Edge of Revelation

by David John West

  Rakul paused inside the large bright room where President Mblane sat on a throne-like ironwood chair talking to acolytes in lesser chairs. The witch doctor peered round Rakul at the President from the doorway as if he were perched on Rakul’s broad back.

  President Mblane took in the impressive newcomer, looked at several of his close staff for assurance of protection then broke the silence. “Hello Father,” he addressed the witch doctor. “This is an unexpected visit. Who is this stranger you bring to my house?”

  “Great President, this man is leader of the powerful allies I bring you that protect your armies. He has important news for you.”

  President Mblane looked past him to the two guards slumped on the floor outside the open doors. “Were you not welcomed properly, my Father?”

  “Excuse me, Great Leader,” Rakul intoned in his most powerful bass. “We have urgent business of great import to your people. I was unable to spend time with your guards on introductions.”

  “You did well, Powerful Ally of my people. Not all my staff have the skills I would ideally want. Please remove them and see them completely retrained,” he directed his remarks to the nearest acolyte in military uniform who rose immediately to arrange removal of the unconscious guards. “Perhaps you could reassure me that you come unarmed, Powerful Ally?”

  Rakul raised his arms in silent invitation of the President’s staff to search his impressive sand-coloured uniform with ropes of golden braids and brash medals on gaudy ribbons. Rakul and the President were in competition for the most ridiculously bedecked outfit but Rakul carried it off with far greater authority. Rakul turned around slowly to come back to face the President. “No need for any further intrusion, Powerful Ally. We see you come unarmed and in company with our Old Father. Please join us here at the table and tell us your news.”

  President Mblane removed five juniors from the long meeting table leaving only his most trusted friends and close family members. Rakul settled himself at the far end of the table immediately making it a second head; the witch doctor sat in a separate chair just behind him. “I come to you as the closest friend of the Matlala people and you personally as their leader of great renown,” said Rakul. “I have news of the righteous raid on the dogs Nkonki, which has been intercepted by new enemies of great strength. I have ended their assault on your force but even now General Zam returns with news of how he was thwarted by your new enemies and saved by my own forces.”

  “This is interesting news indeed,” said the President. “These enemy forces, are they Western? European or North American imperial interlopers?”

  “I fear that they are, maybe both in alliance, but you remain more powerful as I come from the stars to protect the Matlala as promised by my close friend, your Old Father here with me now.”

  President Mblane peered round Rakul to see his witch doctor. “I underestimated you, Old Father. I thought the gods you describe were without substance but I see now they are real indeed.”

  “Did I not tell you this much?” the Zarnha witch doctor muttered under his breath in his customary guttural.

  “Please tell us more of General Zam’s mission, Powerful Ally?”

  “I was watching your enemies from the skies and saw that one of their number, who was carrying a secret marker, left Europe and then appeared in your nation here in Africa. Thinking of your interests I ordered checks and saw that this enemy had raced to confront your force and I sent my best commandos to thwart them from the skies. My force protected General Zam who can confirm the truth of the skirmish when he returns. You must not be too harsh on him for his failure as the enemy that confronted him was very powerful indeed and carried fearsome weapons. Fortunately we carry even greater power and we sent them packing in your name like the dogs they are.”

  “I am most grateful for your support,” announced President Mblane. “I will confirm this message with Zam on his return. If this is so then you are indeed most welcome.”

  “I think you will hear that the battle was even more heroic than my modest description, Great Leader,” Rakul replied.

  “Well you must relax and enjoy our hospitality in the meantime. We have celebrations this night. Music and feasting then a wife-choosing from our own girls and those captured from our enemies all around. You must attend as my honoured guest. Maybe we could even find you a new wife of your own as a mark of our great alliance!” President Mblane beamed as he guided Rakul personally to guest rooms at the rear of the residence, the witch doctor fluttering along behind them like a gawky secretary bird.

  *

  Rakul needed no rest after the mildest of exertions and the interesting meeting with President Mblane that day. He phoned Joe back in Cambridge using terrestrial cell phone technology from his room, sitting on the super king bed draped in furry animal skins in an assortment of colours: fawn, white with spots and white with black stripes. The animals the hides had been taken from were of a modest size, unworthy of being hunted on planet Jarlanka.

  “Hello Joe,” Rakul spoke softly when the phone was answered.

  Joe had noted the incoming call was the routing Rakul had used previously so he recognised the caller. “Rakul,” Joe answered shortly.

  “You surprise me, Joe. I thought we had a deal. Now I find your men interfering in local affairs far away from your base. It seems they were unaware that this place is of interest to my people and that we already have claim to this place. I call you now as I want to be your friend, but friends don’t tread on each other’s toes, so please do not make this mistake again.”

  “That is an interesting point of view, Rakul. Any action we may be undertaking is to protect the people here in a spirit of peace on an uncommitted world. You have no claim to any part of this world unless and until the people ask for it under the accession terms to a greater collection of planets according to the Epsilon treaty. Having said that we have no wish to overlap your own efforts to help the local people advance in a spirit of peace and cooperation. That would be your intent of course?”

  “Naturally. As always we understand each other in these most tricky of times. You will be pleased to know that your force has been permitted to return unharmed. This cannot be guaranteed if there is any recurrence of your aggression, however.”

  “Thank you for your comments,” replied Joe. “It is always better to talk than not, though we formally reject any claims you may make on any region of this world.”

  “Don’t presume to quote me the rules, Joe, I speak to you only in a spirit of comradeship. It is up to you to decide if you want my help or not.” Rakul clicked shut the communication. Back in Cambridge, Joe shrugged then contacted Maria to hear the story of the evening’s events directly from Daniel and the Pantucci brothers.

