Fantasy Starship Gods

​

The God Samuel and the Goddess Pamela​

"Are you ready?" Samuel whispered, standing at the airlock. Taylor had just landed the ship in a big plaza in the middle of Argolis, one of the six great cities of the planet "Earth", and crowds had gathered outside.

"I'm ready if you're ready," said Pam.

"Well, I'm not ready, so you must not be," said Samuel.

"We can still go back," said Pam.

"You can go back. You'll be much safer with the Lieutenant," said Samuel.

"So that's what this is about," said Pam. "You're just trying to get rid of me. You're not really afraid."

"White girl, we're about to be surrounded by savages who will mur*er us if they even get a hint of a suspicion that we're not Gods."

"Why do you always call me that?"

"Are you white? Are you a girl?" Samuel asked.

"I am 24 years of age."

"Which makes you a girl," said Samuel, rubbing his greying head. He had recently just turned 60 himself. "Why a 24 year old white girl would want to stay with an old black man with a limp dick the size of a pencil is beyond me," said Samuel.

"The more you keep talking about that limp dick of yours, the more you make me think you want me to see it," said Pam.

"Don't try using reverse psychology on me, little girl," said Samuel, fixing her with a definite stare.

"Are we going to stand here and flirt all day, or are we going to get out there? The natives are getting restless," said Pam. She pointed outside, where startled locals were cautiously gathering and talking loudly to themselves.

Samuel looked down at her with his hard black eyes. "I'm starting to like you, little girl."

She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "Keep talking like that and someday I'm going to show you that I'm not so little."

They finally managed to stop flirting and stepped outside the ship. The crowd gasped as they emerged. They walked some distance from the ship, to get to a safe distance, and then met the crowd.

Samuel put a megaphone disc to his mouth. He hesitated. He hated to say what he was about to, but he had no choice.

"We are the Gods of Sparticus!" he said.

The crowd moaned, in delight or agony, he couldn't tell.

The original plan had been to tell them that they were messengers of the God. But Samuel, standing in front of this apprehensive crowd who could turn against them in an instant, suddenly didn't think they could comprehend such a subtle differentiation, and on the spot decided to do the full impersonation.

"We have returned, as we said we would, in a fiery silvery chariot!" said Samuel, hating every word of it. He was an atheist, and posing as a God was an abomination to him. But it had to be done. "We have returned! We would speak now to your leader, your High Tollah."

The crowd was silent for a moment. No one seemed quite sure what to do.

"Well? Are you all deaf? Can anyone take us to him?" Samuel asked.

Finally, a brown haired man with a short beard stepped forward, dressed in the robes of a Tollah.

"My name is Esok, a Tollah of Argolis," said the man. "You say you are the Gods of Sparticus?"

"Sort of," said Samuel. "Yes," he added, after Pam kicked him.

"You claim to be a God, and yet you are so very.... black," said Esok. "What matter of being are you?"

"I am one of your Gods," said Samuel. "And I am also black. Being a God with tremendous powers, I can be both, at the same time."

"But it is said we are made in the images of the Gods," said Esok.

"True," said Samuel.

"And yet none here are black." Esok looked understandably confused.

How to answer this? Samuel was at a loss for words. "Well, a little vanilla got mixed in, purely by accident," said Samuel. He saw he was not being convincing. So he spoke in a deeper voice. "I appear here in this form to offer you proof of my identity. If I came in the color of a person such as yourself, you might doubt my identity. After all, a white person who claimed to be a God might simply be a white man, correct?"

Esok paused, considering. "True," he said cautiously.

"But have you ever seen a black man before?"

"No, Holiness," said Esok.

"Then there is your proof! I am not a man. Therefore, by process of elimination, I must be a God," said Samuel. "Does not the Book of Sparticus say that I will return in a fiery chariot that will light up the sky?"

"Yes my Lord," said Esok more quickly.

"And have I not just emerged from this fiery chariot behind me?"

"You have, my Lord."

"Therefore, what say you?"

Esok seemed to struggle within himself for a moment, and then said, "That you are our Black God!"

A cheer went up from the crowd, and went on and on. When it died down, Samuel said, "Very good, my children! But you may call me Samuel."

"The Black God Samuel," someone cried.

"Or, just Samuel."

