- 2059 -

June 1

Republic Executive Hotel, Galbadia city
20:43 Monterosa Daylight Time

Nothing short of a full blackout had been able to stifle Galbadia's legendary nightlife; and now, with Dollet gone and the city free, the after-hours population had come back with a vengeance. The downtown had been one of the first areas of the city to be rebuilt, and the city was once again alive with the bustle of activity. Not only that, but the soldiers who had recently fought for Galbadia's freedom were not yet exhausted of the revels of victory, and provided a steady source of income for tavern owners working to get back on their feet.

In the midst of the city's downtown, on a street clogged with traffic and littered with discarded trash and bottles of alcohol, stood the Executive Hotel, where not too long ago Dollet's dignitaries had rested during their visits from the capital. Now, the building was open to the public as a sort of symbolic move, yet the hotel's new management was still concerned with maintaining an appearance of class, as the high prices and extravagant atmosphere within indicated.

Three men, clad in the blue uniforms of the Galbadian Militia, made their way toward the hotel on this particular night. Passing through the crowds of people mingling on the sidewalks, they would have stood out even (or especially) without the blue-suits and armor. The leader seemed normal enough, though slightly hunched and with unruly dark hair falling past his shoulders. The first of his companions, however, was a tall, thin, dark-skinned man who wore his hair in thin braids that reached nearly to his waist. The third man, a huge fellow with a blue bandanna, stood a full foot above most of the crowd. Together, they made quite an interesting sight.

"Aaah!" cried out the first man, bending over and awkwardly lifting up his boot in an attempt to examine the sole. He seemed to have picked up a wrapper that once had held some Esthar delicacy. "What is all this trash doing around here, anyway?"

"The garbage trucks aren't running," said the second man, flatly.

"Yeah, I heard they're still busy rebuilding the station," agreed the third.

"Well, what's up with that?" the first man protested. "I mean, why would someone bomb a sanitation plant anyway? It's just mean!"

"Peripheral, one might call it," said the second man.

"Hey, Laguna," asked the third. "What are we doing in this part of town, anyway? I know a great little bar out by the South Gate, and it's a lot cleaner than the downtown. Less crowded, too."

"Yeah, but why settle for that place when we can come here?" the first man replied. "I mean, the service is great, the booze is terrific, and, uh..." He looked to the second man. "Kiros, you're with me, right?"

"I didn't see what's so great about it," Kiros replied.

"You're kidding!" Laguna looked almost pleadingly between the two. "Seriously, Ward, don't you think the booze is better here?"

"Not really," Ward said.

Kiros shook his head. "Worse, I'd say."

"And it's more expensive, too."

"And the service is terrible."

"WHATEVER!" Laguna cut them off. "Anyway, we're here, aren't we? So we might as well go in, right? Come on!"

Kiros and Ward exchanged a look before following Laguna into the hotel. By the time they were in the door, Laguna was already halfway down a set of ornate stairs that led from the hotel's reception room to a quiet restaurant and bar. This was meant primarily for the hotel guests, but since very few people were interested in visiting Galbadia at the moment, it had been opened to the general public, which mostly meant soldiers as they were among the few Galbadians who were getting a salary. Directly to the left of the stairs coming down was a raised stage, on which sat a microphone, and a piano to one side. The place was relatively empty, as there were bars with cheaper drinks and louder music as close as the building next door.

Nonetheless, Laguna led his companions down the stairs with barely contained enthusiasm. Glancing furtively at the unoccupied piano, he nearly ran across to the waiter, who greeted them with a curt, professional nod.

"Mr. Loire?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me!" Laguna declared, thumping his chest. "Kiros and Ward here are with me."

"Very good, sir." The waiter motioned to the table nearest the stage. "Your table is ready."

"You made a reservation?" Ward asked, glancing at Laguna.

"Come on, guys!" Laguna broke off in a run, outstepping the waiter in a dash to the table. "Waiter, get us three of the usual!"

