//------------------------------// // Limitless Pink Potential // Story: Il Duce e la Principessa // by GIULIO //------------------------------// Concern for the Health of Cadenza Grows Confirming a recent article published by Il Popolo d’Italia on the 18th, the administration has come forward with news of the alicorno’s well-being, announcing yesterday that her exclusion from public appearances has been due to influenza. “Cadenza has displayed multiple classic symptoms of equine influenza,” a government spokesperson explained. “[Cadenza] has suffered from dry coughing, a high fever, a lack of appetite, and muscle pain. As such, she has been interned at a special wing of the Umberto I policlinic of the Faculty of Medicine and Surgery of the Sapienza Università di Roma, under the protection of PNF militia.” Umberto I Policlinico in Rome. Fears of the disease being borne from the deadly Spanish Flu were dismissed by officials, citing that asides from the time that has passed since the outbreak, human influenza does not affect equines. “Cadenza cannot contract influenza from us, nor can we from her,” the spokesperson emphasized. “The Duce would be devastated if that were the case.” Milan has reported a public vigil at the Piazza del Duomo, with hundreds of people praying for the amelioration of the alicorno’s health, much to the consternation of Cardinal Eugenio Tosi, Archbishop of Milan. “[The alicorno] is not a creation of God,” Bishop Bartolomeo Visconti told Il Corriere della Sera, speaking for the Archbishop. “This congregation was neither sanctioned by the Church, nor done so in faith with its doctrine.” Regardless of the objections from the Archdiocese of Milan, the general sentiment in the provincial capital is one of sympathy for Cadenza. There have been candles lit and notes left at the foot to the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II, offering people’s well wishes to the new darling of Italy. Benito sat quietly behind his desk, taking in the academic stares of the three men who were observing Balbo’s interactions with Cadenza. “Come on, Cadenza,” Italo prodded, offering a bird whistle to the alicorno. “Whistle for the nice gentlemen.” Cadenza glanced at the three strangers with what Mussolini could only describe as guarded curiosity before both her horn and the toy glimmered. She paid them little heed when the two young men reacted audibly. The bespectacled twenty-something-years-old gasped whereas the slightly stouter man muttered something under his breath. Of the three, only the eldest of them actually bothered with writing his thoughts in his notebook. He had gaped for a moment like the others, yes, but the physics director of laboratory in the Scuola Normale Superiore of Pisa, Luigi Puccianti, with the diligence expected from his position, actually did what he had come to do. “Incredible,” the balding director said softly, noting down as quickly as his pen allowed. After a moment, he looked up and noticed that his colleagues were still staring even after Cadenza’s trilling whistle. “It’s rude to stare,” he said playfully, finally snapping the two younger physicists out of their stupor. “Sorry, professor,” the taller one, Nello Carrara, murmured as he finally began to jot down his own thoughts. This went on for a few minutes: the only real sounds in the room were Cadenza’s play, Balbo’s subtle encouragements and praises, the occasional mutters from the three scientists, and a barely audible chime that Cadenza’s horn produced. The latter was yet another item to the expanding list of unknowns relating to the alicorno. Eventually, the impatient drumming of Mussolini’s fingers against the ebony desk joined in. “Well?” Benito’s voice was startlingly loud. The physicists might as well not have heard the Duce, so engrossed they were in their scrutiny. “Gentlemen, the Duce has asked you a question,” Balbo offered. For some reason that both escaped and irked Benito, that got through to the men. “You’ll have to forgive us,” the director from Pisa began, pushing up his glasses, “I suppose that what you have here is...” He flicked his eyes towards a distracted Cadenza. “Well, quite something.” “That’s putting it mildly,” the youngest, some fellow by the name of Fermi, interjected. “Your alicorno has just contradicted numerous established laws of physics, just by lifting up that whistle!” He cracked a grin. “I can see why you’ve, ah...” The prior enthusiasm had wilted and in its stead, a look of trepidation took over the man. Mussolini cocked an eyebrow: he noticed that the physicist was now deliberately avoiding eye contact. Carrara intervened. “What my colleague means to say, is that you were wise in keeping ah, Cadenza out of the public eye.” He closed his notebook. “While lamentable, I believe that my colleagues and I agree that it is necessary.” Tell me something I didn’t already know, Mussolini thought darkly. “Is it radiation?” he asked tentatively. Three heads swiveled to observe the foal once more. Scratching at his beard, Puccianti the first to readdress Benito. “If it is, it’s not one that