after that victory.
"Simple. Seeing your father's skinned corpse painted red helps you realize the folly of emperors," says Gallienus, solemn, his eyes looking somewhere not in the room.
Hairan smiles and looks to the aide.
Don't get your hopes up; here comes the shift. He doesn't let the words out of his mouth; his mother taught him better than that.
"I will have you," Gallienus points to Hairan, "march with the rustic band into Dacia to replace the Fifth," says Gallienus. There is a dangerous shine in his eye. He is a man who still believes that turning others away from power ensures security.
Gallienus truly believes he can control Palmyra by having the heir in a theater of crisis, dependent on Rome. He may be right, but it won't mean Hairan will be effective. The boy fought in the desert, and so did his men.
"Sir, the Fifth is used to fighting in mountains. They also have experience fighting the Carpi, Goths, and Sarmatians. How effective can they be against Persians? For that matter, how effective can the Palmyrans be against the aforementioned tribes?" says the aide.
He looks at Hairan. "No offense to you. I'm sure your army is great."
"Caesar, the man has a point. My army isn't used to the hills or the north."
The temperature in the tent goes dead cold. Gallienus isn't making a strategic decision. In fact, militarily speaking, this is a mistake. Yet he can't let a Dacian take control in Dacia. He also wants Palmyra on a leash.
"You think this is foolish. You think this is incorrect. Well, that has…" Gallienus takes a deep inhale; he can't let the two men know he is angry.
"Your objections have been noted. Move out."
Both men are rigid. They don't understand how the man trying to reforge the Republic can make a mistake like this. However, they believe in the idea. They believe in safety and an end to civil war, constant raids, and chaos.
"Ave, Imperator."
Both men leave the tent—one to continue duties in the camp, the other heading to Dacia. All Hairan has is an army and forms from the Senate. This decision will help Dacia become the earliest adopter of the bureaucracy outside Italia.
The Curia.
"Conscript fathers, the complaint forms have been a great boon to local administration. Cities are cleaner, and unrest has fallen."
The Senate booms with applause and approval.
"Yet, Rome still has a currency that is almost completely empty of silver. A metallurgist has informed me our coins have naught but five percent silver content."
The Curia mutters in dismay. You can't write your way out of that one. No amount of complaint forms or standardized government sheets will stop inflation or cover the costs of minting new coins.
"That is why an Illyrian inventor has made a prepackaged concrete mix. All the ingredients stay in these vases and are then poured out. They can stay free of moisture," finishes Senator Gnaeus.
Vettius, snide man that he is, signals another man to talk on his behalf because the Senate put him in time-out after all the smart-aleck remarks and trying to take credit for the forms. It was mostly the forms.
"What of Dacia? Why give them such power if it doesn't do anything for currency reform? The biggest argument for giving Dacians citizenship was currency reform."
Many senators mumble in agreement. That was the main reason for the Dacian agreement.
"Well, that was a long-term investment. Dacia will endure along with the empire. It is the shield and wallet that helps us last another hundred years," says Senator Mago.
Which is true. Dacian mines will provide much future wealth to the empire, and it shields other lands. That just doesn't help the current predicament.
If the currency remains useless, then no matter how expedient the forms, it will all be for naught.
"My point is that despite all the good paper has done for us, we need to increase revenue," answers Gnaeus.
A laugh comes from the other side of the Senate. It is Senator Marius.
"And you truly believe that we can sell the stuff? We can barely send it to other Mediterranean ports. Now, take into account other lands."
Many senators nod in agreement. It is well-documented that Roman concrete used volcanic ash called pozzolana, named as such because it came from Pozzuoli, Campania—modern Naples. Sure, there were other sources, but the magic mix came from this one geographic area.
"Another problem is that lime is damn hard to get. You need lots of wood to get the heat. If you want to export it, you would need lots of wood. Wood we need for other purposes across the empire," adds another senator.
"I would like to note that if we ever did manage to scale concrete to the point we could sell it, the first thing Rome should do with that is make ports for itself.
Concrete on its own is hard to ship; it's heavy. Even if we premixed it and kept it dry, selling it would be damn hard. I mean, it's common knowledge, but we still don't sell the stuff," remarks Senator Sextus.
A laugh reverberates around the chamber. Senator Gnaeus is gripping his toga hard; he had a damn good idea, but these fools laugh.
His hands grip so hard they hurt. He is on the verge of breaking skin when he gets an idea.
"Then we scale it across Italia. We have the forms; we know where all the lime kilns are. We know where the busiest ports are. The paper tells us which smaller ports could use help. We can coordinate all this. A census not of citizens, but assets. We have forms that detail pure knowledge. Why not use that for coordinating building?"
The laughing stops. The idea isn't bad, but it could use refinement.
We just started using the petition forms for the people.
This still doesn't solve currency; in fact, it will cost money to do this.
Ports are another long-term investment we don't have the money to use.
Correct though these men may be, young Gnaeus just unlocked a new concept: command economy. Well, a primitive version, anyway. They can't time things like modern humans, but for the first time in decades, they can coordinate the resources of Italia.
Honorius writes in his little book. The question that shall define the era won't be whose army is greatest, but who can better move resources. The petition form we use for local governance pays for itself. It doesn't require couriers, and we sell them. To expand the service now would cost money we do not have. But it will greatly help Gallienus.
"Conscript fathers, it is true we cannot afford to expand the paper forms, but there are three entities who can. Gallienus and his army to the north—we can give them military forms, as he already commands many resources. To Palmyra, as they would surely benefit from efficient forms. We may not be able to make money, but using these forms, we can help save money across the empire. Lastly, I recommend we use the asset census in our great city first. Already, there are many craftsmen and merchants whose wares would greatly benefit from such knowledge."
"We enact what we can. I propose the asset census go to Gallienus, Palmyra, and Mother Roma, our eternal city."
Honorius sits down, and no one brings a counterpoint.
The magistrate looks around at the senators and the tribunes. No one appears to have any further arguments. The tribunes don't give any indication of a veto.
"Those of you who support this motion, go over to that side; those of you who are of any other opinion, stay on this side."
Once more, the Senate chamber becomes a blur of togas and sandals. Each senator wants his motion, his decision, to be seen for this new momentous vote.
"The ayes have it. We shall enact the census of assets."
The Senate claps politely as a new era of coordination and bureaucracy is born.
Rome has just discovered the command economy; the only question is if they will implement it in time.