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26: Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor

or, 10 Minutes of Dry Counterpoint

"Pales so much compared with well tempered clavier"

—donald trump cards, YouTube Commenter

The Lincoln Memorial, Greek temple of thirty-six columns, served as the start. There they congregated. These were those who stood before Her Munificent Empress Chicago; these were her Imperial Ranks:

Of First Centurion Cook; Lieutenant Kenosha and Sergeants Waukegan, Evanston, and Skokie; and soldiers able to go forth to war ten and three.

Of Second Centurion Cicero; Lieutenant Berwyn and Sergeants Elmhurst, Lombard, and Addison; and soldiers able to go forth to war ten and six.

Of Third Centurion Joliet; none.

Of Fourth Centurion Aurora; Lieutenant Elgin and Sergeants Naperville, Schaumburg, and Wheaton; and soldiers able to go forth to war nine.

Even all they that were numbered were fifty and four.

This total did not include the one who tallied, which was Administrator Hegewisch; nor did it include Her Munificent Empress; nor did it include the Chief Handmaiden of the Empress, who had disguised herself as the Washington Magi and departed to attend the Sidwell Friends School.

Few of these assembled had ever before laid true eyes upon the Empress, now stood before them on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The colossal form of the sixteenth president of the United States of America presided at her back, forlorn and tired despite the dignified abode sculpted for him, despite the expansive size of his seat and the breadth of his gaze. An old president, an ancient even, and yet he had been a breathing mortal of flesh when the woman upon his steps had signed her contract with the Incubator.

Her appearance approached that of the portrait that hung in their dwellings in Chicago. It lacked some of the portrait's flourish, but none mistook her, and her regal garb remained identical. She did not speak to them, and she had remained rooted to the same spot since their arrival in three buses from Baltimore, ushered by their respective Centurions and lieutenants. Midway up the steps, on a long flat platform, Administrator Hegewisch underwent most of the task of arranging them into four columns. Because the soldiers each Centurion possessed varied in number so widely, organization by platoon would create a lopsided impression, and yet certain hierarchies had to be taken into account. Who, for instance, would stand directly behind Centurion Joliet, in the spot which ought to belong to her lieutenant? It must be someone worthy of matching the positions of Kenosha, Berwyn, and Elgin.

After consultation with the Centurions and lieutenants, it was decided Hegewisch herself would march in this position.

Next came the sergeants. Joliet lacked these as well. That left nine total, a number indivisible by the number of Centurions. While two complete rows could be formed, a single remainder would march in the third row alongside three ordinary soldiers.

Cicero's third sergeant, Addison, sedately offered to be the remainder.

The rest of the ranks were filled by the unranked in order of seniority, rather than platoon, from Mundelein to Midlothian. But this arrangement left a final row of three soldiers instead of four, a problem of asymmetry no amount of compromise could solve. Had the Handmaiden been present, she might have created the illusion of a fifty-sixth to complete the rows, or else the rows may have been shuffled to accommodate the Handmaiden herself. Or had Cook, Aurora, and Hegewisch, as a collective, been marginally less careless with the lives of their soldiers, the problem may have been avoided entirely. Such was not so. As Hegewisch paced the rows clutching her attaché case, a balding man in a suit approached her.

"Some kinda military thing?"

"Yes sir. Please refrain from interrupting the proceedings."

"Women in military. That kinda thing?"

"Yes sir."

The man considered Midlothian, who stood straight forward arms at her sides like all the others. "Kinda young?"

Hegewisch hefted herself on tiptoe to count a bunch of heads. "Junior... Junior military. Thing. Sir."

"JROTC."

"Yes. Yes, correct. Sir, if you would please step aside."

"Oh yeah of course, of course, sorry."

He stood aside. A small group had gathered. Winter was the low season for Washington tourism, but it did not reduce the number to zero, and those who chose this day to visit the man who emancipated the slaves appeared to have been treated to some sort of ceremonial display. They had already used Centurion Cicero's soldier, River Forest, whose magical ability lowered judgment, to resolve any problems with Lincoln Memorial security. But the tourists were not considered worthy of such magical expenditure and so their inconvenience only swelled.

Meanwhile Hegewisch could not resolve the problem of dividing fifty-five people by four. She tromped between the rows, up the first flight of stairs, across the midlevel platform, up the second flight of stairs, to the side of the Empress. From this perspective, the full bulk of Abraham Lincoln, unobscured by angles or elements of the temple's façade, loomed above.

"Your Munificence. I regret to inform you that our fifty-five soldiers cannot be divided into four exact columns."

The Empress stared outward for a time, until Hegewisch repeated herself word for word.

"Fifty-five," said the Empress. "Only so many?—No matter. Send the remaining three to Sidwell Friends School to attend upon the Handmaiden and guard the body and soul of the Washington Magi."

An elegant solution. Hegewisch had not considered lopping off the remainder; she had suspected the Empress would consider this march too pregnant with honor to deprive any of her loyal subjects. Unlikely Midlothian or the other two most recent recruits would assist the Handmaiden much at all, or provide any useful defense should the Incubator attempt to reclaim Washington. A ceremonial gesture, perhaps, considering every Puella Magi in the Empire capable of detecting the presence of magic had scanned the entire city and found no magical presence beyond those for which the Empire could readily account. No Terminatrixes, no gathered resistance; a stark, obvious nothing. Was this lack of counterattack suspicious? To some extent. Clearly the Incubator did not desire the Empire's presence in Washington, given the Empress's intentions. And with his enormous resources and unparalleled communication network, surely he could have cobbled some retaliatory force. Yet it was also in the Incubator's nature not to waste resources on something he considered futile; he would not take a mad gambit if its odds of success were too low to justify the costs.