"Yes, Black God," said Esok.

Samuel looked at Esok sharply. There seemed not to be a trace of derision in his face. Samuel gestured to Pamela. "And this is my... assistant Goddess, Pamela. Now take me to see your High Tollah."

"Which one, your holiness?" Esok asked.

"You have more than one?" Samuel said.

"There is High Tollah Petros, of the Devout Believers of Sparticus. And there is High Tollah Sandros, of the Divine Followers of Sparticus."

"Devout... Divine... what is the difference?"

"They are at war, your Blackness," said Esok.

Your Blackness?

"Why are they at war? Over what?" Samuel asked.

"Differing faiths," said Esok.

"I don't understand," said Samuel. "Are they not both believers in the Book of Sparticus?"

"Yes, Black Lord."

"One group is Devout. The other is Divine."

"This is true," Esok admitted.

"So what are they fighting about?"

"You would have to ask them, oh Divine Black One."

"Then take me to them," said Samuel."

"They are in conflict. It could be dangerous," said Esok.

"I am a God," said Samuel, staring at him with his hard eyes. "It would only be perilous for them." Pam looked up at Samuel, and saw something new in him. A wonderful kind of strength.

"I understand, Lord," said Esok, bowing.

Samuel whispered to Pam. "This is your last chance. I want you to go back to the ship, now!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" she whispered fiercely back.

At that moment, the Asgard took off. The ground shook, and the ship roared as flames spouted from its engines and it launched into the sky. The crowd oohed and ahhed as it headed into the air.

Esok looked at Samuel with renewed wonder. "You are a Black God!"

"The blackest," Samuel assured him. "Now take me to your Tollahs."

When Esok recovered from the spectacle of the Asgard blasting off, he led them as he promised. They were both wearing spacesuits without helmets, to further the image of their godliness, and they both had blasters. But Samuel had something else. A long metal bar he had found on the Asgard.

"What is that for?" Pam asked.

"A walking stick. I sprained my ankle when the ship got hit."

"You don't look like you sprained your ankle," said Pam.

"Let's focus on the task ahead of us, shall we?" said Samuel.

Argolis clearly showed signs of war. There were ruined buildings everywhere. Injured people were carried from the street. Samuel showed no outward concern, even though he knew he and Pam could be caught between warring factions at any time.

They went to a large shrine which was guarded by men with spears. Esok spoke to them.

"I bring before you the Gods of Sparticus," said Esok. "Let us pass."

The soldiers looked scornfully at them.

Samuel put the megaphone disc to his mouth. "Let us pass," he said loudly.

A space instantly opened up in the center of their lines.

High Tollah Petros was a middle aged man with brown hair. After they were introduced, he looked skeptically at Samuel.

"A black God?" he said.

"He came down in the fiery chariot. We all saw it, " said Esok.

Petros looked at Samuel and bowed slightly. "I am honored to meet you, your Blackness." Samuel couldn't tell if he were being mocked or not.

"I come to you in a time of great peril. You have strayed from the path," said Samuel. "You are all my children, and you are not supposed to fight each other."

"It is Sandros and his misguided followers who have strayed from the path," said Petros. "They disdain and dishonor the Book of Sparticus at every turn."

"How so?" Samuel asked.

"They celebrate the holy end of week on Saturday, not Sunday. They pray five times a day towards the birthplace of Sparticus, rather than the place where he ascended into the heavens. They end the Hymn of Sparticus with "And so it goes" rather than "And so he wills". "

"That's it? That's why you're killing each other?" said Samuel.

"That is only the beginning, oh Magnificent Black One. The Divine Followers of Sandros defile our beliefs by claiming that angels can be of any size, even a size so tiny that they can barely be seen. They claim that many angels can stand on the head of a pin-"

"Stop right there," said Samuel. "Are you saying that you guys are killing each other over a disagreement of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?"

Petros looked confused. "I spoke not of dancing, my Lord, though since you have raised the issue-"

"Stop again," said Samuel. "You shouldn't be killing each other over minor differences like these."

"Minor, Lord?" said Petros, looking shocked. These were fundamental points of faith!

"Yes, minor," said Samuel, not afraid to double down. After all, he was a God. "You both believe in the Book of Sparticus. 99% of all your religious practices are identical. You focus on the one percent which you disagree over, and call each other heretics because of it. Am I right?"

