The Senate is the last primitive society in the world.

Pre-Fall Senator.

The Senate of the Union was probably the holy of holies. After all, it was the place where all disputes between the States of the Union were arbitrated. Its word was absolute law in every matter between individual States or the Union as a whole.

The Senate Chamber reflected that. It was a half-ring. When the Senate assembled, seats were attributed to each Senator in the inner ring at random. There was a huge earthen bowl covered by a piece of cloth in which little wood chits sported a seat number each. When coming for a session, each Senator went there to pick one such chit and then take the appropriate seat.

“People thought of that one to ensure no one would get a permanent prime choice seat and cause friction. Even back then, there were larger and smaller States, and the Treaty stated that they were all equal regardless. They even change the chits once a year to ensure no one starts recognizing them by touch once they start getting worn out,” Senator Alberich had told her.

True to the fashion, the man headed immediately for the ornate and decorated recipient, sliding his hand in and immediately pulling back and checking the chit he’d picked. With ease borne from a long familiarity with the Senate, he immediately headed to a place three seats from the left of the ring, where he hung a small banner bearing the five-color of Independence State on a small steel pole bolted to the seat’s arm.

“Don’t come with me,” he’d warned. “Stay with the Executive. I will call for a petition, and then the Executive will descend to the center to present his request while I stay silent, as befits my neutral role, and whatever. Then, you do… the demonstration as planned. And reply to the questions directly addressed to you and nothing else. I already know there will be plenty.”

A few more Senators came in, accompanied by their staff. There was little point for their helpers to arrive too early, as the staff would generally stay behind their boss, and they wouldn’t know where to go until the Senator himself or herself arrived. As each group came in, Johanna caught surprised glances thrown their way, or rather Wexler’s way. That the Executive would be well known was not surprising, but that he was there rather than back in Vernon would be. The State was represented here by its Senator, not the Executive, so, if the man himself was present, that meant something was afoot. And the Senate didn’t know what yet.

The inner ring – the one that was reserved for the Senators themselves – was almost full when the huge brass monstrosity that apparently served as a clock made a loud chime. One of the Senators simply stood up and walked down to take position behind the lectern at the center of the half-ring. Johanna briefly wondered how the leading Senator was picked. Was it an election of sorts, whenever, or did they choose the leader randomly for each session, like the seating arrangements?

Or even simpler, was whoever was seated in her position automatically the president of the Senate for the session?

The woman rang a small brass bell on the lectern before calling out with a remarkably powerful voice.

“The Senate of the Union of States is now in session. We do have a few minor matters, including the tax dispute…” she started while casting a side glance toward the group gathered around Wexler.

On cue, the Independence Senator raised his hand.

“The Independence State would like to introduce an extraordinary request.”

“Does the matter need an immediate resolution?” the president asked back.

“It is a major matter impacting the Union that requires immediate attention,” the Senator replied.

All the back and forth was made in a simple, understated, almost bored tone that told Johanna it was probably formal and maybe even routine. She wondered how often “extraordinary requests” were introduced. She suspected no one would anticipate how extraordinary this one would turn out to be.

“Any objection to this addition?” the president asked.

There was none. She thought the Senators would probably be as curious as anyone about what it was. Wexler had not wanted any warning… she suddenly looked around until she spotted the banner of the Marches of the Montana on one seat. She’d missed it when he and his staff entered, but it did look like the Senator from her birth State was there after all and was simply watching the proceedings. And why not? So far, the Warden had done nothing.

Except robbing a small town near the Great Lakes.

“Independence State has the floor,” the president said before she relaxed in her chair behind the lectern.

On that cue, Wexler started down, along with General Sharpe, and the four of them followed. Well, three of them. Peter was nowhere to be seen, which was all part of the plan, after all. They came down and took seats on the small tables in the middle. Wexler, for himself, went just under the president’s lectern and turned to face the Senators.

