The Deling Alternative
or
For All the Wrong Reasons
Chapter One – The Parade
The crowds had been gathering all day, everyone hoping to get a prime position from which to watch the festivities. Teams of discreet, highly efficient cleaners were making frequent patrols, but the streets were still littered with empty bottles and plastic wrappers. Every spare inch was packed with excited people, chatting and laughing. Some were crammed onto stoops or leaning out of upstairs windows, while others had taken blankets and picnic hampers up to the rooftops for a better view. The only empty space was the area cordoned off, a thick line down the centre of the road. Blue-clad security guards prowled back and forth between the ropes, glaring out at the crowds.
It was dark, now, and the guards were getting nervous. Their eyes raked the assembled people, searching for some lurking terrorist or lunatic. "There're too many people," muttered one of them. "This isn't safe."
"If the guy didn't go out of his way to piss people off, we wouldn't have to worry so much," a colleague answered sourly. "I've lost count of the number of rebel factions we're supposed to guard him against."
He couldn't have known that two of the rebels lurked in the crowd dozen paces away, waiting in silence for the main event to commence. Squall and Irvine were both absorbed with private worries, but they looked like nothing more than a pair of local boys out to enjoy the ceremony.
A short distance from the two SeeDs stood another knot of people with hidden motives. A man and a woman, both utterly unremarkable in appearance, flanked a third person. He was wrapped in a white greatcoat, with a tan fedora pulled down low over his brow. For some reason, the rest of the crowd was keeping its distance, allowing him breathing space. Perhaps it was something to do with the way the other two glared at anyone who came too close. For bland non-entities, they certainly had a knack for putting the fear of God into people.
A whisper spread through the crowd like wildfire. "It's starting…" A spell of feverish quiet descended on the street, as all eyes turned towards the Presidential Palace. Somewhere close by, puffs of magenta fire burst against the night sky, already crazy with hallucinogenic neon.
High above the waiting crowds, a group of figures stepped out onto the balcony. A resounding cheer rose from the street below. The man in the greatcoat wasn't cheering. He tilted back his hat and narrowed his dark eyes, staring upwards.
On the balcony, President Deling strode forwards, accompanied by Galbadia's newly appointed ambassador. The sorceress looked more beast than woman, adorned with golden talons and gauzy purple plumage. Although she was not alone, every eye in the crowd was drawn to her. She was an inhuman focus, drawing in energies. And yet she was just a woman. Wasn't she?
The man in the greatcoat felt an inexplicable surge of fear along his spine. He forced his body to remain perfectly still and not betray his unease. There was something deeply wrong. Something to do with the woman. Everything to do with the woman.
Around him, the applause was dying down, as the crowd waited to hear what their new ambassador would say. They were watching her with a curious hunger, as though she was the missing piece in the jigsaw puzzle of their souls. The man could almost see the great tide of power, flowing from the hearts of these people and into the vortex that was the sorceress. She seemed to be lit from within – an infernal glow, like the very fires of Hell.
The man felt the sudden surge of power, as the flowing streams became a tidal wave, crashing out across the packed city. He was frozen with terror, his mind screaming calamity.
And on the balcony, the sorceress murdered President Deling. His body flew in a long lazy arc, then skidded across the tiles like an ice-hockey puck. The corpse crumpled slightly as it smacked into the railings.
The man in the greatcoat doubled over, as though an invisible assailant had punched him in the gut. He was shaking like a washing machine, convulsing, unable to stop. He dry-retched again and again, his entire frame heaving. "Help," he said, but the cheers of the crowd swallowed his words. "Help me…"
Strong hands gripped his shoulders. The man's companions manhandled him through the crush, carrying him between them as though he was drunk, unable to walk under his own steam. They headed away from the palace, bulldozing a path with ruthless efficiency and speed. In their grasp, the man shook and heaved. His skin was deathly cold.
At last, they fought their way out of the press and into a dark street. The two bodyguards helped the man into the lobby of a shabby hotel, then hustled him straight into an elevator, ignoring an outraged cry from the receptionist.
When the elevator stopped, they carried the man to the nearest door and barged in. It was empty. They set him down on the bed, and watched as the tremors slowed and he gradually calmed down. His fedora had fallen off back in the crowds, exposing an ashen face and thin grey hair.
"Better now?" asked the male bodyguard, his accent strangled and guttural.
The man stared up at him, his eyes wide and vacant. "Yes," he said in a soft, cold voice. "It was just a magical backlash, I think. Combined with the shock of seeing…"
He closed his eyes, and then opened them again slowly. They glittered like blue ice.
"The shock of seeing her kill me," said President Vinzer Deling.