LotS/The Story/Tales of The Void 2
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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.
|-|
The Lady of Steel Skin= Among cold stars that stud the night,
Endless depths beyond mortal sight,
Where fallen empires face their plight,
Lonely vessels wend dreaming flight,
By many splendored Karakin.
And for that world a ship makes sail,
Parting endless void's dark veil;
Within its scarred hull so pale,
The lady of steel skin.
Four gleaming moons cast silver glow,
Upon the forests far below,
Across the planet's drifting snow,
And crystal rivers' tranquil flow;
The beauty of Karakin.
Shining cities like beacons blaze,
And laughter to the heavens raise,
'Twas the place she once lived her days,
The lady of steel skin.
So long since she trode its land,
In the golden sunlight stand,
Waters rippled from her hand,
And the cool breeze her warm brow fanned,
On beautiful Karakin.
Beloved faces fill her mind,
Their voices with hers once entwined,
Now in cold memory confined,
The lady of steel skin.
Whatever does she hope to seek,
The things of which those voices speak?
To cry with neither eye nor cheek,
And end existence hard and bleak,
On beautiful Karakin?
To this planet does she yet have claim,
Or did it perish in cruel flame?
Does anyone left know her name,
Lady of steel skin?
She lands by a ruined place,
That all the years cannot erase,
Haunts her through the depths of space,
And penetrates the steel embrace;
Memories of Karakin.
A man held her before the steel,
While children giggled at her heel,
And with a kiss her lips he'd seal,
Before she bore steel skin.
With metal tread she walks the ground,
Amidst the ruins ghosts gather round,
Fleshless senses to confound,
Wailing their soft mournful sound,
Lost specters of Karakin.
Burnished gold of autumn laid,
In warm shadows the children played,
When pirates came with gun and blade,
Before she bore steel skin.
Her husband heard the spacecraft's roar,
The grim black bird that dripped in gore,
Brought the children in, sealed the door,
A brave soul though no man of war,
A hero stood on Karakin.
Towards their house the pirates drew,
Harlequins checkered white and blue,
A vicious debt they had made due,
Before she had steel skin.
"Judge Keplex!" on every foul tongue,
Screeched from each rotten chem-scarred lung;
Natalia's word their leader hung,
From the grim gallows high she swung,
By the just laws of Karakin.
The judge herself was far away,
But not a word her kin would say,
They perished rather than betray,
Before she had steel skin.
The phone rang in the judge's room,
At once she felt the hand of doom;
There on a screen she saw the plume,
Snake from her family's fiery tomb,
Ending life on Karakin.
Her husband and her children dead,
Only one thought filled her head,
And down a cold dark path it led,
To her fate and steel skin.
In the law she'd once laid her trust,
Within its maw the wicked thrust,
But then her faith was burned to dust,
A hollow soul filled with disgust,
By the justice of Karakin.
The pirates they would not pursue,
Across the gleaming cosmos flew;
Her own vengeance she must see through,
And soon would come steel skin.
The black judge's gown she cast aside,
With fires raging deep inside,
For her family she screamed and cried,
And let herself into fury slide,
That would take her from Karakin.
Her aching heart she called a curse,
Mere human weakness to disperse,
The stars in a new guise she'd traverse,
A lady of steel skin.
In wrathful mind forever scarred,
Her flesh was weak but spirit hard,
And so she resolved to discard,
Her mortal shell and broken shard,
Humanity on Karakin.
From out her skull they tore her brain,
Ripped from the nerves that brought her pain,
Surrendered human beauty vain,
Lady of steel skin.
Callous metal her living grave,
Granted the strength that she did crave;
Only one single thought she gave:
Avenge children and husband brave,
Who perished on Karakin.
That robot body held shattered soul,
And exacted its grievous toll,
All but fury the metal stole,
The lady wore steel skin.
Beneath the tears that heaven wept,
Her heart forever would be kept,
In sodden earth where her family slept,
While aboard the pale ship she stepped,
And flew far from Karakin.
Like a dark and trackless sea,
The universe rolls steadily;
She voyaged through the galaxy,
The lady of steel skin.
Out in the void she caught a word,
A tale over sensors heard,
Speaking of the gory bird,
So onward the lady spurred,
A vast gulf from Karakin.
On a distant world pirates drank,
Where soft chems flow and hard creds clank;
Through atmosphere the pale ship sank;
She seethed inside steel skin.
Weapons bristled on her shell,
And in her brain she dreamed of hell;
She screamed aloud her tale to tell,
So they'd know it as they fell,
For what they did on Karakin.
Some tried to fight with bomb and gun,
But in the end they were all undone,
When her unerring missiles spun,
Launched from atop steel skin.
