*****
Friar Tuck poured a drink for Marion who wore a fishnet outfit and stepped towards him after the sound of applause. Her song was beautiful and she had won over a small audience of colourful bar patrons, some looking like reptilian creatures from the far regions of the galaxy. Marion took her drink, running her fingers through her long dark hair.
“Thank you Tuck,” she said, throwing the drink down and sitting on a bar stool.
“Another song about Robin no doubt," Tuck winked and Marion sighed.
“I thought he came back for me. I thought he wanted to marry me. I guess I was expecting too much from him," she replied and Tuck nodded, pouring another drink.
The Sheriff of Nottingham walked up to the bar, smiling at Marion. His eyes wide with wonder, but his manner seeming sleazy and confident.
“That voice should be heard by the king, my lady. You have the voice of a lustrous angel,” the sheriff said, turning his attention to the friar, who also seemed oddly confident.
“A drink, Sheriff?” The friar offered and the sheriff accepted a freshly poured ale, drinking it down.
“You owe rent on these premises, friar. I hope you...” he started, the friar quickly flipping him the single gold coin Robin had given him.
“Gold? Where did you get this?” The sheriff asked and the friar smiled.
“Where I get the money, with all due respect sir, is my business. That should keep you happy for a while, yes?” The friar asked boldly. The sheriff studied the coin, looking back at the friar as a slow smile crept across his face. A smile that made the friar’s skin crawl.
“You have become acquainted with an outlaw by the name of Robin of Loxley, have you not?” The sheriff asked. Tuck shook his head and acted as dumb as he could.
“Never heard of him," the friar said as the sheriff nodded his head.
“Indeed. Well, it’s just as well. This... Loxley... is wanted by the king. He will be found and brought to justice. I’d hate to think you were involved with such a... vile criminal, Tuck. It might not look too good for your business,” the sheriff said, bowing to Marion as he stepped out of the bar and into the busy neon lit streets.
Marion looked at Tuck, who was pouring yet another drink. She eyed him carefully.
“Robin of Loxley? Outlaw? What the hell kind of crap are the two of you pulling? The sheriff is relentless! The king doesn’t tolerate vigilantes, Tuck. Where is he?” Marion asked and Tuck threw down a drink.
“Lady Marion, I don’t know where he is, but I can say that he most definately is doing something you would certainly not approve of. I promise you this though, if he’s successful... things are going to change around here very quickly. Perhaps you should think about leaving the planet. For your own safety my dear," Tuck said. Marion shook him off, pouring herself another drink.
“Oh no, I’m not going anywhere. If Robin wants me to leave he can come and tell me himself! Oh, and you can tell him that,” Marion added, scooping up the bottle and walking out of the bar and into the street.
Chapter five: Marion
Marion Clorinda wandered the streets of the city of Sherwood. She was the walking picture of a beautiful woman; buxom, athletic and attractive. Her eyes were an elegant blue and her complexion pale. She wore a crimson lipstick which accentuated her full lips and her fashion sense was not unlike most women in their thirties on the planet, though perhaps a little rogueish. She wore fishnets, which teased the men that noticed her just a little, yet she gave nothing away. She wore knee high boots, though she certainly wasn’t a whore or anything like that. Marion was a performer, and her style and stride in her step suggested a reluctance to be like everyone else, and a fierce independence most men could unlikely handle.
She walked down the long street lit with dome-shaped structures and neon lit holographic advertising, cool and confident and without looking back. The streets were buzzing with activity, people pushing past her and walking by that were both humanoid and completely alien. Punks in colourful leathers admiring her clothing, and perhaps her body as she walked by, though none of them causing her to flutter an eyelid. Marion had no fear of pedestrians or the patrolling robot police that flew by in their hovering patrol cars, she feared nothing at all. Marion had seen her share of crime and hard times, but she was no flake.
She approached a floating vendor that was operated by a Japanese man and his robotic companion. The robot’s name was Jazz, and despite having no sex, the machine was made up to look like a mechanical female. As Marion approached, Jazz nodded and her eyes blinked. Jazz was one of the newer models, a TRX-428; literally a servant droid with a humanoid appearance. Despite this, her hair was obviously a wig, her flesh no doubt artificial synthetic fibres that were a little imperfect and her hands were very mechanical looking with no flesh over them. Marion knew them both well, both Jazz and Chu, who had come from earth after the great floods of the twentieth century.
Chu was an old Japanese cybergenetic man with a pleasant manner, a robotic arm and a kind soul. He regarded Marion with a friendly smile. He had sold hot dogs at this hover stand for nearly five years, and Marion had dropped by every day.
“You never miss a day, Marion! My hot dogs are not