"I would not put it that way, oh Great Black One!"

"But I would," said Samuel. "And how many people have died in your great war, to resolve how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?"

"The sacrifices have been many, Your Blackness. In the thousands. But they died for a holy purpose," Petros assured him.

"No, they didn't," said Samuel, correcting him. "They died for a stupid purpose."

"Lord?" Petros couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You asswipes have been killing each other over shit that's meaningless!" Samuel was enraged. His efforts to be diplomatic had been brushed aside by the power of his emotions.

Behind him, Pam made a pained expression as she mouthed 'asswipes' disbelievingly.

"Lord?" said Petros again.

"I want a meeting with Sandros and his followers, and you and your top followers, to work this all out."

Petros tried to think. "They would not want to meet with us, fearing a trap, my Lord. Unless... we were to meet on hallowed ground. The sacred Slaughterhouse of Sparticus is nearby, the site of the holy massacre of 129 infidels by the great Sparticus-"

"Yeah, that sounds like a charming and romantic venue. Arrange it," said Samuel impatiently.

Petros went off to speak to an aide.

Pam whispered to Samuel. "These guys obviously hate each other. Do you really think it's a good idea to bring them all together? It could be dangerous."

"It's a little late to be complaining about the occupational hazards of the job," said Samuel.

"And what if they decide we're not Gods?" Pam asked.

Samuel shrugged. "We're working to save thousands of lives. It's a risk worth taking."

The Sacred Slaughterhouse of Sparticus was an old, large building about the size of an auditorium, which seemed to have ancient bloodstains on the floors, walls, and ceiling.

And the ceiling? Samuel looked at it in horror. There were splattered stains up there, three or four stories above them. What kind of massacre could cause that?

The Devout Followers of Petros filed in one side of the large room, and the Divine Followers of Sandros came in the other. Many of them carried spears and swords.

Pam and Samuel stood in the center of the great hall, together with Petros and two of his senior tollahs. Sandros slowly approached them, flanked by two tollahs of his own.

Sandros was older than Petros, with grey hair and a beard to match. He looked Samuel up and down critically. "And this is supposed to be a God of Sparticus? How come you to be so black, sir?"

"How come you to be so white?" said Samuel, not intimidated in the least as he matched Sandros, stare for stare.

"He came down in the silvery chariot that landed in the city. Surely you must have seen it," said Petros.

"I saw it," said Sandros, clearly with doubt in his eyes.

"I come bearing a message from the others Gods of Sparticus," said Samuel.

"And what is this message?" Sandros asked.

"That you are all fuckheads," said Samuel.

Pam gasped.

But Samuel was just getting warmed up.

"You kill each other in the name of Sparticus over the smallest deviation in your fucking ten thousand page rule booklet. You are in agreement of nearly every element in your religion, and yet you seek out the smallest excuses to call each other infidels and mur*er each other. How many have you killed because you held your services on a Saturday instead of a Sunday? How many have you killed because you couldn't agree on how many angels could dance on the head of a pin?"

"But, my lord, these are real theological differences," said Petros. "What if we pray to the Gods on a Saturday when we should be praying to them on Sunday?"

"Petros my man, the Gods hear you whenever you pray: on Saturday, on Sunday, in the toilet, or when you're banging your wife," said Samuel. "That's what being a God means. We hear everything. We hear so much, that we have to tune a lot of that shit out. Especially the praying. Too much praying!" Pam tugged at his sleeve, but he ignored her.

Petros looked doubtful.

"Now, I want you to iron out your differences and make peace," said Samuel.

"You mean, right now?" said Sandros.

"No, I mean five years from now, fuckhead! What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course I mean right now!" Samuel snapped. Pam tried hard not to wince.

"We will be happy to reconcile if the Devout accept our theological interpretations," said Sandros.

"We will do the same if the Divine accept ours," said Petros, equally generously.

"Well then, I see the basis for a very successful agreement," said Samuel. "Let me know if I have this right." He turned to Petros. "Your followers believe that services must be held on Sunday. You think prayer should be held facing the place where Sparticus ascended to the Heavens. And you don't believe angels can be small enough to dance on the head of a pin."

"Essentially... yes," said Petros.