Administrator Hegewisch remembered his attempt to assassinate her and Midlothian. Had that not been desperation? Or had the assassination's odds of success actually been quite high, and simply failed due to bad luck? How low would the chance have to be for the Incubator to forsake it, given how much was potentially wagered? Even if the Incubator could only draw upon Magical Girls willing to abandon their own territories on a venture of dubious relevance, surely he could create something with at least a single percentage chance of success. And surely, given the Incubator's dealings on a global scale, a single percentage point would appear viable odds. One out of a hundred—to him, such chances bear fruit frequently. In the name of maintaining order in the human world, would he not risk it?

These thoughts, perhaps not so elegantly composed, dawdled in the back of Hegewisch's mind as she informed the three most junior soldiers of their new orders, bestowed by the Empress herself, a fact which filled all three with immense pride despite the uselessness. Hegewisch, of course, did not know of the Incubator's latest words to the Empress and her two most senior Centurions. His words that something had changed, that he now had full confidence in their failure...

Her ignorance transformed to apathy. She dismissed the thoughts that failed to bear fruit, that circled and circled and reached no conclusion. The ranks now stood, fifty-two instead of fifty-five, and she stepped into her assigned position among them. Four columns of thirteen each, and she in the seventh slot. Numbers of ill luck; numbers of luck.

As one body they stared upward, at their Empress. They anticipated a speech. The language of this Empire was speeches. But instead the Empress checked her chronometer, flicked back her hands to orient her robes, and started down the stairs. She proceeded between the Second and Third Centurions, their lieutenants, and the soldiers massed behind them; she reached the end of their ranks.

"Follow us." She spoke without great expansion of her voice, although it carried well, not only to those at her back but also the gathered squadron of tourists, who took the command to mean that they should follow the collective "us" of the Imperial soldiers. And while the Empress proceeded down the National Mall, the soldiers themselves had to deal with the unexpected error in their orientation, the highest-ranked among them facing the opposite direction, toward Lincoln, while the Empress moved toward the Washington Monument.

She did not pause or even glance behind her to consider whether her soldiers followed, either because she expected their discipline to extend to the superhuman execution of an unpracticed synchronized maneuver or because her head had mired in other matters. It became clear to the more astute that the Empress lacked experience in the direct leadership of so many.

Thus it fell to the Centurions to restore order. Cicero sprung to the fore and directed with a hasty series of hand motions the awkward adjustments necessary. The bodies scrambled fifty-two pickup style aided only by the unified desire of everyone to get where they needed. By the time they reorganized, the Empress had reached the beginning of the long reflecting pool that spanned most of the distance to the next iconic landmark.

Their antics impressed few tourists.

The reflecting pool was the next hassle. It stood directly in their way; they would need to turn slightly to follow the path that ran parallel it. For the Empress, alone, this motion was effortless; for fifty-two soldiers in a four-by-thirteen grid, less so. They had to slither snakelike, turning in a staggered pattern to avoid trampling the lawn clearly marked KEEP OFF. By the time they managed it, the Empress had again leapt ahead. She had not glanced back since she began, although the chorus of footsteps ought to have attuned her to their distance. She maintained an even pace and proceeded with all due majesty. The few tourists who followed generally followed her, although by the time they reached the Washington Monument most decided to continue no more. The National Mall spanned two miles from one end to the other.

Once they passed the Egyptian obelisk to George Washington, their goal arose. Shrouded in a semidarkness that had remained since the encounter with the Washington Magi: The Capitol. Elevated upon its hill. Tall white dome. Two wings, north and south, columns and windows of mathematic width and spacing. It grew in size, it grew in detail each step they proceeded. Down the Mall the length of a mile, around another reflective pool, and up its outer steps.

This was a creation of a different Empire, one parallel and irrelevant to theirs. Most did not yet know their Empress's intention to tie those parallel worlds together. Most believed her scope tightened solely around the world they themselves knew, the one of magic. Most, embarking from the Lincoln Memorial, had not even known the ultimate goal of their procession. But they trusted the Empress nonetheless, and entered the doors of the Capitol with the same stolid faces they had practiced for situations of ceremonial importance.

They were good soldiers.

Inside, however, they had to disperse. To delve deeper into such a sacred structure, in the wake of the terrorism that had wracked the nation (terrorism experienced before most present were old enough to be terrified by it), they first needed to pass through metal detectors. Guards instructed them to remove metal objects from their possession and place them inside bins for scanning. Each had only one plain metal ring to remove, and each retrieved it quickly upon passing to the other side.

Marching inside might attract more attention than desired. Cicero, one of the first to pass, confronted those who followed: "We're here on a school field trip. Act the part." The Empress finally paused. A suited man passed who apparently knew her, she returned his greeting, he disappeared without commenting on her clothes.

When they cleared security the Empress resumed her rapid pace without signal and her soldiers, now a gaggle, followed through a Great Rotunda in which they lingered too little to appreciate. In the next room, another suited man encountered and acknowledged the Empress.

