"If you put the federal government in charge of the Sahara Desert, in five years there'd be a shortage of sand." - Milton Friedman

Professor Chang looked up from her computer - a clunky old relic from the ages of personal computers being a charming off-white rather than unfeeling silver which she either could not or did not afford to replace - and gestured for Wai-Fong to sit opposite her. Wai-Fong did exactly that and passed her essay over the primitive machine. The professor took it off her hands and set it aside without so much as glancing away from her monitor.

"Your assistance and cooperation is invaluable to every single piece of original research I've done in the past four years, Ms. Yuen. Have I ever told you that?"

"More broadly than that, certainly. But I'm flattered to hear that anyway."

"Of course. Not a word of it would have been written without you."

"Well, I'm just glad to help."

"However."

Wai-Fong didn't like the sound of that. Nor was she a big fan of the feel of it. She absolutely detested the taste.

"However, when I said, 'if you're going to pretend to be a student of mine, it would at least be inconspicuous of you to turn in an assignment now and again', I thought the 'on time' was implied."

"Right. Of course. I'm sorry, I just haven't been sleeping well and-"

"No, I'm not reprimanding you. All I want is that in the case another staff member asks who you are and why you're in my class, I'll have an answer at the ready."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

She looked up at last. "Now. What did you want to see me about?"

"I'll let Kyubey explain the details."

"You... do remember that I can't see or hear him, yes?"

"Right! Right. Sorry, I mean-"

"It's fine, really. What does he have to say?"

Kyubey slunk onto Wai-Fong's shoulder and dictated to her:

"We've come requesting your assistance in investigating a series of disappearances mostly occurring in the New Territories, but recently reaching both Hong Kong and Kowloon."

"Does this have anything to do with the Attendants of the Deep Light?"

Wai-Fong answered of her own volition. "I was hesitant to consider that - driving them out didn't seem to alleviate the problem, but former leaders and elites of theirs have gone missing with abnormal frequency."

The professor leaned forward, ever so slightly. "You don't think it could be the work of another reactionary group on the rise, do you?"

Kyubey resumed his spiel. "It looks to be bigger than that. In 1972, an English medical equipment manufacturer called the Petts Group was established in Kowloon. Transporting materials from mainland China to there was, obviously, much cheaper than transporting it to Europe, after all. As of 1991, the Petts Group was a close partner of DL Parhelion, a Chinese government authority in international shipping which had, until 1987, been a corner-shop courier service run by one Mr. and Mrs. Liao, until the former inherited 600 000 Yuan following the mass murder of some distant relatives. The Liaos' involvement in those deaths was ruled out immediately, because those relatives lived halfway across the country, and at the time, neither had the means to see to something on that scale.

"This relationship between the two companies only became strained in 1993, when the Petts Group was bought out by yet another government authority, because this authority wasn't China's own. It was a British military contractor, called Titania One Systems. Behind closed doors, relations between DL Parhelion and Titania One became a major point of negotiation between the two governments, until the Petts Group's CEO, Jonathan Petts, was supposedly replaced by an underqualified dropout from Saïd Business School named Martin Davison. Further investigation into the new CEO's background revealed that not only did his credentials not exist - he didn't either. There's no record of anyone matching his description.

"Shortly after appointment of whoever the new CEO was in 1994, both DL Parhelion and 30 000 000 Yuan were delivered to a representative of the United Kingdom government, although reports conflict on what had been exchanged for this. Then, in 1998, Titania One moved to the New Territories and began contracting to both the British and Chinese governments, on condition that both countries keep the company under heavy surveillance. A feat which I don't claim to understand, because in the past 11 years, both its original establishment and DL Parhelion's were demolished, and neither our nor the girls under our employ's searching has uncovered a new location since."

Professor Chang nodded cautiously, then sat back again. She looked as if she had just assumed her best posture all week. "And he believes this might be related to the disappearances over there?"

"Many involved with the aforementioned search were the first to go missing."

"Shit. So you're asking me to help you pick into what might be a corporate conspiracy run by two of the most powerful militaries in the world?"

"That is correct."

She sighed. "Well, I hope you don't need me to drive you anywhere."

Wai-Fong let Kyubey onto the floor. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm going to be a hard sell on this sober."

She pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a hefty box of cheap wine.

"You drink?"

"Not at 10 in the morning. Erm... if you don't mind me asking, professor, didn't you also want to see me?"

"About what?"

"I don't-"

"Yes! Right! Right."

She placed the box back in the drawer and kicked it shut.

"Forgive me. I've been losing track of the days for anything that isn't teaching."

"It's no problem."

"Now do you mind coming to the bank with me? I have an enchanted object I'll be needing soon, and I need a magical girl to tell me how well it's held up."

Mr. Sung, a small, bitter espresso of a man ushered the two women into a vault Professor Chang hadn't seen for two decades. What he said to them might be inferred from his unwitting metaeclypticism with Sydney's own Kevin, but its absence from this text is owed to the possibility that publicising his comments might have harmed his future career prospects. After all, commendations are in order - as he waited outside the vault and overheard discussions of magic and conspiracy, he was sure to mind his own business, and would forget it all entirely by the following morning through sheer work-related ennui.