we’re familiar with.” “There was both a visible and audible reaction,” the other bespectacled physicist noted, turning to his other colleague. “What do you think, Fermi—electromagnetic radiation with some radio-luminescence?” Fermi pursed his lips, tapping the side of his head with his pen. “I don’t think so,” he said, “I suspect that it might be gravitational.” “Einstein’s model?” Luigi asked. “Indeed, professor,” Fermi replied with a nod. “Right now, it’s the one that best fits with what we’ve been presented with.” Benito perked up slightly. “Does that mean that you know what it is?” “Without any way to properly observe the energies and radiations, it’s just an educated guess at best,” Fermi explained, before turning to Nello. “What do you think, Nello?” Carrara’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid that you’re right, Enrico. Unless we can obtain a spectrograph that is suited for this particular frequency, we won’t achieve much more than speculation.” “That is assuming that this is a wave based phenomenon,” Puccianti weighed in, shrugging his shoulders. “As far as we know, this could be something wholly different.” Much of the conversation went over Mussolini’s head: he had been more of a student of political science than that of the more traditional sort, after all. So far, all he had really gathered from the jargon was that these three had no definitive answer to his questions. Just like every group of experts so far, he harrumphed inwardly. Nello hummed, glancing once more at Cadenza. “If it is electromagnetic, we could maybe produce a reaction with a magnet.” Balbo was heard muttering, “I hope you aren’t implying that Cadenza’s a magnet.” “Not at all,” Carrara said, shaking his head. “I’m not a biologist, but it’s unlikely that the whole body is producing the strange phenomenon.” He eyed the stubby horn of the filly. “The horn, however, is clearly some sort of conduit.” “There might be an organ inside or at the base of the structure,” Puccianti hypothesized. His glasses fell slightly. “What if the brain extends into it?” “That’d be quite a sight to behold,” Fermi said, now interested. He turned to Italo. “You wouldn’t happen to have perhaps an X-ray scan of her head?” Mussolini answered for Balbo, somewhat miffed that the question hadn’t been addressed to him. “We do not. Is it necessary?” “Well, not necessary per se,” the physicist admitted with a splayed hand, “but it’d definitely expedite things.” He fell quiet for a moment. “That, and that I’m sure that you want the alicorno to be kept in one piece.” Benito was quick to furiously waggle his finger. “No dissections!” he stated determinately. “Cadenza is not to be harmed!” The outburst, while nowhere near as explosive as the one Adalberto had weeks back, was enough to visibly startle Fermi. Even Cadenza momentarily stopped playing to see what was the commotion. “It wasn’t a request or a demand, sir,” Puccianti piped up, bringing up a placating hand. “It was merely a suggestion.” The Duce snapped his head back and placed a hand on his hip, harrumphing. “The suggestion is refuted. Have I made myself clear?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “Perfectly, Prime Minister,” Carrara replied. Benito eased his posture and offered a smile that was, if not amiable, at least diplomatic. “Is there anything that you can determine today?” “I think that my colleagues will agree that we can’t,” Luigi said after glancing at the other two physicists. “Not without specialized equipment, that’s for certain.” Mussolini hummed, rapping his fingers along the smooth surface of his desk. “How soon will you be ready for a better examination if the state provides the necessary equipment?” Nello gave the Duce a funny look, whereas Enrico pursed his lips. Only Puccianti kept a straight face. “How soon?” he repeated. Once more he looked to both of his colleagues, engaging in a conversation conveyed merely through their expressions, before turning once again to Mussolini. “January at the earliest.” There was a slight downwards twitch at his lips, but otherwise Benito maintained his smile. “Why not sooner?” “Prime Minister, it’s the holiday season,” Puccianti explained. “Any university or laboratory that even has a spectrograph or a radio receiver is closed, and the technicians capable of using either are probably at home. We came because our faculty in Pisa is not far, but we couldn’t have brought anything more than our personal belonging.” “X-ray scanners and spectrographs are not exactly portable,” Carrara added. “They take up close to an entire room.” Luigi nodded. “Exactly as Carrara says,” he said, taking a step closer towards the desk. “Provided that the technicians return after New Year’s Day, we can arrange a visit for Cadenza to one of our labs within the week after that.” “Which university?” Mussolini suddenly asked. Puccianti blinked. “I was thinking our laboratory at Pisa,” he said sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Although now that you mention it, I don’t believe that we have a radio receiver.” “Doesn’t the University of Genoa