"Senator Luce." He spoke in a strange, almost stage, whisper. Susurrate sounds snuck into the spaces between his words. "Is this your, the school you...?"

"Senator Reid," said Senator Millicent Dorothea Luce (D-IL) to Senate Majority Leader Harry Mason Reid (D-NV), for it was he, clad in wireframe spectacles and a silver tie with polka dots that looked like eyeballs, each centered around a black pupil. "These are indeed the young women I sponsor. I financed a trip for their edification. They've received passes to view the Senate today."

"Well now isn't that something." Senator Reid nodded to some of the foremost soldiers, in particular Cicero and Cook. "Exciting, exciting—day today. Unemployment benefits and, and Federal Reserve. Learn a lot about your, country, girls."

"Oh yes," said Senator Luce. "The vote on Janet Yellen as new Fed Chair. Is the tally still going to shape as we expect?"

"Yes—yes. Very likely, very likely. Although—Senators Warren and ah, Sha, Sha—from New Hampshire—"

"Shaheen. What of them?"

"Oh! Delayed. Delayed—flights. Bad—weather."

"Well, last I heard the vote won't be so close for that to matter."

"No, no. Of course not. Smooth sailing. Broad—bipartisan support. That's right, girls." Senator Reid smiled at the young faces. "Despite what you hear on the—news, we're not always uh, always so—disagreeable."

Nobody had any clue what they talked about. Senator Reid remembered something and pointed deeper into the building. "Session—starts soon. I'll need to be there. Goodbye, girls. I hope you—learn a lot."

"Wait, one last thing, Senator Reid," said Senator Luce. "I've also brought my daughter. Allow me to introduce you. Where is she—here she is. Christine, Christine now come along."

"Christine, yes—Christine." Senator Reid seemed torn between the stuttering approach of Joliet and the place he needed to be, a rip widened as an aide bolted out of nowhere, whispered something to him, performed an esoteric forward-jolting hand motion, and buzzed away. "Christine, nice to meet you. I'm Harry—Reid. You can call me Harry."

He extended his hand to shake. By now, Cicero and Cook had all but shoved Joliet forward, so that her heels squeaked across the buffered tile floor. Her head slouched between her shoulder blades and she tilted her eyes upward at the Senator with her hands clasping and unclasping.

"Go on, Christine." Senator Luce gave her daughter a significant look. Neither reproachful nor imploring, but communicating something only she would understand. "Shake his hand quickly—he has to be places."

"Hk, hkkk, hello..." Christine Luce managed no further, but did extend her hand. Senator Reid took it and gave a single strong shake; then he imparted a friendly smile and a wave that might have once been photogenic but now no longer needed to care.

He started toward the Senate chamber, made it three steps, and stopped. Tapping his chin, he turned his head and looked at Senator Luce. "Senator," he said, "that outfit..."

"Is it inappropriate?" said Senator Luce.

"It's—well it's certainly striking. Ah, uh—I have to go." He blinked, rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and vanished through a doorway.

Senator Luce checked her chronometer. "Miss Jefferson," she said, "Miss Kabwe, and Miss Romero. Please escort your fellow classmates to the galleries. A professional aide of mine will provide your passes to watch the Senate in session."

"Ohhhhh, so where may we find these galleries, Senator?" Valerie Jefferson ebbed into this geography's particular parlance.

A trenchant cut of the Senator's hand indicated the way. "As for you, my daughter, you shall remain with me. We have many more Senators to meet."

"Y... yes," said Christine Luce.

The group divided. The main traveled the path provided and met Senator Luce's ordinary female aide in front of several doors. The woman wore a smart business suit and doubled the age of all present save Miss Jefferson, although she had taken successful measures to appear younger. She divvied passes for the galleries and after explained briefly the expected behavior of spectators. No cheering, booing, or other loud noises. No cellular or electronic devices, no food or beverage. Restrooms outside around the corner. Failure to comply will lead to and a blemish on the offender's record at their prestigious academy.

The aide smiled the entire time. "I've never met the Senator's students. Her charitable work is the envy of the entire Legislative branch. Sure, there are philanthropists, but nobody so take-charge. You're lucky girls."

"Thank you," said Laquesha Kabwe, who still thought of herself as Centurion Cicero.

"Now in you go. I'm afraid I can't chaperone you myself. I understand there's a certain Miss Jefferson to watch you?"

"Me," said Valerie Jefferson.

"Awesome." In explaining the rules, the aide's formality had flaked away until she seemed the most casual of them all. "I'll see you guys in a few hours, I've ordered catering for after the session. Hope you enjoy Washington!"

At the organization of Miss Jefferson and Miss Kabwe, and even Miss Chatterjee who assisted where Miss Romero remained silent, the fifty-two students entered the upper level of the United States Senate chamber. The chamber had two levels. The lower level's space, although adorned at points by shallow alcoves or engaged columns, fit a rectangular plane. Arranged in four semicircular rows were a total of one hundred wooden desks. The outer rows were raised slightly compared to the inner rows, giving the impression of a theater designed so that anyone seated, no matter at which desk, had a good view of the central dais. The dais, backed by ornate curtains and a solemn United States flag, had a primary chair of foremost prominence and several lower desks arranged around it. These desks held papers, pens, and other notary tools, but not yet people. However, a large number of businesslike folk milled around the room.