“I am Harold Wexler, Elected Executive Officer for Independence State. And I stand here to talk about the Fourth War of Unification, one which I fear will happen as early as next year.”

While the Senators were spaced widely enough that they couldn’t mutter between themselves, the rest of the assembly made for it in volume.

“Last year, the Warden of the Marches of the Montana started investigating the use of Talents in war. The support offered by Elena Worchester, the famous Sorceress of the Mists, has been widely thought to be a significant strength in blunting the offensive from the north.

“But Edgard Maistry has not stopped there. He has sought a new way to support his war. Rather than merely enlisting Talented – something that was already attempted as part of his draft – he now seeks to create Talented soldiers.”

The mutters rose again, and one of the Senators raised a hand, interrupting the petition.

“I thought that Talents, let alone the significant ones like an Erlang Burning Walker or the Earthbreaker, were extremely rare.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“They are rare when spontaneously occurring. But not if you can artificially force them. And that is now possible.”

The president rang her bell again as the woman seemed to be preparing for another question.

“The honorable Senator should let the petitioner from Independence finish his introduction before starting questioning.”

Johanna tried to remember the banner. She’d had a geography course back in Anasta, of course, but she’d never been that interested. It was Cheyenne, she thought, one of the states they’d barely crossed on the way to Independence. Not that it truly mattered.

“That lets me get ahead of myself. Talents have always been the province of the legends. Rare, whimsy, and unreliable. People like the Burning Walker and the Sorceress of the Mists are the exception, the once-in-a-decade legends, not the rule among sorcerers. And they have limits – both would exhaust their abilities in an hour or so. You can use them to turn a battle around, but you can’t base your strategy for sustained war around them.

“Until now. Because, as I said, there is now a way to reliably make those Talents, to turn an ordinary person not into a Burning Walker… but far more than one. And Edgard Maistry has those means. He can make not a Burning Walker but a hundred of them. Not an Earthbreaker, but a hundred of them.”

Another Senator did not wait and interrupted Wexler.

“And yet, four months ago, the Marches came here to remind us of our treaty obligation. To petition officially to come to his help, which we finally granted, and our armies are already getting ready to march, if not on their way to his help. If the Warden truly has those means, would he need to ask us for help?”

“Well, that is a recent development. Allow me to introduce you to the people behind this, Independence State’s own Talent House,” Wexler said with a flourish.

The entire Senate was silent. The big surprise was, of course, Peter putting his hand on the president’s bell to ring it, and everyone suddenly realized he’d been there all along. Even now, Johanna’s Blazing Orb still floated in the middle of the cupola, adding its flame to the incoming sunlight to light the Senate chamber. Letting it float unattended while she was otherwise occupied demonstrating helped cement the unprecedented breadth of Talents someone like her could marshal. But Laura’s gaze, brief and immediately canceled, was what made them truly realize what was happening.

They did not have a vast pick of parchments, but after writing plans and options during yesterday’s evening, they’d made a list of a few simple ones for Moore to create using one book. Wexler had brought one, apparently anticipating the need for a demonstration, and the Senator had concurred.

“No way will they simply accept that those four are not just legendary people, just being born in this age. They’ll want concrete evidence.”

He’d also apologized about not having Ancient books. He had bookshelves, but his oldest book was written thirty years ago, not 150.

“I don’t think we ever had such at home,” he said. “Father was definitively not a man to look to the past.”

Making more than one was judicious because when they circulated the parchments, of course, one of the Senators consumed one, prompting incredulous looks as the sheet burned up without heat and vanished. Wexler simply made a loud “tsssk” noise and let the rest check the feeling that accompanied the sheets.

“The Talent House harvested enough materials to create hundreds of thousands of those parchments. Enough to convert thousands of soldiers into Talented like those four young people. Enough to convert the whole of Montana’s professional army if he wants to, and the force multiplier alone will be significant,” Wexler stated.