Samuel turned to Sandros. "You believe that services should be held on Saturday. You think prayers should be facing Sparticus's birthplace. And you think angels can be small enough to dance on the head of a pin."

"We spoke naught of dancing, my Lord."

Samuel gave him a withering glance.

"But yes, to the rest," said Sandros.

"Fine," said Samuel. "Petros, I want you to tell your followers to repeat the following. From now on, it is appropriate to have services on Saturday. People should be praying towards Sparticus's birthplace. And angels can dance on the head of a pin."

"But... that is contrary to our belief system."

"But look at how much you're getting in return," said Samuel. "Because right after your Tollahs accept that, Sandros's people are going to say how they want services on Sunday, and pray towards Sparticus's place of ascension, and declare that Angels don't have tiny feet small enough to dance on no heads of no pins."

"We will never admit to that!" Sandros roared.

"This man is no God!" said one of Sandros's Tollahs. "No God would speak like this, especially one as black as he is! He is Milsh! Kill him, before he leads us all astray!"

Without hesitation, Samuel raised his metal bar and swung it at the Tollah's stomach. He connected solidly and the Tollah went down to the ground, screaming as Samuel kept battering him. The Tollah screamed, as Samuel hit him again and again with the bar, until the man was begging for mercy.

Samuel raised his megaphone disc to his mouth. "This man just doubted me, and he has felt the wrath of the Gods! Does anyone else care to raise any theological objections?"

In a room filled with 200 people, there was complete silence.

"I didn't think so," said Samuel, twirling his iron bar. "Now, you will do exactly as I say, or you will all feel my wrath! You will all die painful, horrible deaths.... You will be all be sent to spend eternity in the Womanless Forest!" said Samuel. "Not a single woman will be there to service your sexual needs. If you want sex, you'll have to get a squirrel to suck on your pecker!"

The gathered Tollahs started to babble in fear.

"That's right, think of it! An eternity with only flowers and sunny fields and trees and streams and oceans and beaches and woods and humming birds and baby deer as your companions! That is the fate you are heading to, with your pointless warring against each other. Is that the fate you want for yourselves?"

"NO!" they shouted as one.

"Then each group, repeat after me."

And repeat they did. Petros's group, with only the slightest resistance, embraced the theological positions of Sandros's group, and then Sandros's group, with even greater reluctance, did the converse.

"I wonder if we've outsmarted ourselves," Pam whispered.

"What do you mean?" Samuel asked.

"Well, now that Petros's group thinks angels can dance on the head of a pin, and Sandros's group no longer believes that, will they start fighting over their new beliefs?"

"Let's hope not," said Samuel. He turned to the High Tollahs. "You two, shake hands on it."

They did better than that. They embraced each other, and all the Tollahs cheered.

"Black God! Black God! Black God!" They shouted.

"You see," said Samuel. "Ain't so hard being a God."

"Was it absolutely necessary to brutally beat up that man?" Pam asked afterwards.

"Which one? Do you mean the one who was egging on everyone else to lynch us, is that the one?" Samuel asked.

"Surely there must have been some other way... you could have stunned him with your blaster."

"I think this made more of an impression," said Samuel, holding up his iron bar.

"I thought you were going to reason with them, to use your Objective Rationalism," said Pam. "Instead you insulted them, and called them all fuckheads."

"Because they are," said Samuel. He looked Pam in the eyes. "Objective Rationalism works fine in the classroom. It even works in real life, in a civilized society. This isn't a civilized society. They're superstitious savages. All they understand is force, and power projection. I have to first get their attention before I can even begin to try to get them to think rationally."

Pam looked at Samuel with confusion in her eyes. She had majored in philosophy in college and greatly admired Samuel's work on Objective Rationalism. It seemed like an intelligent way of governing one's life. But now that she had actually met the man, he seemed quite different from his own philosophy. Samuel was quick to anger, and used bullying and intimidation rather than reasoning to persuade others. He was quite different from what she expected.

Still, there was a primal force in him which she couldn't help but admire. Here was a 60 year old black man, surrounded by hostile white people who would mur*er him in an instant if they knew he wasn't a God, and yet he displayed utter confidence as he ruled the crowd. While Pam disapproved of his methods, she had to admit that watching him rule the crowd caused her to feel more than a little wet between her legs.
​