have one of those?” Nello provided. The department director’s lips thinned. “I’d have to write to the director to be sure. In fact, I might send one to the rector at Turin as well: I seem to remember that they have a modern X-ray scanner there.” “They do,” Fermi said with a nod. “I have an old friend who studies in Turin, and he’s written to me about a new X-ray scanner from Germany.” A spectrograph from Pisa, a Genoese transceiver, and a German X-ray scanner in Turin; unless Cadenza could somehow be at multiple different locations at once, Mussolini didn’t think that these physicists would be able to test all of their theories in one go. “Sounds like Cadenza would have to travel a lot,” Italo noted while scratching at Cadenza’s ears. “It’d probably be simpler if she came to each faculty,” Puccianti admitted with a slight tilt of his head. “I can get into contact with the directors, but we probably won’t have any concrete date until after the first next month at the earliest.” The Duce resisted the urge to run his hand down along his face and hummed instead. He didn’t want to keep Cadence out of the public eye for any longer than he needed, and people would eventually catch on that she wasn’t at the Policlinico. If that were to happen… Mussolini refused to finish that thought and opted to shoot a steely glare at the professor. “I want this resolved at the earliest, Puccianti. Cadenza belongs to the people, but we need to know that we can let her out.” It was a veiled threat, hopefully clear enough for Puccianti to catch its implicit meaning. The slight flinch was encouraging. “Yes, Prime Minister,” he said in what Mussolini hoped was a cowed tone. “I um, I could see them myself. It might be better than sending letters.” Benito sat back into his chair feeling rather pleased. “Good. Once you have a date, send a letter to Bianchi. It’ll go straight to me.” Puccianti nodded sheepishly while Carrara pretended to go over his notes. Fermi, for his part, looked on at his professor with a disappointed smile. “That is all, gentlemen.” At the Duce’s dismissal, the three physicists left in a single file, passing by Cadenza. “Ciaaaaoo!” she let out, waving the toy whistle with her ‘magic’ and giving a stiff fascist salute. Only Fermi waved back, if hesitantly. That brought a legitimate smile to Mussolini’s face, and he almost broke into a chuckle as the doors closed. Balbo’s lopsided frown kept that moment of levity brief. “I won’t lie,” he said, “I was hoping we’d get some answers before the New Year.” “Yes, it is unfortunate,” Benito added, feeling his earlier frustration returning in full. He sighed as he rested his head on his fist. “All of these delays are almost more trouble than they’re worth. Vassallo from Foreign Affairs received the third request from the British ambassador to see Cadenza, and he can only keep stalling for so long.” Italo stopped his ministrations to Cadenza (much to her chagrin, who protested with a ‘Baa-bo’), and looked lost for a moment. “That Graham fellow?” he asked after a moment, butchering the name. “The same,” Mussolini replied with a nod. “And his latest request was strongly worded according to Vassallo.” There was a long sigh from him as his eyes drifted away, looking at nothing in particular. “I can only guess that Graham has been having issues from his French counterpart, but his insistence is getting on my nerves.” Once again, Balbo hesitated for a moment. “Is it because of what the French premiere had said?” Another nod: “The British and Americans are rather annoyed of Poincaré’s posturing in regards of the Ruhr issue. I suspect that that’s the only reason why there hasn’t been much from Walker or the French in the case of Cadenza.” Italo let his own eyes wander in thought, only to find an exigent filly pawing at his hand. “Baa-bo,” she whined, looking miffed that her caretaker was not paying any attention to his charge. Benito watched quietly as Balbo focused once more on Cadenza. It had been a few weeks since Adalberto had walked away from his role, and from what he had seen, the alicorno had recovered from the loss of her first caretaker. It hadn’t been easy, what with the long wails and sleepless nights where she called for Adalberto, begging in her rapidly improving Italian. When Cadenza had refused to eat or sleep, many of the inner circle had worried that she actually had come down with something. Fortunately the filly’s mood improved within a few days, and the initial assumption of an illness had proven useful for creating a cover story. Her demeanour had changed, however. Cadenza clung to Balbo in a way that she hadn’t with Adalberto, and she would grow anxious at the mere indication of him leaving her for any extended length of time. Not even promising her that Benito would stay with her while the aviator was away seemed to be enough. True, Mussolini had few moments to himself now that he was running the country, but he was still the first person to take Cadenza under his care, damnit. A familiar touch of jealousy crept in, especially with how she referred to Italo (Baa-bo sounded