The second level, which Senator Luce and her aide described as the galleries, ran along the entire perimeter of the first level. It also contained rows of seats arranged theater-style. These seats were clustered in groups of five by eight, so that each cluster of seats held forty people; there appeared to be ten or twelve groups total, spaced evenly along the perimeter, with some variation in the group directly behind the first level dais. The students of Senator Luce's academy took their seats with proper discipline and adherence to all regulations. Most other seats were empty. The students scanned the first level for Senator Luce, but could not find her. Senator Reid stood behind the most central desk on the innermost ring of desks. Atop his desk was positioned a podium.

Not long after the last students took their seats, the few on the first level who had been sitting stood up and everyone, not in perfect harmony but with a deliberateness that indicated some well-understood ritual, turned toward the dais. In the galleries, Laquesha Kabwe stood too, and signaled to her peers to emulate.

A white-haired, nearly-bald man walked to the central dais, lifted a gavel placed there, and made a single hard knock. "The Senate will come to order," he said, "and the chaplain retired Admiral Barry Black will lead the Senate in prayer."

The white-haired man walked away from the dais and a black man in a blue-and-yellow striped bowtie took his place. This was Chaplain Barry Black, and he said, in a voice of exceptional depth:

"Let us pray.

"Eternal God, our fortress, stronghold, deliverer, shield, and refuge. We have entered a new year, that promises opportunities and challenges. Inspire our lawmakers—to seize—this season of opportunity, committing themselves to the fulfillment of Your purposes even in the face—of challenges.

"Keep them in the center of your will, aligning them with your providential wisdom, and guiding them with your words. Lord, shield them—

"—from discouragement—as they persevere with in-te-gri-ty. Finish the good work You have begun, for you are both, alpha and omega. We pray. In Your Sacred Name.

"Amen."

Chaplain Barry Black left the dais. The first man returned.

"Please join me in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance."

They turned to the flag that hung at the side of the dais and said:

I pledge allegiance,

To the flag,

Of the United States of America.

And to the Republic,

For which it stands,

One nation,

Under God,

Indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all.

Some of the Americans among the students also intoned this well-known charm. Others, including the Canadians, merely mimicked the hand-over-heart gesture. Of them all, Miss Jefferson spoke the pledge loudest, which garnered her dubious looks from Miss Kabwe.

The end of the pledge broke the spell. People previously rooted to walls broke away and moved across the room, while several took seats on the smaller chairs on the central dais. The balding man who led the pledge—one Senator Patrick Leahy (D-VT)—who was also the President pro tempore of the United States Senate and led the Senate in the (frequent) absence of its Constitutionally-appointed leader (the Vice President of the United States)—said:

"The Majority Leader."

He referred, of course, to Senator Reid. Senator Reid had not moved from his podium and began his opening speech without delay.

"I welcome back the presiding officer—" He smiled, glanced down at his notes. "And—the entire staff and, look forward to, our continuing work together over the next uh, two weeks and to see what happens after that.

"Mr. President, following my remarksandthoseofthe Republican leader, the Senate will resume—the motiontoproceedtoCalendar Number Two Sixty-Five, which is the Unemployment Im—Unemployment Insurance Extension. At three o'clock, the Senate will proceed to Executive Session to considhhthenominationof Janet, Yellen—to be the Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System. This will be postcloture time so the time until 5:30 will—equally divided and controlled. There will be two roll call votes at 5:30 first on confirmationoftheYellennomination and—" (breath) "—second on themotiontovoteclotureonthemotiontoproCEED—unemployment insurance legislation..."

He segued into a longer speech that detailed a list of Senatorial formalities and extolled the virtues of the aforementioned unemployment insurance legislation. Overall he spoke for fifteen minutes, during which Senator Luce did not make an appearance. In fact, for the Senate supposedly being in session, the only Senators present were Senator Reid and Senator Leahy—although at some point in Senator Reid's speech Leahy left the dais and Senator Christopher Scott "Chris" Murphy (D-CT) took his place. The reason for this switch was twofold. Although Senator Leahy, as the Senator from the leading party with the most seniority, was rightfully the President pro tempore, it would be rather dull for such an esteemed personage to sit in the same chair for however many hours the Senate decided to remain in session, so he delegated the position to a series of younger Democratic Senators, which would not only reduce boredom but also teach the rookies more about the rules and procedures of the Senate body. The second reason was because, when Senator Reid's speech ended, Senator Leahy became the next to speak. He spoke about a health care law.

His speech likewise fell on a room mostly devoid of Senators. While aides and other dignitaries filled the room's edges, the hundred wooden desks that thronged the dais remained empty. The sad sight of Senators Reid and Leahy standing alone and speaking so longform to so few notables struck many of the students. Other students did anything they could to stave off boredom. They had trained their bodies to endure harsh conditions, enormous physical stress, mundane drills, and formal ceremonies, but even the speeches of the Empress rarely lasted so long, and the feeling that they had only just begun loomed. Had Senator Reid said they would vote on something at 5:30? It wasn't even 2:30 yet. What would fill the space between?

After Senator Leahy, Senator John Francis "Jack" Reed (D-RI) spoke about the unemployment insurance legislation that hung over the students like the Sword of Damocles. He spoke for seventeen minutes and left the room.