Memories passed, slow and drifting,
Mournful loss and vengeance shifting,
To strange places her mind lifting,
Among time's grainy sands sifting,
As she walked on Karakin.
There were no tears for her to cry,
She had no lungs to heave and sigh,
Deprived of flesh emotions die,
Inside her cold steel skin.
Suddenly she heard a moan,
From the dead house's ruined stone,
A phantom noise on chill winds blown,
As though of those who long had flown,
Beyond life on Karakin.
Behind a wall crouched a child,
Trembling limbs and blue eyes wild,
A girl upon whom troubles piled;
She gazed up at steel skin.
Electric eyes at her stared,
The lady bid her, "Don't be scared..."
Asked the girl what she had fared,
And her sad tale the child shared,
She'd suffered on Karakin.
"I will protect you," Natalia vowed,
And the girl dared to hope aloud;
Perhaps love can still pierce the shroud,
Of the lady's steel skin.
The other prisoners held their breath and looked from the poet to the woman on the throne. She rubbed the side of her index finger against her chin.
"How did you know I like Tennyson?" she asked.
"No woman of intelligence would ever be bored,
On hearing to the verses of the great Alfred, Lord."
"I suppose so..." The Tyraness smiled. "Guards! Dispose of the other prisoners."
The guards exchanged glances and shrugs of their shoulders, until one of them spoke.
"Forgive me, I must ask a question. It's about your latest..."
She froze, bit her lip, and turned to the others.
"Suggestion," two of them whispered.
"Suggestion!"
"I don't make suggestions!" The Tyraness' eyes narrowed. "I give orders and people obey if they want to keep their insides on the inside! But what's your question?"
The guard opened and closed her mouth several times. Her mistress sighed.
"I give you permission to speak without rhyming verse! From this moment on, that law doesn't apply to my warriors."
"Thank you, Tyraness!" they chorused. Some favored the prisoners with smug looks, which those men and women returned with glares.
"So, when you said dispose of the prisoners," the guardswoman said, "did you mean set them free or slaughter them?"
"Slaughter them!" the Tyraness said. There were gasps and wails. "Oh, wait... Force of habit! I liked his poem. Go set them free. And give them each a bowl of chocolate ice-cream, because I'm feeling generous."
"Yes, Tyraness."
"And as for this one..." She transfixed him with a pointing finger. "Who are you?"
"My name is Zhao Chen, Tyr-"
"Find him a cell. He's my new court poet!" |-|
Ragnar Teaches a Lesson= The holo-screens formed a grid, sixteen smaller squares creating a greater whole. It dominated the middle of the Tyraness' relaxation room from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, dividing the chamber in half. It split a couch in two, along with the guard who stood against the opposite wall -- though if this almost symmetrical vivisection troubled the woman, she gave no sign. The rest of the guardswomen were likewise impassive. However, their mistress bore a dark scowl. Her fingertips grasped the arms of the plush chair on which she sat, sinking into the padded crimson. The balls of her feet pressed down on the footstool and ground against the luxurious cushion. They twisted back and forth as though crushing insects.
This sudden movement made the servant boy fumble in his efforts to paint her nails. A little dab of purple appeared on the skin of her big toe. She looked down, glared at it, and kicked him in the face. He fell backwards, clutching his bloody mouth. A guard lifted him up by his tunic with one hand and bore him away.
"How dare they?" the Tyraness said.
The guardswomen made no reply. The remaining servants crawled away on their bellies, lest she notice them. But her eyes were back on the sixteen screens and the chaotic images they held.
"Protests? On my planet!?!"
Teeming crowds occupied each scene. In parks and plazas, streets and fields, they waved placards and cried out from silent mouths. Only a single screen emitted sound. From that one, the rhythmic chant was thus:
"The ice-cream laws are dumb!
We want our bubblegum!
The ice-cream laws are dumb!
We want our bubblegum!"
"Bubblegum! They're protesting over... bubblegum ice-cream?" the Tyraness said. She pointed at one of the guards. "You! I demand to know what this all means!"
The armored woman glanced at the door, then at the balcony, but perhaps decided that neither fleeing for her life nor plunging to her death seemed palatable.
"It's... It's a symbol, Tyraness. The... The wretched... ungrateful... insignificant... worthless..."
Her mistress' hand described a curt, circular motion.
"...fools are too... too stupid to appreciate your just and benevolent edicts! They've chosen to use bubblegum as a microcosm of-"
"Send for General Culthana!"
"Yes, Tyraness!"
Zhao Chen lay on his uncomfortable bed and contemplated the ceiling. He'd taken up residence in several cells during his life, but none had contained anything like the lavish fresco spread above. It depicted the Tyraness' face. She glowered at him in lifelike wrath. A mischievous part of his mind wondered if prisoners were suitably cowed by the image, or else pleasured themselves to it.
