LotS/The Story/Tales of The Void 2/Her Eyes Hold the Galaxy
"The bombers will be caught and executed," the newscaster said. "All hail the Tyraness!"
She pumped her fist in the air. Someone called out from behind the camera.
"Why didn't you rhyme? Oh, you stupid cow!
The teleprompter was showing you how!"
A gunshot boomed, and the broadcaster's head exploded. Bits of cooked brain garnished the desk. Another woman darted into the shot, dressed in an identical purple outfit to the trunkless corpse. She pushed the body out of the chair and sat down in its place. Her broad, vacuous grin shone like white toxic waste.
"And now in the world of fine artistic endeavor,
A song by our Tyraness, who's ever so clever!"
Zhao Chen turned the TV off. He stretched himself out on the downy quilt, letting his muscles relax in the softness. His new quarters were far more pleasing than the cell. He gave mental thanks to Roger McGough for the bounty the dead poet's verses had brought him. Then his mind moved onto other matters, immediate and intriguing. The bombing narrated by the ill-fated newscaster was the third in as many days. All had struck at government facilities. Either the Tyraness' subjects were especially devoted to bubblegum ice-cream, or else years of brutal and absurd oppression were coming to a head...
"Poet! The Tyraness wants you."
He sat up. This time only a single guardswoman had come to fetch him. She filled the doorway, aiming a blaster at his chest, and tossed him a pair of cuffs. He fumbled the catch. They fell from his fingers and bounced on the bed. She snorted.
"Hurry up and put them on! You'd better not keep her waiting when she's... she's... Oh, you'll see."
With that admonition, she led the manacled poet through the palace. This time they took a different route -- though it was difficult to tell the passages and chambers apart, given that they dripped with the same cloying opulence. Once more depictions of the Tyraness abounded. These ranged from coquettish portraits to a huge wall painting in which she was breaking a spaceship in half with her bare hands. Tiny crewmen tumbled into the void from the sundered metal.
That latter image remained fastened in Chen's mind. Hence he was taken aback when he was brought into a small, circular chamber where that same lady sat sobbing on a floor cushion, flanked by guards who watched her in the manner of nervous, uncertain schoolgirls. She looked up at him. Tears streaked her pale cheeks and dripped from the wine-dark richness of her hair.
"He... He left me," she said. "Exactly five years ago!"
Chen gazed around the room. A dashing man with strong but angelic features stared back at him from a dozen paintings and sculptures. In some he wore military dress, adorned with more medals than any one soldier could conceivably earn. In others he was bare-chested atop a horse or engaged in other manly pursuits. The poet took his eyes off this tasteless décor and addressed her.
"O mighty Tyraness, how could a man be so deranged?
If he chose to leave you, a padded cell must be arranged!"
She blinked, mopped at her tears with a jewel-laden hand, and glared.
"He didn't choose! I had him chopped to bits! I ate his heart and all of his boy parts because I caught him looking at another woman."
"Oh... *ahem* Your ruling was just, the punishment fair,
Such treachery should-"
"Recite a poem for me. One about love, or beauty, or... or..." Her right hand described circles, as though groping for something. "...or dancing hippos!"
Chen raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure about reveling hippopotami, so he decided to try something else instead.
Our whole empire basked in her beauty fair,
The beloved daughter of Qin's proud line,
Her radiant smile once banished all care,
Fashioned by merciful heaven's design;
Myriads adored her, longed for her lips,
As many more yearned to equal her grace,
Her keen wit and wisdom none could eclipse,
Carried our glory across human space;
Even now as dire misfortune besets,
And grim warfare rains harsh suffering down,
No true loyal Sian soul ever forgets,
The one who still wears our pride and our crown;
We of the empire shall always be free,
Illaria's eyes hold our galaxy.
"She sounds wonderful," the Tyraness said. Her stare grew sharp and cold. "Is she lovelier than me?"
"Our Princess is a precious jewel,
But Zhao Chen is nobody's fool."
She smiled and nodded.
"You have a clever tongue! Maybe I won't cut it out after all!"