text: [Themes: family friendly, family friendly, dystopia, science fiction]
  
  Music swells and dips, the crescendo of trumpets followed by the poignant swan-song of a piccolo. You relax against the cool tile of the bath, listening to the celebration outside. Petals drift by you, floating on the hot water, scattered there by a 3rd-tier serving maid. Her blush matches their color.
  
  It's a perfect moment. And certainly the most luxurious you've experienced - until this morning, you had never had a hot bath, let alone one in a room the size of your house. Nor had you heard the first-tier orchestra of Sinfonia, though you had dreamed of joining it as a child - not just for the prestige and pomp of playing cello for the greats, or the wealth and fine house and guarantee of a family, but for the sheer wonder of being surrounded by music every day. (Unfortunately, though you had managed to make the music course as a child, an inopportune cold had led to your fumbling the 10-exam and being eliminated as a musician candidate.)
  
  This morning, you were merely an eighth-tier potter. Not prestigious, definitely not musically acclaimed, but content. Your house was small but sturdy, and your work at the wheel and kiln was moderately interesting. There was no need to regret the past\; you were thankful that you were not a 9th-tier factory worker or a 10th-tier sewer monitor. And as your thirtieth birthday approached, you'd finally earned enough social credit to be put on the match-list for a spouse.
  
  But then, when you were shirtless, sunburned, and sweaty from firing the latest batch of pots, they'd come for you. 2nd-tier officials from the upper city, who would never lower themselves by stepping into circle 8. They'd broken the endless routine, and ordered you to come with them to the city - and to take a bath to wash the filth off.
  
  Now, the washing pool bubbles soothingly, pumping in clear water from afar mixed with strange fragrances of spice and cool fruit.
  
  [Author's Note: You are Altam, merely an 8th-tier potter. Your house is small but sturdy, and your work at the wheel and kiln moderately interesting. There's no need to regret this - at least you are not a 9th-tier factory worker or a 10th-tier sewage monitor. But the simple life of a plebeian worker is far from the high tech comfort and glamour of the central tiers. One fateful day, the national lottery selects you as an Official of the House of Regulation. You are transported to the capitol city and the grand palace of Aria to begin your new life as a politician. But even if you adjust to power, can you keep it?]
  
  > Interval
  "The potter who would be king," a voice interrupts from behind you. A middle-aged man in a silvery, reflective fabric peers down at you. You recognize him from past election posters - ones you filched to use as extra toilet paper.
  
  "First official Tangor of the House of Harmony!" you greet hastily. "Pardon my appearance. They told me to bathe."
  
  "As you should, First Official Altam of the House of Regulation," he replies drily. "The people want to be inspired by their new leaders, not amused or disgusted."
  
  "Then it's true. I was chosen in the lottery."
  
  "The first 8th tier who has ever won, so it will be a learning experience for us all." Tangor flares a nostril, "The proposal to open the lottery to those outside of circle 5 was only recently passed." He gestures, and several servants come forward holding out fine garments, each with more fabric in the sleeves than you have in your issued work uniform. "Please dress, and I will give you the tour."
  
  > Sinfonia
  Fifteen minutes later, you are dutifully following him around the grand palace while trying not to trip over the hem of the court robes. The distant sound of whistling - perhaps sky drones making their rounds? - is hard to ignore. More strange is the scent that wafts through the slick corridors - metal and oil masked with pungent florals.
  
  "This is the Hall of Unity," Tangor begins the tour. "As you know, the nine officials of Unity are selected from among the brightest of the land and trained in statecraft from a young age. You are now their equal - but do not offend them. If you wish their support in a proposal, all nine must agree. Otherwise, divided they stand against you."
  
  You nod, and he moves on to the imposing Hall of Harmony. "I reside and work here, with the other forty-four officials elected by the people to a six-year term. But now we come to your new home - the Hall of Regulation. Tempo. Key. Dissonance." He points to three doors that lead off a main triangular throne room. "You must choose one of these offices, replacing its current occupant."
  
  " I remember little about their function," you confess.
  
  "It isn't essential knowledge for a craftsman," he sniffs, "but it is my duty to explain:
  
  "Tempo can be viewed as the office that proposes the course and pace of the country. Where are resources best spent? How should defense, production, and the happiness of the people be balanced? This role requires forward-thinking and attention to detail, and will require a lot of effort. Officer Silvanis has held the position for ten years, as no other lottery winner has wanted to take it on.
  
  "Key is a diplomatic position in theory, but in practice you will have little to do beyond living a life of luxury, trading gifts with foreign dignitaries, and acting as the chief figurehead of the nation during celebratory events. This is generally the position lottery winners choose, as it generally leads to wealth and fame, so expet to be replaced soon if you choose it.
  
  "Dissonance is in charge of hearing any complaints and suggestions from the people, as well as observing and offering proposals for improvement. Sinfonia is a grand nation, even lauded among the five planets, but recognize that there is always room for improvement. We seek nothing less than perfection."