The room remained devoid of Senators for the next hour and twenty minutes. During that time, Senator Murphy stepped down as acting President pro tempore and Senator Mazie Keiko Hirono (D-HI) took his position. For some of the students the boredom became unfathomable, but none dared do more than fidget, and many not even that.

Senator Murphy returned to the room to speak, ending the long silence. He brought with him a sign that read:

GUN DEATHS

in America since December 14

12041

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

#Voicesofvictims

The sign's audacity snapped the students from their endless doldrums. He spoke for nine minutes to the near-empty chamber before leaving and taking his sign with him. Shortly thereafter, Senator Dean Arthur Heller (R-NV) took the floor. Like Senator Reed (not Reid from Nevada, but Reed from Rhode Island), he spoke in favor of the unemployment insurance legislation. He and Senator Reed were apparently cosponsors of the bipartisan bill. He spoke for seven minutes and left the room.

Where was their Senator? Where was Senator Luce? At one point, Lieutenant Berwyn (ahem—Leah Roth) leaned forward and whispered to Laquesha Kabwe: "Oughtn't we to check on our leader?" To which Kabwe only made an annoyed toss of her head.

Senator James Mountain "Jim" Inhofe (R-OK) spoke next. He spoke for eighteen minutes about climate change. His speech included the highlight of the hour when he mentioned their hometown:

"The National Weather Service reported that Chicago's O'Hare Airport's temperatures hit sixteen, degrees, below zero on January 6, breaking the negative fourteen-degree record set in 1884. This makes Chicago colder than, than the South Pole where it was 11 degrees below zero."

The fleeting reference passed and irrelevance resumed, although the Senator's spirited description of a vast conspiracy headed by the United Nations and the Environmental Protection Agency allowed some cause for lukewarm interest. After him Senator Jefferson Beauregard "Jeff" Sessions III (R-AL) spoke. But his distinctive Southern twang, muddled with the complete disinterest of the students and the continued bandying of large economic terms rendered his topic incomprehensible.

Then came Senator Charles Ernest "Chuck" Grassley (R-IA). He left a full second's pause between every word he said. Then came Senator Sherrod Campbell Brown (D-OH). He spoke with his head tilted down about as far as it would tilt, Joliet-style.

By now, some of the students in the back rows had devised silent games to amuse themselves, ranging from thumb wrestling to connect-the-dots scribbled on tiny scraps of paper. Those in front, less fortunate, resorted to more desperate measures, such as risky attempts to sleep while remaining upright, a technique perfected only by Centurion Cook. Some had better discipline and some remained totally apathetic; only one among them could be said to be engrossed in the proceedings, that being Administrator Hegewisch—Laila Chatterjee.

In a previous life, Laila Chatterjee had considered herself versed on the relevant political issues of the day. As versed as a fourteen-year-old could be. Possessing any knowledge of these issues whatsoever placed her above her classmates, and that might have been why she endeavored to learn in the first place. The theater below reminded her of those old issues: Climate change and benefits and spending. Her realm of expertise had been Canadian in nature but many topics straddled the divide between the nations, and here they were breathed life in a world of far more purpose and order than her own. Perhaps that explained her total bafflement when she learned the Empress's true identity as a Senator; for though this world had become so far removed from her, she maintained memories of its importance in her life. She could have been one of these people. Well, not a Senator, unless she gained American citizenship (she was currently an illegal immigrant), but... something like this. She had been a good student. That was the tragedy of it. She had top marks in all her classes. Her parents had financial security, a good education awaited her, she had never needed anything. But she made that foolish wish and trashed it all. This was a window into the Laila Chatterjee she could have been, the route she might have pursued. And she

Fucking

Liked it. She loved it. She loved the fact that a Senator could take the stage with a sign about gun violence and give a speech about it. That a Senator could talk at length about how Al Gore's global warming rally got cancelled due to record-breaking snow. They were the same arguments she would either make or argue against online, to teenage hotshots like herself who had their own Wikipedia statsheets and slanted news articles to support them. What had she thought before, when she learned about Senator Luce? That this world of politics was alien, distant, irreconcilable with her own? That still held. But the reasoning changed, because she realized the world that shouldn't exist was hers, not this one. Humans could not perceive magic, or wraiths, because their world functioned absolutely fucking fine without it. The entire magical reality could be excised utterly, obviated from the world, and this world—the real world—would remain. But if you cut the real world, the magical world could no longer sustain itself. They were parasites. Magical Girls were parasites, God a joke. Entropy? Kyubey's entropy? When would it occur, millions of years after humanity's extinction? That didn't matter either.

It could have been her world.

At 5:30, exactly when Senator Reid promised, the Senate voted on the confirmation of Janet Yellen to some post nobody knew anything about, even though half the preceding Senators spoke about it at length. Here, everyone thought, Senator Luce would at least show. After all, the entire Senate had to vote, no?

The vote itself was the most confusing thing yet, however. A dignitary (described only as "the cleric") leaned into a microphone and intoned the surname of each of the one hundred Senators, one-by-one in alphabetical order. After each name called, exactly nothing happened, because the room was still completely empty of Senators. All the ones who had given speeches had left. All the ones who had presided as President pro tempore had left, except the current one. The one hundred desks sat empty. The man with the microphone called a name... and nothing happened.