Professor Chang scanned through the safe deposit boxes and unconsciously muttered exaggerated thinking noises to herself over and over.

"You remember which one is yours, professor?"

"Of course. It's-" She started toward one, flinched, and reached for another seven across and two down from it. "Yes, it's this one here."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

"Are you absolutely sure, professor?"

"Well, my combination works, so it had better be."

The box slid out from the wall. She held it out for Wai-Fong to see.

"I've actually been keeping it in this box for... oh, I don't know. A bit over twenty years. I've never needed to take it out before tod-"

Professor Chang looked the box over. Then she removed its contents - a small glass jar with a fine metallic powder nearly filling it - and looked that over. Then she removed its lid and looked inside.

"That's not right. It was completely full when I last had it."

"It isn't now?"

She passed it to Wai-Fong. "Look. It's about 50 mL short of the top mark."

"Do you think it could be an unstable substance?"

"Unlikely."

"Why's that unlikely?"

"Because it's four thousand years old. You've read my American friend Sylvia's writing about Egypt, haven't you?"

"Skim-read."

"Oh, then forget it. The point is I'm certain that someone in the past 20 years must have broken in and stolen 50 mL of it."

"Why?"

"Because it's important. It's a certain sort of... shield, or damper, or something, on magic. I believe it's just ordinary sand, but with powerful defensive enchantments woven into it. IS that still working, for that matter?"

Wai-Fong sniffed the jar and recoiled. "Yes! Yes, that's still going strong."

"You can identify enchantments by scent?"

"Oh, no. I could tell it was enchanted the whole time. I just wanted to see what ancient dust smelled like."

"...Right."

"So you think you're in enough danger to withdraw it now?" She handed it back.

"Actually, I'm supposed to have it delivered to someone."

"Who?"

"No idea, but myself and an old friend have spent some time deducing what we're looking for in a recipient."

Wai-Fong grinned. "Oh! So you need my help delivering it?"

"Not exactly, we haven't found anyone fitting our deduction just yet. I'd just like to have the package prepared for when we do."

"Oh! Oh, no, no. Don't worry about it. There's a god for that."

Professor Chang had heard much mention of the gods in the company of magical girls for the past few decades, although her knowledge of them was spottier than it ought to have been. Many of them seemed uncomfortable with the notion of discussing them in the presence of a scientist, no matter how factual they might be. Even with what she did know, though, she hadn't anticipated the shrine of the messenger god - Waking Without Horizon, her title was - to be situated in the women's restroom behind a post office.

She articulated thusly: "I wasn't expecting the shrine of the messenger god to be situated in the women's restroom behind a post office."

And so did she appear.

She was lean and long-faced, in a tight-fitting dress and wearing a strange, streamlined silver crown. She wasted no time with spectacular entrances, simply appearing instead in a flash of light.

"I heed your call, child. Speak."

"So now what?" Professor Chang frowned.

"Oh, oh!" Wai-Fong looked between the two. "No, she's here already."

"Really? Well I can't see her."

"I said speak, child!"

Wai-Fong nodded. "Sorry! I can't pay attention to two conversations at once. Yes, right, hello. We're here to get a package delivered."

"To whom?"

"We don't have a name, uh... Professor, could you describe who you're wanting to deliver to?"

"Of course. Does your god speak English?"

"I do."

"Because I cowrote this with an American-"

"I'm a goddess. I speak everything."

"-and he was very particular about his phrasing in a way that-"

"I do, for crying out loud!"

"-I worry mightn't translate well."

"Oh! She said she does, Professor."

"Excellent."

Wai-Fong, however, did not, and couldn't make sense of what the professor was saying to the air slightly to the right of where Waking stood.

Waking herself stood completely still throughout, before finally bowing and declaring, "This will be no trouble. I can find her."

"She says it's solvable."

"Excellent." Professor Chang presented the jar. "How much do I owe her?"

"Hey, do you think you could tell your grandmother or whatever that commissions are for hookers and starving artists? I'm a god."

"(Are those mutually excl...?) She says, erm... she says she won't accept payment."

"Ah! Well that's wonderfully convenient."

Waking huffed and crossed her arms. "That's it, then? Does she know it's customary to at least leave an offering of thanks?"

Wai-Fong double-took at the deity's quickly-crumbling splendour. "Isn't that what payment is?"

"No! It's about the sentiment of obligation, and shows of reverence-"

Professor Chang interjected: "Is something the matter? Every second this package isn't where it needs to be is another that the universe is in danger."

"Is it!?" Wai-Fong gasped. "And you nearly forgot today was the day we were going to check up on it?!"

"Ohohoho!" Waking rubbed her hands together. "Is that so? You should have led with that, darling, it's my pleasure to know you entrust the fate of the cosmos to me." She plucked it out of the professor's hand. "I had you all wrong, ma'am. Your package is safe with me. Enjoy the rest of your day."

With that, she bowed, and disappeared in a puff of time.