He was lost in such frivolous thoughts when the door opened and a pair of amazonian women entered. One of them aimed a blaster at Chen. The other held out a pair of electric manacles.
"The Tyraness wants to see you," the latter said.
"Then who am I to disobey?
The ruler must have her way."
"Just shut up and come here."
She slapped the cuffs on his wrists. There was a low hum, and blue bands of energy filled the transparent bonds -- tightening them against his skin. The guard took him by the collar and propelled him out into the corridor. Something jabbed him in the back, which he took for the blaster's muzzle. It remained there while they directed him through the palace's passages and up its stairways.
After some minutes they brought him to a long, broad corridor decorated with framed paintings of the Tyraness. On one she wore a gorgeous ball gown and held a handsome young man's arm. In the next he was dead on the ground, with her boot planted on his head. Her giggling smile was the same in both paintings. Chen was glancing at a third -- this one a battle scene in which the ruler routed a unit of teddy bears -- when his guards came to a halt, each stamped a foot, and chorused:
"Hail, General Culthana!"
The woman who stormed down the corridor towards them was even taller than the two warrior women. Her broad face, with its glaring eyes and pursed lips, was at least eighteen inches above Chen's own, and her shoulders were broad enough to make a Niflung bodybuilder weep. Thick golden plates inscribed with intricate floral patterns made her imposing build even more substantial.
The two guards parted to clear her path. Chen did not. Culthana's right arm barged into him, knocking him spinning. He thudded between two of the paintings and moaned.
"That wasn't a pleasant thing to do!
The passage is wide enough for two!"
The general froze. Her eyes blazed. The two guards exchanged glances and backed away, while Culthana seized Chen's throat in her golden grasp. She hoisted him off his feet, squeezing his red, spluttering throat. His back crashed against the wall for a second time. She pinned him there, boots thrashing above the floor. His bound hands slapped at her vambrace.
She leaned in close, until their noses were almost touching, then directed a ferocious expression at the guards. They took the hint and turned around. Behind them the general growled inaudible, savage threats, punctuated by thuds and groans. A few moments later she strode past them. They looked round to find Zhao Chen on his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his face.
"Idiot!" one of them said.
With that charitable assessment, they pulled Chen to his feet and prodded him into the chamber at the end of the corridor. One of them helped him across the Tyraness' relaxation room with a kick. He stumbled through the holo-screens, parting the protestors, then recovered and bowed before the reclining ruler. She blinked at his battered visage.
"What happened to your face?"
"An accident, nothing more,
I had a fight with a door."
"Well that was silly of you, wasn't it?" She snorted and pointed at the screens behind him. "I want to hear a poem! Something fun, to take my mind off those stupid people."
Chen bowed, coughed, and began.
The bar was a den of savages
when Ragnar walked into the place
everybody stopped talking
and stared at the Niflung's face
"He's the one who slaughtered Eric!"
said a chem-addled punk
"Oh, shut your goddamn mouth!" said Ragnar
"I just came here to get drunk!"
But all the punks went for their weapons
so Ragnar let out a roar
and seized a powerful Niflung axe
soon to be bathed in gore
He cut a Rylattu in half
when she drew her doomsday gun
threw her corpse in the bathroom
pissed on it for fun
A Snuuth wrestler went and grabbed his arm
to take away his axe
but Ragnar tore his head off
and paid the grim reaper's tax
He rampaged through the tables
chopping off arms and legs
before he drank all of their beer
right down to the dregs
"I think I should be leaving!"
said one who wanted to live
"Hold it right there!" said Ragnar
"There's lots more brutal killing to give!"
The barmaid looked over the counter
and let out her most boisterous cry
"If you battle that Niflung
you're all going to die!"
Of course it was really too late
for that splendid advice
all of the punks were dead
a few maybe twice or thrice
Ragnar looked round at the slaughter
then went to slake his thirst
"I love ale but it's even better
if you've done lots of good killing first!"
The Tyraness clapped her hands.
"Very clever! You've played with another of my favorite poems. When I heard it at school, I loved it so much I made one of the teachers act it out!" Her eyes brightened. "Ah! Look!"
On the sixteen screens, amazonian soldiers were pitching into the crowds. Some laid about them with truncheons. Others battered away with plated fists and feet. The Tyraness' subjects fled in all directions, their protest at an end.
She laughed until merry tears glistened in her eyes. |-|
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!" |-|
Despair, Ye Mighty!= The explosions were distant, but the closest detonations' wrathful roars reached the barrier-sealed balcony where Chen sat. They instilled almost imperceptible ripples in the energy field's surface. He contemplated their tranquil artistry while he waited for the call to come. It wouldn't be long now. Things were drawing to a conclusion which fate might soon make inevitable.