And he did not call the names at a uniform pace. He might call seven names in rapid succession, then pause and not say a name for several minutes. Then he would continue at that pace until suddenly he would say another five names one after another. What caused these changes in pace? What was the purpose of calling the names if nobody was responding? Every so often, someone in a suit approached the desk where the cleric sat, but it was unclear whether this were a Senator or some aide, and either way their approach had no obvious correlation to the names being read.

The calling of the name "Luce" stirred excitement for some, but it too met nothing.

However, over time, the Senate chamber slowly began to fill. First only a handful of figures entered and lingered between the desks, so it was still unclear whether they were Senators or not. But as the vote reached its later stages, the end of the alphabet drawing nigh, those small groups burgeoned into clusters, some including Senators recognized from prior speeches, often gathered into conversational groups that allowed a buzz to imbue the air.

That's when they saw her. Like a graduation ceremony where one has to sit through a thousand names before emerges the one they care about. She came through the doors in her regal attire, so even if they were not already searching for her they could not have missed her. An inaudible but nonetheless sensed wave of elation rose through the gallery, all save Aurora—apathetic—and Hegewisch—antipathic—and Cook—asleep.

Many of the other Senators stared at her, too, but still more throughout the room did not seem to notice. Her daughter followed, head down, somehow cleared to walk within this chamber despite her utter lack of credentials, although given her power it would not be too difficult to grant herself an exception. Her mother descended to a few groups of those Senators not yet looking at her, introduced them to her daughter, bid them shake hands, and then moved to the next group while those she had greeted watched her, suddenly transfixed.

She continued this pattern for the next few minutes, before the acting President pro tempore called that the vote had ended: 56 yeas and 26 nays. The Senate had confirmed Janet Yellen.

None of the Senators seemed to notice, although in these situations the result of the vote is typically decided long before it actually takes place. Senator Reid endeavored to speak, but since nobody cared the acting President pro tempore had to bang the gavel and call order. Senator Reid had become even more incomprehensible than the last time he spoke, ramming ten or fifteen words together into a single mumble, and with the buzz of about eighty Senators filling the room (many murmuring about Senator Luce), he sank to Senator Sessions tier legibility.

Senators started to speak again, beginning with Senator Reed from Rhode Island (not the Senator Reid from Nevada who had spoken immediately before; by now few cared which Reed/Reid came from where). The surprise was that, even with the intrusion of Senator Luce and her absurd costume, the Senators could continue to talk about unemployment benefits like nothing had happened. As soon as Senator Reed finished, Senator John Cornyn III (R-TX) jumped up and accused Reed's unemployment benefits vote of being a political stunt. For Hegewisch, this spicy development far outstripped Senator's Luce's appearance. Now that more than one Senator dared be in the Senate chamber at a time, they could get to the real good stuff. Senator Cornyn continued, claiming that the vote on unemployment benefits should be delayed because seventeen Senators were currently absent.

"This ought," said Senator Cornyn, "to be postponed to a later time where we can have a real debate, we can also look for how to pay for this extension of unemployment benefits, and how to get the economy growing again so people can find jobs. That's what people want, they wanna work. They don't want unemployment compensation they want jobs so they can provide for their families."

Senator Reid—not Reed—attempted to interrupt Senator Cornyn, but Senator Cornyn's ability to actually be understood gave him a critical advantage and he continued:

"Unfortunately because of the timing of this vote, we know what the outcome is, and it's transparent that this is a political exercise, not a real effort to try to fix the problem."

Senator Cornyn sat down and Senator Reid got his chance to speak: "Mr. President [pro tempore], I ask unanimous consent the vote be scheduled tomorrow. 10 AM."

The acting President pro tempore asked for an objection. Nobody objected. The vote was rescheduled to a day when all the Senators could be there to vote. Hegewisch went bananas, what the hell did she witness! Senator Reid had mumbled his way through the session but a move like that sent chills. Chills. Ice cold he shut down Senator Cornyn, and it wasn't like Cornyn had been spouting nonsense. Of course, Reid's party had control of the Senate, that was why Reid was called the "majority leader." So whether seventeen Senators were absent or not, he could be pretty sure his vote would pass. By allowing the vote to be postponed so effortlessly, like he didn't give a single fucking shit, it turned Cornyn's argument directly on its head, made it look like Cornyn was the one pulling a political stunt—gaining moral high ground on a vote his party would lose anyway. It reminded Hegewisch of—it reminded her of DuPage. Something DuPage might pull in a conversation with the Empress, a subtle usurpation offered with a sneer. Giving Cornyn or the Empress exactly what they wanted but in a way that made them look a little foolish for even demanding it.

Her hype died when she saw the next Senator to stand: that aforementioned Empress, Senator Luce. Joliet stood beside her. Most of the conversation among the other Senators died as the acting President pro tempore said, "The Senator from Illinois." Many had watched her wind her way to her chair and wait for the business of the unemployment benefits vote to resolve itself before taking the floor. Many wondered what she had to say that she came attired so.

"Mr. President," she said, for it was Senate custom that speeches be addressed to the presiding officer, "today I would like to discuss a matter that, to my knowledge, has never been brought before this Senate in its long and storied history, and yet is an issue I believe of critical importance to the wellbeing not only of this nation but, also, the world."

Most of the milling Senators had not taken seats at their assigned desks. They stood in the center of the hall, at its fringes, wherever. Many meaningful glances passed between them. The students in the galleries grew excited. Hegewisch developed secondhand embarrassment.