eerily like babbo: dad), but he dispelled the thought. He had to, as Mussolini just had too much to do, even during the upcoming holiday season. He found himself skimming once again a report from Farinacci about socialists causing trouble up in Cremona. Had this happened just a few scant months back, Mussolini knew that Farinacci would have dealt with the situation in his brutal, if effective, way. But Benito was the Prime Minister now, he couldn’t just have his squadristi browbeat the opposition as they had in the past and expect for the nation to look favourably upon the PNF. He had promised an end to the partisan violence in the streets, after all. He set aside the report to pull out a clean letter template and began to pen his thoughts to pass on to Bianchi in regards of the situation in Cremona. The Duce felt that a visit and a few speeches up North would be enough to stop any escalation from either the socialists or Farinacci. “Duce?” Italo asked in a soft voice. Benito looked up from his desk to see a thoughtful-looking Balbo running his hand gently through the mane of Cadenza, who was now resting. “It just occured to me,” he began, “what if the physicists don’t‒ what if they can’t figure out Cadenza?” Benito’s brow creased. “What do you mean?” Italo’s eyes fell upon the quiet pink form by his side. “What if her powers can’t be explained? What if our understanding of the world cannot produce an adequate explanation?” “There must be something,” Mussolini insisted without missing a beat. “If there isn’t something at this moment, then it shall come down along the line. We’re in a new era of knowledge and technology.” Balbo appeared unconvinced as he looked once more at Cadenza. Mussolini made to assure him, but Balbo briskly shook his head. “Never mind, Duce. I suppose I’m just tired.” Benito looked on, his eyebrow piqued, but said nothing. He went back to his letter; whatever it was that had crossed Italo’s mind was probably of little import. The Duce just hoped that Cadenza wouldn’t miss him terribly when he’d have to leave both her and Italo. Prime Minister Tours the North—Cadenza still Hospitalized With the passing week, there has been a general sense of relief that the Christmas season would not entail a return to street violence in Emilia-Romagna and Lombardy, as the Prime Minister traveled to Cremona to speak against partisan animosity. Mussolini has been spending much of the holidays riding a train from city to city, speaking in Cremona and Carpi, and called for the socialists and fascists to set asides past grievances. Mussolini speaking at the Piazza della Rivoluzione in Cremona. “Italians have been fighting for far too long,” he said to a large gathering of people. “It is shameful that we cannot look beyond partisan lines during the season of peace. So I call to you all, good people of Cremona[...] do not let past misdeeds cause future ones.” Political experts and officials alike have praised the Prime Minister’s push for reconciliation, although some, like Giovanni Gentile, Minister of Education, were less impressed. “Commendable as it is for [Mussolini] to compromise, the derivative Marxist philosophy that forms the majority of the Italian left just cannot mesh with the government’s own,” he commented when asked on the Prime Minister’s speeches. “The two differing ideologies are destined to clash,” Gentile added. “Long-term peaceful coexistence between fascism and communism is impossible.” Some doubt remains when it comes to Cadenza’s well-being, as government officials repeated the Prime Minister’s declaration that the alicorno is recovering, but her condition is still uncertain. While not as numerous as they have been in the past, people still visit the Piazza del Duomo to relight candles and offer their well wishes to a speedy recovery, even in spite of the Archbishop’s protests and the first winter snowfall. Whichever the case, this coming New Year's is believed to bring a new sense of peace within the country. Balbo was not having a pleasant New Year's. He wasn’t even at the party’s own celebrations in Rome. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t hear the music and laughter from his fellow fascists downstairs, never mind the fireworks going off all over the capital. Italo didn’t mind the noise while he was working. In fact, he didn’t really mind that he wasn’t out celebrating the passing of the year. What he did mind was the terrible tantrum that Cadenza was currently throwing. “Cadenza!” Balbo called to her, trying to pry the filly out from her hiding spot somewhere between two office cabinets. “Come out of there!” “No! Scared!” she cried, shrieking and scrambling further away from the man after a new barrage of firework bursts rattled the windows. It had been so peaceful until a few moments ago; Cadenza had her fill of panettone (of which she had grown to like when she tried it on Christmas’ Eve) and was about to fall asleep. If only she had done so before midnight… “Come on!” Balbo tried again, finding the filly’s nook far too deep for him to reach into. “It’s just