"Poet."
He stood up, turned around, and bowed. The lone guard was one he hadn't seen before. She held out the cuffs. This time no gun pointed at his chest, but that only signified that he was in the eye of the storm. He took them from her and put them on. Glowing blue bands encircled his wrists.
The palace was different. Servants and warriors ran to and fro in the ornate passages, the former like headless chickens and the latter with grim determination written on their faces. The word "Culthana!" came from many lips as whisper, curse, shout, or warning. Chen's own guardswoman said nothing -- but she exchanged the occasional nod with a battle-sister on the way to the Tyraness' relaxation room.
As before, sixteen screens parted the chamber. Battles raged on every one of them. Mobs of civilians hurled flaming bottles through windows, or charged to their destruction against amazonian warriors. Rival aircraft streaked the skies with spiraling contrails and flashing blasts of light. Seven foot tall women sprayed gunfire or clashed with one another in savage melee combat. Some had daubed gold paint on their armor to mark their allegiance.
A vase flew from the assorted images like treasure spat out by the sea. Chen moved aside and let it smash on the floor. The holographic projection disappeared, revealing the Tyraness in her plush seat -- looking around for something else to throw. Only a pair of guards were in the room this time, one on either side of the chair. Zhao Chen had heard enough to know that the others were off bolstering the defenses or else fighting in the streets.
The poet crossed the room. His escort followed.
"Poet! It's about time you got here!" the Tyraness said. She looked at the guardswoman who'd brought him. "You -- go do something useful. Culthana's traitors are out there! Kill them! Bring me her head!"
"But, Tyraness, I-"
"Go!"
She nodded and left. The Tyraness returned her attention to Chen.
"Have you read any Aristophanes, poet?"
"Of course, my mighty ruler queen,
Many of his works have I-"
"He said children have teachers to instruct them, but adults have poets. So teach me! Share your wisdom. And it had better be good, or I'll have them pull out your brain so I can smash it with a hammer!"
Chen winced. His wrists itched beneath their bonds.
I spoke with a free woman once a slave,
Who told me that a fair visage lay smashed,
Mid the vain magnificence of a grave,
A haughty smirk from stone features long dashed,
Submerged beneath mocking time's drifting wave,
Where frivolous whim ruled and men trembled,
Quaking at each vile and monstrous decree;
Savage legions had there been assembled,
But a worn dusty epitaph now reads:
"I forbid bubblegum, listen to me,
Whose unyielding edicts govern your deeds!"
Yet who remembers such lunatic laws,
Or the proud monuments smothered by weeds?
The unthinking sands have buried her claws.
|-|
The Tyraness= The Tyraness' eyes widened. Then they narrowed into sharp, piercing slits.
"Poet... You're a very, very stupid man."
"No genius do I claim to be,
I'm just a mere man and nothing more,
But a trick that you must see,
Will bring an end to this war."
Chen's hands moved in a dexterous blur. Then they parted, rose, and flashed.
Two throats gurgled. Two weapons clanged on the floor. The Tyraness' head snapped round to the left and right, where her guards clutched at their blood-spurting necks. Blue energy throbbed between their fingers -- around the broken shackles' shards. Her amazonian warriors fell. The poet smiled.
"Surrender, Tyraness; all else is doom,
Or do you take this splendor for your tomb?"
"Why are you still rhyming?"
"Force of habit. What's your answer?"
"This."
Her hand snatched at the folds of her gown. A pistol slipped from the sumptuous fabric.
"This is my planet! Mine!" Her gun blazed. "I'm the Tyraness!"
Chen was fast. All men with his training and augmentations were. Perhaps not as fast as a weapon's blast, but he didn't have to be. He only needed to be faster than the woman aiming it.
Two magenta shots flashed past him. Then his hand struck the Tyraness' arm, and the pistol went spinning across the room.
"The Tyraness!" she repeated.
She clawed at his face. He crushed her throat with a single blow.
"Tyran..." The word disintegrated into a splutter.
Zhao Chen crouched down and lifted the gold ornament that served as the woman's communicator. He set it to the prearranged channel.
"This is Culthana. Chen?"
"It's done. Are your warriors ready?"
"Yes. The Tyraness..."
"Disposed of. I'll open the palace's defenses. I trust that when this world is yours you'll honor our agreement."
"Of course. Tell Wu Tenchu the Sian Empire has a new ally."
General Culthana severed the connection.
Zhao Chen sat in the plush crimson chair and glanced down at the Tyraness' body. He pondered the shifting sands men and women called power.
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