The pair strolled back out into the street, Professor Chang with a lighter stride than she had in twenty years, although not without its share of uncertainty.

"Do you put this much faith in your gods?"

"Of course."

"But they're just as much regular people as you are."

"And what could be more worth putting faith in? Besides, we don't like to make light of their power. You've heard the tales of entire empires falling in battle because they displeased a god or two, surely?"

"Well, I've always been slightly sceptical of the authenticity of these things. Many of them I consider to be totally outrageous."

"Like what?"

"Like the god of lightning deflecting solar winds with her mind. Or the god of war striking her enemy so violently it painted the sky red. Or the god of night killing Emperor Taizu of Song, because he was ungrateful for her support in reunifying China, for instance."

"Oh no, that last one happened. I've asked her about it. Well... no magical girl lives forever. I asked the girl currently in the job. She showed me her predecessor's journal and everything."

"Is that so?"

"It is. I could verify the others for you, if you'd like."

"Oh. In that case, I have a lot of work to revise. Still... I feel strange putting the fate of so much in the hands of someone I can't actually know is there."

"You've been fine when Kyubey's done it."

"No I haven't. It's just that me not being fine isn't enough to compel him not to."

"That's true. It can't be-"

A young girl, about thirteen or fourteen, shot around the corner of the next street at unthinkable speeds, skidded across the road, bounded at Wai-Fong, and landed two steps before her on both feet three shoulder widths apart and her right hand. In her left, she spun a guandao behind her back, repeatedly, effortlessly between her fingers. She shoved herself upright with the right hand into which she passed the polearm behind her back, then stood to attention.

"Sir. There's been another girl gone missing, sir."

Wai-Fong frowned. "Don't call me 'sir', kid."

"Don't call me 'kid', sir."

Professor Chang struggled to contain her surprise. "And you must be...?"

"Chau Kim-Wan, at your service."

"Hey, hey!" Wai-Fong tried.

"Professor Chang Y-"

"Hey! No! No given names, you guys!"

Both stared at Wai-Fong like she'd just told two of her closest friends not to introduce themselves to one another. Given the circumstances, this was a very fitting way to stare at her.

"Just think! People are disappearing. What if they're being questioned, then? Isn't it for the best that we all know as little as possible about who else is trying to solve this?"

"...Very well. Professor Chang. Pleased to meet you."

"Yes, yes, I get it. Now if you don't mind, we have a disappearance to investigate."

THE CURRENT PREDICAMENT OF ALBERT COINCIDENCE

Albert blinked into existence directly in the centre of a small soccer pitch just in time for the ball to strike the back of his head.

"You alright? You alright, mate?"

A couple of teenage boys ran over to him.

"Yes! Yes, quite fine. Nothing I haven't been hit in the head with before."

The boys profusely apologised regardless. "If I'd seen you there, I wouldn't have-"

"He wasn't there, though. He just sort of teleported in," his friend interjected.

"Y- yes! That's right. Really, it's my bad. I should look where I'm teleporting next time."

Now was it just him, or were these shunts getting more and more drastic? He felt a real kick to that one. His whole body felt a little warm, in fact.

He was in Accra. He knew for a fact that he was in Accra. That was halfway around the world from the last jump and - actually, that was a good point. How come he never jumped kilometres into the air, or underground, or over the ocean? Hell, if he was doing the numbers right, he should have been distorting way more by now than he actually was.

Little did he know that he had materialised in the post-chapter anecdote.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir...?"

"Sir? Oh, no, no. Call me..." He contemplated every proper noun he could think of. "Ibiza."

He thought to himself, Ibiza?! Really? Well, he'd have to do better than that next time he was on the record.

"Ibiza?"

"Yes! Um... Ibiza Shittsley."

Well, he congratulated himself for sticking the landing.

"You were asking?"

The boy blinked. "Right! How did you teleport?"

"Ah! Very uncomfortably, thank you for asking."

"No, sorry, what I mean to ask is..."

"Oh, do you mean to ask in what way did I teleport?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"Well, in moving instantly from one place to another, I suppose."

"That's not very informative," added his friend.

"What? No, it very much is. It's the transportation of information with no delay or interruption."

"No, no, your description! Not the concept of telep-"

"And would you two happen to know where a guy can get a drink? It really takes it out of you, I'm all warm and-"

"Yes?"

"Hang on, this isn't a healthy temperature at all. See, if I could shunt into space, then it would be easy to let out the heat because of how cold it is. Ideally in orbit around a black hole - you know, that's the most efficient way to store energy in the universe: adding to a blank hole's angular momentum, and then-"

One of the boys nodded dismissively. "Yes, I know how the Penrose mechanism works."

"Oh good! So I don't have to explain it."

"I thought that was the proposal for weighing elections," the other boy added.

The first corrected, "No, that's the Penrose method. It's named after a different English mathematician named Penrose. But yes, if you need something to drink, there's a supermarket just out on that road," he pointed, "then you turn right two streets down. Can't miss it."

"Thanks!" Ibiza smiled, then ran off to burgle the place.