"The...usual," the waiter repeated tonelessly.

"Beer," Kiros explained.

The waiter raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Three...beers." He made a note on his writing pad. "Would you like a complementary...pretzel with that, sir?"

Oblivious to the waiter's disdain, Laguna shook his head. "No, just the drinks. And keep them coming!"

"I'll have a keg prepared specifically for you, sir," the waiter said, turning to leave.

Kiros and Ward took their seats. "So it looks like we got here in time," Ward said. "Right, Laguna?"

Laguna blinked, shaking his head. "W-what do you mean? I just wanted to have a friendly drink with you guys! You know, to celebrate Galbadia's freedom and all!"

"She's playing tonight, isn't she?" Kiros asked.

"What? Who?"

"Come on, Laguna," Ward said. "You always want to come here on Friday nights. It's not hard to figure out you aren't coming for the drinks."

Laguna shook his head vigorously. "Hey, I don't know what you guys are talking about!"

Ward sighed, looking at Kiros. "He's hopeless, isn't he?"

Kiros nodded. "Clueless, one might say."

"Definitely something-less, anyway."

"Hey, guys, I just—" Laguna cut himself off as he noticed the rising glow of spotlights on the stage. Two women entered from opposite sides of the raised platform: one of about average height, with flowing dark hair and a red dress, the other slightly taller and blond, with a sparkling black gown. They approached the center and shook each other's hands, before the first woman returned to the piano and took her seat. The second woman stepped to the microphone.

Laguna sat transfixed by the woman at the piano. Without looking up, she shuffled through the music on the piano, and experimentally played a sequence of notes rolling up and down the scale. Her movements, however, seemed almost hypnotic, and as the music began, Laguna felt like his own body had ceased to exist.

And it showed. The blond woman began to sing, but Laguna didn't even register the words. His two companions didn't pay much attention either, focusing most of their attention on Laguna himself.

"Hey, Kiros, you think he's all right?"

"Hard to say, with him."

"He looks like he's gone brain-dead."

The piece wasn't one Laguna recognized, but he wasn't very well-versed in music. He did think, however, that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. And that showed, too.

"Your beers, sir."

"He's...busy. Just leave them here."

She was some twenty feet away, but still Laguna thought he could sense something about her expression? What was it? Sadness? Regret? Longing?

Was she looking at him?

Quickly, he turned his attention to his beer.

"It's a little sad."

"Consider our friend's history with women. This is really his best relationship yet."

Furtively, Laguna glanced back towards the piano. The woman was apparently following her place in her music, but now, he imagined there was almost a smile tugging at her lips.

Did she see me? he wondered. What'll she think of me now? Probably that I'm just some dork with nothing better to do than come into bars and gawk at the players. I bet I just blew any shot I ever had with her. He shook his head. Yeah, right! Like she would ever have been interested in a loser like me anyway. In my dreams!

"You know, she is pretty talented."

"Yeah. Singer's not half bad, either. I guess he just doesn't go for blondes, though."

Man, why do I do this to myself? I know she'll never notice me, but I keep coming in here—totally draining my cash account—just so I can see her! Laguna took a long drink of his beer, barely noticing that it was quite bitter. This has gotta be something unhealthy.

The song ended, and dutiful applause drowned out the end of the music. Laguna joined in, perhaps banging his hands together a little too hard. The two women bowed gracefully, before exiting in the directions from which they had come. When the applause died down, an announcer stepped up to the microphone.

"That was Alyssa Feran, with Julia Heartilly on the piano. Our next performance will be in ten minutes, with Kieran DaLannen and his guitar."

Laguna jumped up, downing the rest of his beer. "Well, guys, it's getting kinda late. Let's hit the town!"

Ward groaned.