"This issue is that of the existence of magic. Now, before I am interrupted by well-meaning but uninformed members of the Senate, I would like to clarify that I do not mean the sort of parlor trick performed by a streetside entertainer, nor the smoke-and-mirrors extravaganzas that flourish within the theaters of Las Vegas. I mean legitimate magic, which I shall define for the Senate as that which is not only unexplained by conventional science but indeed antithetical to it."

Her speech had met with an increasing number of quizzical looks from her colleagues, and at this point of pause Senator Reid stood up with renewed mumbliness and said: "Ahm, Mr. President, ummm, the Junior Senator from Illinois, I believe she's—"

"Aren't there dress code rules," said someone out of turn, causing the acting President pro tempore to bang the gavel and call for order.

"I would like to be given the chance to speak," said Senator Luce. "After all, there are absolutely no rules explicating that the content of speeches on the floor of the Senate pertain to any specific matter, a fact that many present have flaunted during filibuster." At this, the interruptions died down. Several Senators figured she was staging a political stunt and turned to their own business. Senator Luce continued: "I assure you, I do not intend to make a mockery of an institution as hallowed as the United States Senate, nor do I plan to speak overlong on my matter, unless I find there is willingness on the part of my colleagues to continue the debate after I have spoken. Additionally, I make it my objective to present to the ladies and gentlemen of the Senate incontrovertible proof of the existence of magic.

"I produce before the Senate one Christine de Pizan Luce, who some may know as my daughter, and who has the capability of producing effects that can only be described as magical given the definition I have heretofore provided. Christine, would you please produce before the men and women of the Senate your Soul Gem?"

Although they had assuredly rehearsed the speech before, Christine Luce flinched at both the evocation of her full name and the request of her mother. She bumped into the desk beside her and almost tripped before she held out her hand and removed the plain ring upon her finger. Placing the ring on her upturned palm and casting five less-than-furtive glances at her mother, she contorted her grimace and caused the ring to transform in a flash of light, so that an egg-shaped gem now balanced where it had once been.

The effect surprised a large portion of the Senators, and the communal gasp of shock that surged through the chamber was matched only by the complete confusion of those whose hands Christine had not gotten around to shaking, for whom the ring appeared to remain a ring. Those who did see the ring transform, however, quickly overcame their surprise. It was clearly some sort of toy or device with a fancy lighting effect. Or maybe even typical sleight of hand, with the flash produced to obscure the requisite motions.

"This is a Soul Gem. It is the source of magical power for those who are capable of performing magic. For the sake of simplicity, I'll refer to such people henceforth as Magi. Allow me, briefly, to explain some of the less obvious properties of the Soul Gem..."

As she started to prattle about the sorts of things that Kyubey usually tells neophyte Magical Girls, several of the Senators started to understand. It must be some sort of game or TV show, something sweeping the youth of the nation. A piece of media Senator Luce believed had deleterious effects on those who consumed it. So her opening remarks and costume were a stunt, but at least one that served some kind of point relative to the matter of her speech.

Meanwhile, in the galleries, one of the seated students stirred. This student was known among her fellows as Skokie, a sergeant in the platoon of Centurion Cook. Although she was a veteran of several years, she had only been promoted to her current rank in the past week, after one of Cook's previous sergeants was given the governorship of St. Louis. As such, Skokie did not have total confidence in herself as she disturbed the utter stillness in which the students had languished for the past four hours and approached the front row cautiously. Her fellow students were engrossed in Senator Luce's speech, so few noticed her, a fact that brought her immense relief, although she could not avoid the inevitable. Indeed, the longer she waited, the worse the situation might become and the harsher her punishment for negligence. She knelt on the steps beside the seat of Centurion Cook and leaned close to her ear, only then realizing Cook was asleep. She nudged her shoulder to rouse her.

Cook's eyes half-opened and the lids drooped, but she gave no start of surprise. Her lazy pupils flitted to Skokie, who whispered something. Within a few moments, Cook reached over and shook Cicero to listen. Although Cicero was loath to look away from the spectacle on the floor, she moved in and heard what Skokie had to report.

Skokie was one of several Magi within the Empire who had an especially keen sensitivity to the presence of magic. However, between Magi with this characteristic, the exact nature of their sensitivity varied. Some, like Hinsdale and Hodgkins in Cicero's platoon, could track magical signatures like greyhounds. Others, like the missing-and-presumed-dead Palos of Joliet's platoon, had an internal radar. Skokie's power was more like a trap. She created spaces that, when entered by a magical being, set off a little alarm inside her. The practical applications of this power were excellent for guarding important areas, such as the Administration building and the yacht back in Chicago. The larger the area she imbued with her magic, the more energy it took, but this limitation could be circumnavigated with creative thinking. For instance, upon Washington's capture, Skokie had been ordered to surround the city with a razor-thin line of her power. Although this line spanned many miles and took an hour to establish, it was so thin that its total area remained at a manageable energy level. And, like a tripwire, if any magical being crossed the line, it would trigger Skokie's alarm.

That was what she related to the Centurions. A singular magical being had crossed the line on the outskirts of the city.

"Only one?" whispered Cicero.

"Correct, milady, only one."

