(c)2000 Jeremy A.Smith
Pete stepped out on the podium, his black cape blowing wildly in the howling gale. The audience shrugged their coats up to protect themselves from the rain splashing down.
Pete picked up a microphone and tapped it sharply. A horrendous "Boom" swept out across the audience. There was an outcry. Pete soon stifled this with his glowing speech.
"I am Pete Plebbian. It is my duty to inform you all of my mission. I am here to prevent the Evil Lord Granite from landing upon this planet, although perhaps indirectly."
The gale howled in approval. Other than this, merely silence from the crowd. Pete continued with his epology. The sky was beginning to darken.
"I and my faithful companion here, Radax the Altarian dog, will circumvent Granite's defences back on his home planet of Velt, and plant the seeds of unrest in his home."
The "Seeds of Unrest" were simply a lethal lab-made virie, in this case harmless to all but the Lord Granite. Pete did not hide his intentions to the crowd, that was clear. His voice reached a commanding roar of authority.
"Are there any questions to be asked?"
Someone plucked up the courage to shout, nay, half-scream through the howling wind.
"What happens to Dissidents when the Evil Lord Granite is, ah, become inactive?"
It took a mere moment for Pete to fashion the required reply upon his lips. Rain splashed upon them.
"Ah. The Huldashun Dissidents shall be all dealt with as accords our laws and customs."
A tumultitude of applause went up. Pete grinned broadly.
"And that's not all. You shall all, yourselves, be dealt with the utmost patience. You shall have democracy, for sure. You shall have untold wealth, that is told. Your gods will become powerful once again, and all your troubles will be washed away by a rain as powerful as this which behails us as I speak. Now, I must go."
The rain continued to splash as Pete made his way down the broad, stone steps, not less than a thousand years old they were, and to last another two millennia would not be unlikely.
As the crowd roared in pleasure, Lord Granite, many planets distant from the televised speech, switched off the miniature TV situated in his bathroom. He splashed water onto the floor. He was in the bath.
"Better get those defences up and running," he grumbled, "Not even Plebbian Pete can disrupt my bath. As for destroying my grip of terror, that's beyond a joke."