—

Gallatin Army Hall, East Academy
19:30 Lanker Standard Time

"I doubt I'm the only one surprised that I'm occupying this stage right now," Deling was saying, as he stood facing a room full of soldiers, behind a podium with the newly designed Seal of the President attached to it. "I said throughout our struggle that I wasn't interested in politics, and that a soldier's role was to fight for our nation, not to rule it. Well, let's hope I can do both at the same time."

There were a few scattered chuckles, but from where he was sitting, Caraway wasn't sure what the joke was. Deling didn't give very good speeches, he had discovered; not that it mattered, since he was so widely revered as the man who had led Galbadia's struggle for independence that he could be a zombied Grat and still net an eighty-six percent approval rating.

"Eighty-six percent!" said the man sitting next to him. "That's unprecedented! Do you know how many other elected officials have netted ratings anywhere near this high?"

"None," Caraway said, while still at least making a show of watching the speech.

"Right! It's never happened! You know what Pasmill's rating was for his last week in office? Seventeen percent. That's one person in six who approved of him as President. Deling's got more than five times that!"

"I know how much seventeen percent is," said Caraway. "And I'm trying to listen to the President."

But the other man was not interested in letting him do so. "What I'm saying is, Deling's been in office for three months, and his ratings are phenomenal. The Assembly is rolling over for him because they know the public's on his side, and we've carried out almost as many reforms in three months as the Monterosa Convention did when they wrote the constitution!" The man paused to applaud something Deling had said but Caraway hadn't heard. "The bottom line? Deling's for real."

"I didn't need to be convinced of that," said Caraway. "I served under him in the Militia; I know what the man can do."

"Well, here's the thing, then," said the man. If he had introduced himself, Caraway didn't remember his name. "In a few minutes, the President is going to announce that the new Timber Congress has asked for the full withdrawal of Galbadian troops from their territory."

Caraway blinked. "The new Timber Congress was sworn in eight hours ago."

"Seven and a half, actually. President Quisman made the request on behalf of the new Speaker; it was apparently the Speaker's first action as head of the government."

"And he wants us out of Timber entirely?" asked Caraway. "We'd have to move half the army, including the units stationed here."

"Hold on," said the man, pointing to Deling. Caraway was a little annoyed at being hushed after trying to listen himself for several minutes. The President had paused for a moment in his speech.

"Today also marks the first day of Timber's Sixty-Second Congress," he said. "Sixty-two free and fair elections in a row is a record our hosts may be deservedly proud of, and I am grateful that in my time as a soldier, one of my greatest successes was to help our friends maintain this record in the face of the fierce campaigns of imperial Dollet and tyrannical Esthar. I extend my sincere congratulations to the new Speaker, Mr. Yaulny, and I look forward to a long period of cooperation and friendship with his government.

"However, as the days of imminent threat recede into the past, our concerns become more focused on the efforts to restore the normalcy lost in the Sorceress War. That job is incomplete in Galbadia, and in Timber as well. In that light, Speaker Yaulny has requested, and I willingly agree, that all our Galbadian troops should come home, and leave the defense of this land to its own most capable forces."

The troops were not well-trained enough to prevent a murmur from running through the crowd at this. Deling, in a move choreographed a little too well to be entirely spontaneous, held up his hands and shook his head. "This is a step further than the scaling-back of our presence that has been planned since the end of the war," he said. "But in the end, Timber is the master of its own territory, and we will abide by the will of its rightful government. We are Timber's friend, and as friends we will aid this land as much or as little as we are needed."

Caraway frowned. He had never been active in politics, but he followed the process enough to sense something odd about the way Deling had phrased his statement. He wasn't quite sure what it was that concerned him, yet concerned he suddenly was.

"The President would like to see you at a meeting of the Military Command in Galbadia City," said the man, handing Caraway a card. "He believes that your voice would be valuable there."

"He asked for me personally?" asked Caraway. Despite Deling's words to him the previous December, he had not seen or heard from the President since then. "...What's the purpose of this meeting?"

The man smiled. "The future of our military. I'll see you there, Major."