Cicero stared stonefaced forward. Her Empress droned in the background, describing now the alien being known as "Kyubey, short for Incubator" and his role in the creation of Magi (the Incubator himself had elected not to show, likely because Joliet's magic would counteract whatever perception-occluding technology he used to cloak himself to ordinary humans). What was he planning now? In many ways, a single magical being crossing Skokie's tripwire boded more ill than an amassed army. The option existed that it was merely a dumb nomad blundering somewhere she had no right to be, but Cicero decided not to rely on such an assumption. The Incubator would know the position of Skokie's line and could have his army waiting just beyond it for when his foe drew close. The one they now sensed might be a trap designed to lure them.

"Hmmmmm." Cook's voice was louder than polite given their ostensible roles as spectators. "Clearly let's scout more intel before we act...?"

"Agreed." Cicero sought one of her own soldiers among the seats. "Addison."

The soldier in question—Cicero's youngest sergeant, versed in long-range combat and detecting telepathic communication—moved to her lady's side with all due haste and silence. "At your command, milady."

"Go with Sergeant Skokie and investigate a magical presence detected near the city's fringe."

"Yes, milady."

"Should we send any others?" said Cook.

"If it's a trap, I would rather lose as few soldiers as possible. Addison will be able to locate and procure information about the target. She can relay her findings to Lombard."

Cook shrugged. "Very well."

Aurora, who had not been invited to the conversation, lolled her head. "Recall the Handmaiden too."

"Good idea," said Cicero. "Best not to remain split. Elmhurst, contact the Handmaiden and inform her of the situation."

"Yes, milady."

Skokie and Addison departed. The Empress's speech continued.

"By now, the Senate should have a general understanding of the basic rules that guide magic. Next, I shall move to a demonstration of the slightest fragment of its capabilities. Again I would like to turn the attention of the Senate to my daughter, Christine. Christine, please transform into your magical vestments."

Christine swallowed a cough and did as commanded. The same flash of light that previously enveloped her ring now enveloped her, and when it dispersed she wore golden, monkish robes instead of her previous white suit.

The bright flash captured the attention of those Senators who had given up on Senator Luce's speech, although not the small but visible contingent who had no idea what the other Senators meant when they talked about Senator Luce's clothes or "that trick with the ring." Nonetheless, it turned most eyes toward the proceedings, and while the initial shock of witnessing Christine Luce's changed attire was not as great as the original "ring trick," after a few seconds the Senators realized that this transformation was far less easily explained by an ingenious device or clever misdirection. Regardless of what originated the flash of light, Christine Luce's entire outfit had changed in the span of a second. Sleight of hand could not account—a mirror? Some of the Senators plodded around the room to view Christine at different angles; at Senator Luce's bidding, her daughter even twirled nauseously to showcase her new clothes.

But the most curious fact was that some of the Senators simply did not see any new clothes at all. This fact was murmured, met with incredulity, insisted upon. And it was this point Senator Luce, having planned everything in advance, now turned upon. For no matter what lightshow she showed them, they could always wave it away as some device, a projection, a cleverly-arranged series of mirrors; even if the explanation was impractical, infeasible, and only dubiously possible, they would cling to it rather than admit that the known laws of the world had inverted. However, no matter how great a stage trick, how fantastic, the same people witness the same deception. Here, in the center of the room, thronged about by Senators, some who could perceive and some who could not, with no apparent pattern to their positioning or political affiliation, the trick could be less easily denied, and any plausible deniability that might remain vanished as the suspicious Senators swapped places, those who could not see moved to where those who could were standing, those who could moved to those who could not; and the effect did not change. It was the eye of the person who determined what they saw, not where they stood, and while to some extent human vision is subjective, such a drastic difference in an ordinary room with clear lighting was unaccountable.

This would only be the first step in convincing them, however. The Senators were rational people. They would assume a rational explanation, even if they could not place the explanation themselves. Their modern society had conditioned them to such a response. That was all expected. All that was necessary now was to plant a seed. By the end of her speech, she would have watered that seed into a beanstalk not easily felled.

As she moved to the next component of her program, Sergeant Lombard leaned over the seats and tapped Cicero on the shoulder. She held an enchanted radio with a dial and a small screen. "Addison and Skokie are reporting."

"I praise their efficiency." Cicero kept one eye turned toward the Empress, but she knew her focus must remain on this matter of security.

"The Magi in question was easy to find. She does not appear to be taking any measures to conceal herself. Here is what they're seeing." She held up the radio. The screen displayed a lone young woman, perhaps quite young. Cicero reckoned she could not be past puberty due to her shortness and slightness. She wore an elaborate costume that marked her as magical to any onlooker; a fancy white tuxedo with a top hat and purple band. She swirled a dandyish cane around one finger as she walked along a sidewalk.

"Administrator Hegewisch," said Cicero. "Based on the records you possess, can you identify—"

"Ohhhhh." Cook examined the radio screen over Cicero's shoulder. "I know that young lady, she's—"

Hegewisch knew too. One instant, that was all it took. One instant and she could smile. Who else? This person was always going to show up again. Hegewisch had never denied it.

The Empress, below, kept talking. But the attention of the most important members in the galleries had shifted. The expressions on the faces of Cook and Hegewisch, while eccentric, portended to Cicero significance. This lone Magi was no wayward nomad, she knew even before the name was spoken. Spoken first by Cook instead of Hegewisch, because Hegewisch had to pause to consider what name would be best to call her, while Cook simply did not care. The name Cook said was:

"Clownmuffle."