LotS/The Story/Tales of The Void 2/Intro

The marketplace was crowded, despite noonday weather so blazing even the proverbial mad dogs and Englishmen would have stayed indoors rather than endure that sun-scoured plaza. This press of bodies added fragrant human heat to the astrophysical oven. Dozens of different perfumes and deodorants clashed in their midst, strong scented legions waging war for mastery of nose and nostril.

Men and women chatted to pass the time. Their voices were lank and lethargic, trembling with an undercurrent of uncertainty that became more pronounced whenever any of them looked towards the raised platform at the far end, beyond the stalls. A few made small purchases from the merchants -- who accepted credits and handed over goods with little enthusiasm. The only ones who seemed to be enjoying their trade, and a brisk one at that, were those fortunate enough to be selling cold drinks and frozen treats. And even there things weren't to everyone's satisfaction.

"I want chocolate!" The wailing girl stamped her foot and glared at her mother and the ice-cream man. "Chocolate!"

The two adults looked at one another. Her mother winced. He shrugged his shoulders and mopped his perspiring brow with a handful of crushed ice.

"There's no chocolate, sweetie," her mother said. "Why don't you try toffee?"

"Toffee is good flavor," the ice-cream man said. "Sweet and tasty."

"It isn't chocolate!" the girl said. "I want-"

The woman clapped her hand over her daughter's mouth. A broad, quivering grin appeared on her own face. Its mirror image adorned the ice-cream man's.

"Is there a problem, citizen?" a gruff female voice asked.

"No! No!" the mother said. She and the ice-cream man both smiled up at the seven foot tall, armored woman who loomed over them. "My daughter was just... just..."

The guardswoman snorted and walked off. People parted before her, crushing themselves against one another in their haste. The ice-cream man and the girl's mother both exhaled. Their grins deflated. He tottered, and put his arm against his sign for support. Its holographic projection flickered for a moment. The words "This week's forbidden flavors: chocolate, vanilla, bubblegum" shimmered before sharpening once again.

More of the tall, uniformed warriors strode through the crowd, alone or in pairs. Smiles bloomed on faces wherever they went. The chatter became louder and merrier.

"Wonderful day, isn't it?"

"Oh, what a glorious world we live on!"

"We're blessed!"

"Ah, the guards get more beautiful and magnificent every day!"

"All hail the-"

A few citizens were too busy exclaiming praise for their world, system of government, and police force to move out of the way of the latter. Thus they found themselves barged aside into the press of humanity. After the guardswomen went by, the laudations gave way to subdued conversations and the occasional groan. But soon the stomping of dozens of booted feet ushered in silence.

More armed and armored women were gathering around the platform. A row of them stood to attention in front, their helmeted heads almost halfway up its height. Another, dressed in a fancier uniform, took up her station atop it -- beside a man in baggy gold and purple robes. The populace stared at the herald. Their lives might depend on what he had to say.

"All pay heed to the weekly edicts!" he said. His fruity voice chirruped from speakers mounted around the marketplace. "The first edict: No man shall be permitted to wear a hat!"

All through the crowd, men snatched at their craniums and divested themselves of the offending garments. Some threw them on the ground and jumped up and down on them for good measure.

"The second edict: Our glorious Tyraness has become enamored with poetry, and wishes to share its beauty with her grateful subjects. Therefore everyone shall be required to speak in rhyming verse this week."

Blank stares and the scratching of bare heads greeted this announcement.

"The third edict: In her infinite benevolence, the Tyraness grants you permission to consume chocolate flavored ice-cream! And-"

"Wait a minute, that's not rhyme!" the guard captain beside him said. Her voice boomed across the market. Then she paused, coughed, and added: "Um... That means you've committed a crime!"

"What? But I was just reading the..."

She raised her gun. The herald ran towards the edge of the platform, robes flapping around him like the plumage of a flabby bird. The blaster fired. His torso flew off the stage, arms flailing. His legs fell where they were. The captain admired her handiwork, before looking down at the gaggle of similarly robed men who trembled and perspired below.

"Another herald, come to the stage,
Or else you'll face my weapon's grim rage!"

In a room within the palace, a luxurious little chamber in spite of its purpose, men and women with bound hands watched the herald's demise on a holographic screen. Some gasped. One opened her mouth as though to speak. But she caught a guardswoman's eye, and clamped her jaws shut. The guard acknowledged her wisdom with a nod.

A melodious chime rang out, flooding the room. The screen went blank. One of the guards counted something on her fingers, muttered inaudible words under her breath, smiled, and cried out.

"The hour of your judgment is now at hand,
Before the Tyraness you soon will stand!"

A couple of the prisoners managed demure rounds of applause despite the manacles binding their wrists. One continued to clap as the guards led them outside, through the corridors, and to a massive golden door. There another of the tall warrior women spoke.

"Behold your ruler, the Tyraness fair!
Come and see her imperiousness... there?"

She blushed, then glared when some of the prisoners snickered. The golden doors opened behind her. They parted inwards with a pleasant jingle, revealing a lavish chamber decorated with perhaps more gold and jewels than most star systems could boast. But none of them had any eyes for the fine decorations. Their gazes went to the little set of marble steps and the throne mounted above them. A woman in a purple gown lounged on that lofty seat, one leg crossed over the other. Precious metals glittered across her skin and garments. They seemed to echo the smirk on her aristocratic face.

She gave a languid wave of her hand. The guards brought the prisoners inside the room, and formed them into a neat line with sundry smacks and shoves.

"Ah, the prisoners!" The Tyraness' smirk became a broad, almost feline grin. "My midday entertainment!"

"Hey!" said one of the manacled men. His red face quivered with outrage. "That wasn't in rhyme!"

"I am above the law. But you aren't... And you didn't rhyme either!"

"That's not fair! I-"

"Take him to the torture chamber! The one with all those spiky coffin things!"

A guard seized his collar and dragged him back through the aureate doorway. The Tyraness made another gesture, and the portal closed behind them.

"We're going to play a little game," the Tyraness said. "Do you know what I do with prisoners who're brought before me?"

A female prisoner with a twitching nose and round spectacles tried to raise her hand, as though she was in a school classroom. This resulted in both of her bound arms shooting above her head in the manner of a thugby referee acknowledging a touchdown.

"Go on then," the Tyraness said. She wagged her finger. "But remember the edict!"

"You make them each tell a tale,
And you kill them if they fail!"

The Tyraness applauded.

"Very good!"

"Does that mean I can go?"

The applause died out, and was replaced by a glare.

"Oh... I... I'd like to know!" the woman added.

"No! No one leaves this room alive unless they tell me a good story. And today all the stories have to be in rhyming verse, or I'll chop off your heads!"

Some of the prisoners groaned. Others blanched. But a slim man in a crisp green jumpsuit stepped forward with a serene expression on his Chinese features.

"Why waste your valuable time,
With these poor meager folk,
Who can't delight you with rhyme?
It would be a bad joke!"

"Oh? And what do you think I should do instead? Feed them to the ragebeasts? I haven't done that in a while..."

"Ears so wondrous as yours deserve something fine,
Let me speak for them all, with words rich as wine!
I'll tell many stories, till your boredom's at an end,
Then you can set them all free, my most merciful friend!"

"Hmm... That 'friend' thing was awfully familiar. I'm not your friend, I'm your Tyraness!"

The guards trained their weapons on him. He didn't so much as bat an eye.

"But it could be amusing. Very well! Tell me a story. If it's good, I'll let them go. If it's bad, I'll make them eat your intestines while you're still alive!"

The man bowed.