A/N: I appreciate all the reviews I've been getting. Here's chapter three, something interesting for ya'll ta chow down upon. I'm diggin' this whole Southern twang thing, 'cuz I'm from the South, lol! Come back now, ya'll hear? Also, if this planet name is already taken, please tell me via review, and I'll change it. It's all that I could think of.
The lonely, desolate planet of Tutankaman had once been host to many friends of the Alliance, but then the world fell from memory. The women there once held places of great power, equal with men, but not after the war.
The women were as slaves and the men their masters. The lowest of the men would stand over them, pushing them to dig deeper in the trenches known as mines. The product called True was of great trading power, and trade was all that kept Tutankaman on the map of the 'verse.
There was one woman who had learned to read from her father, who had been kinder than he ought. She learned of the old ways, and hoped to incite a rebellion to win them back. Perhaps prisoners could do the work.
That woman was Alexandria.
She had been named after the great city in ancient Earth-that-Was. She did her best to manage to live up to her name, too. She was a strong woman, rebellious in nature, but well-read. She did not wish to put up with men any longer.
She was not an ugly woman, in fact, quite attractive, which made passing men stare at her, unashamed. She would usually glare at them until they continued on.
Now, she felt, was the time to rise against them, to reform her home planet into what it was, a great world of peace and hard work.
Alexandria regularly gave speeches to the workers in the mines as they worked. She spoke to them of rebellion, of the way things were, and many listened. Some, however, seemed content with their place in live and saw no reason to challenge it, lest they be harmed.
It was during these speeches that Alex had to be especially wary of the watchman. He had an iron fist, and steel-toe boots. He didn't take any backtalk from the lesser women.
The dust sat in her hair as she leaned on her shovel, preaching of the olden times, and of Earth-that-Was, something she had read about in her studies. Of how women should be equal with men, as they are in the eyes of God.
Of course, not many there were terribly religious. She found religion helped her make it from day to day, and she learned that from her caring father, who perhaps was a little too kind for his own good because he was killed shortly after she left the home.
Turning back to the end of her shovel, she raised it up, "We shall not be treated like this tool, digging into dry ground, coming up with small scraps which are not ours for the taking. We shall rise against the men. We will become as the sky, ever beautiful, full of bounty for all to share."
But as she was finishing up her speech, a solid kick to the side of her head silenced her, the watchman glared, "Return to your work an' speak no more of the sky or looks of things, lessin' it's True."
Reluctantly, she returned to her digging and sorting, her head still pounding with agony. Soon they shall rebel against the common man, the thieves of what is right and really true.