Fantasy Starship Gods

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The Gods Khalid, Ahmed, and Chaka​

The woman screamed as she climaxed. Masharaf had been with only two women before this one in his entire life, so he didn't have much basis for comparison, but this woman seemed to enjoy his physical pleasurings much more than the others. As he thrust into her, she shouted his name, and hugged him tightly, wrapping her legs around him, as if she never wanted to let go.

"That was wonderful," said the woman dreamily. She played with Masharaf's chest hair.

He had met her on patrol. Unlike most women, who shied away from the Stranglers, this woman had immediately taken a liking to him. She had flirted with him, and even invited herself over to his home. She wanted him.
Masharaf felt like life was a dream. She was blonde, she was beautiful, she had large breasts, and she wanted him. He had never had a woman this beautiful desire him in such an open and obvious way. He had had little luck with women, and the two he had briefly mated with in the past could not have been called even pretty.

"You were wonderful," the woman said again. "When can we be together again?"

"Tomorrow night," said Masharaf.

"That's right, you work during the day, don't you?" said the woman. "You're a Strangler! That's so sexy," she grinned at him, rubbing his chest hair. "I'd love to see you work. Where are you working tomorrow?"

"We are patrolling the northern neighborhoods of Shenshiban."

"It sounds exciting," said the woman. "So shall I come back to your place, in the evening, after work?"

"Yes," said Masharaf, grinning broadly. He looked at her again, wondering what he had done to deserve her. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Selene," said the girl. "My name is Selene."

The next day, Masharaf was on patrol with Ahmed and a squad of his Stranglers in the northern neighborhood of Shenshiban. They were there to look for heretics, but also to enforce the latest edict from the great Emir Khalid. Henceforth, all citizens were required to pray in the direction of the Great Wall of Blood on Ramada five times a day.

Naturally, this created some confusion, as they were all on a different planet from Ramada which was many light years away. In fact no one, not even Khalid, really knew in which direction Ramada lay.

Chaka had asked him about the practicality of this. "How are people going to know in what direction to pray?"

"Divine inspiration," said Khalid.

"Since we are not on Ramada, and we have no way of even knowing where Ramada is, why not just let them pray in any direction they want?" Chaka asked.

Khalid stared at his youngest brother coldly. "Are you questioning the theological interpretation of your Emir, Chaka?'

"No, of course not, Eldest Brother."

"Emir. When we are talking of theological matters, you shall address me as Emir."

"Of course not, Emir," said Chaka. "It just seems like we're going to have some problem enforcing this rule."

"The path is not always clear. That is why we trust in Laquinta, to pave the way with blood. Do you understand, brother?"

"I do," said Chaka, who clearly didn't.

Ahmed, on patrol with Masharaf and his Stranglers, was not troubled by such ambiguities. To him, the rules of Laquinta were not simply rules, but inspiration. He could sense who was following the Way, and who was not.

A series of men had been recruited to be stationed throughout Heraklion with large wooden horns. They would blow the horns when the time for prayer would be called.

Ahmed and Masharaf walked around Shenshiban, waiting for the call to prayer. Sure enough, a few minutes later they heard the horn blast.

People in the streets heard it too, and, seeing the Stranglers in their midst, immediately got down on the ground and started praying. Of course, they were facing all different directions because they didn't know which way to face. They looked to see how others were facing and tried to imitate them, but the people they looked at were looking at still others for guidance, and the Stranglers were treated to the comical scenes of people constantly shifting in different directions.

Ahmed walked around them, watching them look up at him on their hands and knees. Whenever he glared at a person long enough, the person would anxiously shift position, to face a different way, and then look up at Ahmed to try to get an indication if he were praying in the right direction.

Ahmed didn't show it, but he was secretly very amused. He enjoyed the little game of staring at people and getting them to turn around like tops. He gave one of them a brief taste of the lash, and that was all that was needed; people would rotate in terror when his glance fell on them.

And then the horn sounded again and the time for prayer ended. Ahmed enjoyed this. This would be a great tool to instill terror and authority among the populace.

But then something unexpected happened. He could hear the call to prayer sound again a few seconds later. Someone was blowing the horn. But the next call to prayer was not for another three hours!

The populace looked confused, but weren't taking any chances. They immediately plunged back to the ground and tried to look like they were praying.

But then, a few seconds later, the horn sounded again, calling the end to prayer. The people got up, looking very confused.

And then, a minute later, the horn sounded once again. The populace hit the ground again.

"What is going on here?" said Ahmed, feeling his blood boil.

After that, the horn kept sounding, every minute, every two minutes, every three minutes, at random intervals. After a while the populace became inured to it, and stopped kneeling for prayer.

"Find the person who is blowing that horn!" Ahmed shouted. "And I want him alive, so I can flail him, piece by piece!"

His Stranglers started to run around the neighborhood, looking crazed and anxious.

But they didn't find the person blowing the horn. None of them thought to look on a rooftop, between two sets of clotheslines, to see Amadeus grinning widely, holding a horn as he watched the Stranglers run around like rats in a maze.

"Whippings? Every week?" said Ailborne.

"Your powers of hearing are impressive," said Khalid.

"But my Lord, why must people be whipped at services every week?" Ailborne asked. "There is nothing in the Book of Sparticus-"

"The Great God of Blood has written a new chapter of the Book of Sparticus. Do you have any objections?" said Khalid.

Ailborne wisely kept silent.

"Whippings are necessary because they draw blood," said Khalid. "Note that Laquinta is the God of Blood. Not the God of flowers, or the God of tiny children's cookies. Of blood. Laquinta needs blood to be satisfied. And we need blood to show us the way."

"But... who will be whipped?"

"You have jails, with violent criminals? Use those," said Khalid.

"We have a few violent criminals, but to whip them...."

"It's savage," said Erianthe, a member of the Council. "We will not whip our citizens."

"Erianthe," said Ailborne nervously.

"No, let her speak her mind," said Khalid. "Here in the Emirate I welcome all opinions. Continue, woman." He gestured with his eyes. One of his Stranglers slowly started to move behind her.

"This barbarism has gone on long enough!" Erianthe. "It's bad enough that you torture and abuse people! But you are trying to change our very character, to make us love torture and pain!"

"Quite right," said Khalid. "Very observant." His false charm put Ailborne on guard immediately, and made him feel very uneasy.

"We will not comply!" said Erianthe defiantly.

"Is that your last word?"

"Yes," said Erianthe.

Khalid smiled, and gestured with his eyes. A blade came out, and chopped Erainthe's head off. Helene, Ailborne's wife, screamed as she was covered with blood. Erianthe's head rolled to Helene's feet, touching her sandals.

"You are quite correct," said Khalid with great satisfaction, as he rubbed his oily goatee. "That was your last word." He turned to Helene. "Notice the wonderful gift of blood at your feet, woman. This small minded female has helped pave the path to the future with her own blood. For that, she has our thanks."​