fireworks.” Another burst, another rattle, and another shriek. What little of the alicorno disappeared from sight as she wormed her way deeper into her hiding spot. “Cadenza!” Italo called. There was another half-intelligible refusal from Cadenza in between the whimpers. The man was not going to achieve anything this way. Had the Duce been present, Balbo suspected that he would have been alright with leaving Cadenza to cower, as a way for her to ‘build character,’ or some other such nonsense. He groaned: the girl needed comforting, and he’d do it before the night was done. Italo got up and groped for a hold on the smaller cabinet, the one she was hiding behind. Once he had a firm grip, Balbo heaved and pulled the furniture away from the wall. “No!” Cadenza bolted with such speed that Italo barely saw her from the corner of his eye. Italo liked to think himself a patient man, but he found himself growingly frustrated. Biting back a curse, he chased after the alicorno, who had sought refuge underneath a desk. “That’s enough, Cadenza,” he said in a terse voice, getting down on all four to grab at her. The filly scrambled to a corner, wings aflutter, but Italo managed to grab hold of one of her hooves. A piercing shriek joined the cacophony of slipping hooves, sliding wooden furniture, and rattling glass. “For God’s sake!” he exclaimed as he felt a fierce tug from his arm. Just how much strength did this little filly have? Balbo kept a firm grasp, but only just. The struggling alicorno put up a hell of a fight, yet she couldn’t get Italo to let go. That was when Cadenza, in a panicked flurry, kicked at the hand clamped on her hoof. Italo cried out of surprise more so than pain, but he lost his grip. Cadenza jumped on the opportunity and made a run for it. The man recovered quickly enough for him to leap for her, grabbing the ends of her tail. She yelped (out of fear and not pain, Balbo hoped) and ran in place, hooves skidding all over the smooth floor. “Please calm down!” he pleaded, but Cadenza would have none of it, redoubling her efforts to get away to somewhere she deemed safe. Just as Italo thought he finally got the filly where he wanted her, he felt the tail tug upwards as her wings began to beat in near sync and… He stared. He must’ve been seeing things. So great was his surprise that he loosened his grip enough for the smooth tail hairs to slip through his fingers, and fluttered upwards along with the rest of Cadenza. The alicorno was flying. It wasn’t at all graceful or composed, but flew she did. Even Cadenza seemed surprised by this newfound ability, that she panicked at the last moment, losing her rhythm and just barely making it to the top of the small cabinet. That is until she misstepped and fell from her vantage point. With a speed that he did not think possible, Italo dove, sliding along the floor, and caught the foal. “Gesù!” he exclaimed, quick to get up to his knees and bring her close for a tight hug. It was both a means to keep Cadenza from running off again and to calm her down, but at this point, it was mostly for the latter. Perhaps, a small part of Balbo noted, the hug was a way for him to take a breather so as to fully understand what had just happened. Doing his best to coo the frightened filly, the fascist found one recurring thought repeating in his mind: Cadenza flew. It shouldn’t have been possible; all of the experts had said as much, citing how her wings were far too small for it to be possible. The impossible didn’t seem to apply when it came to Cadenza, Balbo supposed. But that was a concern for later. As of that moment, he had to deal with a frightened filly who was doing her best to tear herself away from him. Italo’s soft reassurances and caresses had some effect, as the alicorno stilled enough for him to bring her closer for a nuzzle. Balbo wasn’t really sure why he did that, but Cadenza’s cries were softening. Soon enough, the only audible sounds in the office asides from the now distant fireworks and partygoers elsewhere in the building, were Cadenza’s weakening whimpers and his heavy breathing. While a part of Italo wondered how the others would react to the new development, he mostly concerned himself with what to do the next time when Cadenza would throw a tantrum. “Baa-bo,” Cadenza murmured. The fragility evident in her voice made Italo tighten his hug. “Yes, Cadenza?” “Sorry,” she said. Despite it all, the man found himself smiling. “It’s alright,” he said in a quiet voice. “I should’ve warned you about the fireworks.” Cadenza didn’t say anything. All Italo felt was the nub of her horn painlessly digging into his chest. “Come on,” he cooed, gently patting the back of her head, “let’s get you to bed.” The night was still young for New Year's, but after all of the commotion, he was sure that the alicorno was worn out. As Balbo made to leave, he reminisced to Cadenza’s maiden flight. That reminded him: he’d have to finish flight school one of these days. Who knew? Maybe he’d fly with Cadenza one day if everything went well. A small smile touched his lips as he closed the door behind him.