“We’ve strategized this,” General Sharpe pursued. “Even a single small company should suffice to turn around the stalemate in the Northwest before the armies supposed to come to his help will even arrive. Our estimate is that one small team, one like the four founders of the Talent House, has between a twenty-to-one and a forty-to-one ratio of effectiveness against ordinary troops. That can go higher with training, adapted tactics, and other non-classical tactics.

“Making even a single company of Talented will completely shift the balance in the forces of the Montana, let alone a regiment… a brigade… or two. Or three…”

There was complete silence as the General explained the potential before he turned back to the Executive.

“Once the Warden deploys this capacity, he’ll have the most powerful military force on the entire continent—possibly the entire world. There will be no limits on the traditional ambition of the Maistrys. When I spoke of the Fourth War of Unification, I spoke of this,” Wexler concluded.

One Senator stood, and Johanna recognized him as the Senator she’d spotted, the one from the Marches.

“That is a very nicely polished presentation, I grant you. One would almost imagine you’re sitting in the Warden’s councils, so convincing you feel. As my colleague reminded you, my State petitioned for just a simple application of the Treaty, which was finally granted – at last, after far too many delays and dithering – over two months ago. And now, you claim he’s already seeking to break that same Treaty.”

“The actions of the Montana speak of their intentions. Why else would agents of the Warden’s own Adjutant attack the Talent House and steal literal crates of those parchments you’ve just seen?”

“I have no knowledge of any such attempt, and I sincerely doubt that it happened or that those strange Artifacts you’ve circulated do whatever you claim they allow. A simple paper that reacts to thought by burning isn’t enough to start a war.”

Johanna turned briefly to check on Katia. Undersecretary Michaelson’s eyes shone with a light that she knew was invisible to all but herself. Surprisingly, Katia’s nodded slightly. Detect Lies didn’t register anything then, and it looked like the Senator was not lying. The Adjutant might not have shared anything with his State’s representative in the Senate. Mana pulsed briefly around her.

He doesn’t know, she heard silently as the Undersecretary confirmed.

“It may be that you are not aware of this,” Wexler said, having probably been notified of the fact as well. “But I would not be in front of you if I did not have information and confirmation. At least one of the people killed in the heist was tracked back to the Embassy of the Montana, where he apparently routinely met with the staff there. And we have two others that were registered in Independence as former citizens born in the Marches.”

“So you say.”

The debate degenerated quickly after that, leaving Johanna as a mere spectator. It was certainly not going to be decided promptly, she realized. No wonder the news about the Adjutant’s coming to Nashville reported the talks had taken weeks.

She wondered what Moore thought of the spectacle.

The one thing that bothered Moore was that if he had to suffer through a fantasy version of C-SPAN, he could not unmute the channel to follow the actual discussions or go to some more interesting streaming.

He’d known a few things since Johanna and the rest had been studying for the presentation during their trip on the train – with sails, which was still awesome – with various books on the functioning of the modern-day “Senate of the Union”.

The commonalities to all the politics were enough to make the difference jarring. At least the Senators didn’t wear jackets and ties, and the modern version of a suit looked a bit more varied than the near-uniform worn by every politician of the 21st century prior to the Fall.

The overall setup and ceremony looked more like some videos he’d seen of high-level diplomatic, UN-style meetings from all over the globe rather than some federal institution. It was way too small an assembly and only served to highlight that the USA, the way it existed and worked, was dead and had been dead for a century and a half. The fact that the largest State had less than a million people in it, and what remained of Florida barely topped 22,000 people, was a sober reminder that the 22nd century was hell, or at least only recovering from hell.

At least the silent Senators had looked suitably impressed by the demonstration of the skills. And the four had yet to use the joker they had decided on, a setting scroll Johanna had underlined in her list for a Shaper plus Fire Handling. She probably had explained her reasoning, but he couldn’t hear anything.

He had to laugh at the idea of a random Senator suddenly becoming a sorcerer just for the purpose of the demonstration and then getting conscripted to fight.

Some politicians are firebrands, and for once, that can be literal.