  *

  A stomping rhythm started to swell, which demanded Rakul’s attention back in President Mblane’s residence. It would seem that the excitement of the wife-choosing was revving up; Rakul’s interest was piqued. He made great use of ceremony to motivate and control the peoples of the few worlds under his direct rule. Pomp and circumstance established his undisputed rule and held his worlds under the control of his acolytes in his long absences. His people held him in far greater esteem as a result than the poor slaves across the rest of Spargar where his sisters the Omeyns paid little heed to the loyalty of their people.

  Rakul stood in front of a large full-length mirror on a yellow wood stand hinged across the centre line. He tilted the mirror back to frame his tall physique. He cut a very fine figure in the gaudily decorated uniform his valet had generated for this visit back on his command ship. He had left the tall peaked cap behind as he had expected some physical conflict. That was a shame as it would have accented his presence but without the head covering his otherworldliness was unmistakeable. To the credulous Matlala, Rakul was very possibly the god that he claimed to be, and their god incarnate too. The Matlala were a darker colour than Rak
ul, but many of the males sported shaved or bald bullet heads. Rakul too was bald and tattooed though his cranium was larger and more sculpted across the central ridge.

  Rakul left his room and a couple of guards lurched away from leaning on either side of his door and escorted him back to President Mblane’s main hall.

  “Hallo, my friend!” Mblane greeted Rakul warmly as he entered the hall that was now thronging with lackeys in a spirit of high excitement. It was clear that Mblane had assessed his visitor in his short absence and concluded that Rakul’s arrival was entirely positive. President Mblane would hold his own council on the newcomer but would take as much personal credit out of the situation as he could in the short term.

  “Greetings, Great Leader!” Rakul boomed across the entirely male audience in their military finery, ill-fitting business suits or tribal costumes in fur and feather. It was clear to all that Rakul and the President were the alpha males in the room. There was no challenge from the rest once the President had received Rakul with the greatest warmth of them all.

  “See here is my commander General Zam returned from battle with the Nkonki dogs. He confirms that your champions bested the gods of the Nkonki when they raised them against our brave troops.” General Zam stared up at his President from beneath lowered lids, the whites of his eyes wide in stark contrast to his glistening cranium. “We will talk of your rewards later but for now we go to the ceremony and you will be the first outside guest to witness the wife-choosing of the Matlala tribe.” He took Rakul to one side by the arm and whispered conspiratorially, “These are the finest young girls south of the Sahara, excited beyond measure to become wives to my generals if they are chosen. You and I may even find a very special one to take for ourselves. You could start your own kraal this night right next to my own, assuming of course all your other wives do not mind so much!” President Mblane laughed loudly and all his men laughed with him despite being too distant to hear the joke.

  President Mblane led Rakul out through the double doors followed by the entourage. Outside was a hellish scene of great fires in front of scaffolding supporting old but powerful disco lighting and large scuffed black speaker cases. A low broad stage sat below the scaffolding with thick black cables writhing around attached to a number of guitars and microphone stands. Brass wind instruments stood waiting by some of the lecterns. A set of bongo drums crafted from old oil drums sat in front of a standard rock drum kit. All around, the people of the town had been drinking local brew and eating stew and pap from stalls set around the perimeter. Now they went silent as the President led Rakul to the central part of the grand seating that commanded the best view of the entertainment area. Rakul sat on a broad chair with low carved ebony arms to the President’s right hand side, the President favouring him by waiting for Rakul to seat himself first. The rest of the President’s entourage then quickly took their wide seats in a previously established pecking order, the top brass sitting closest to either side of Rakul and the President. The lower grades sat in a line of small seats behind the top tier. The crowd was clearly waiting for the President to declare the ceremonial opening.

  “Our ceremony tonight is honoured by the arrival of one of our gods, come this day to protect the Matlala people in their time of need. Our enemies are strong and manyfold but this Powerful Ally has come among us to drive us on to glory. He has this day prevailed against the Nkonki dogs, witnessed by our own trusted General Zam. Is this not so, Zam?” General Zam stood and nodded to the crowd.

  “Don’t be so modest, Powerful Ally, let the crowd see you,” President Mblane bawled over the crowd. Rakul smiled widely at the acclaim, stood and raised his arms slowly until they were wide open at shoulder height to recognise the crowd as he would in the great amphitheatre back on Jarlanka. As in his home world the crowd raised a cheer, genuine in the belief that this Powerful Ally would promote their success, hopefully saving their own skins by reducing casualties among their own number.

  “Now let the show begin!” bawled Mblane.

  The crowd roared again as the musicians took to the stage, picked up their instruments and after a few false starts launched into a thumping beat that rocked the walls of the compound. The musicians were an eclectic bunch, some wearing sky-blue Matlala costume decorated and voluminous at the cuffs and, some wearing jeans and teeshirts like Western rock stars. A lead singer moved forward flashing a full set of very white teeth in a massive grin. He wore American rapper clothes in very bright bling, a golden bomber jacket, bejewelled baseball cap on sideways and clashing high-top trainers below voluminous black harem pants. All his clothing still carried the store tags; he planned to return them all to the manufacturer eventually.

  The lead singer launched into the song that seemed to consist entirely of singing the lyrics ‘Hi Tuna’ over and over repeatedly, hypnotically. Between the lyrics the brass section echoed his words, and various guitar solos punctuated the monotony. Primitive in the extreme, but not without its merit, Rakul mused as he saw the effect of the rolling beat, driving the crowd to beer-fuelled spasmodic dancing, writhing in the disco light and flames, stomping their feet to the beat so the packed earth shuddered in time.

  Attendants carried large glasses full of raw-tasting, very strong beer to the honoured guests on the viewing dais. Rakul took his share and joined in the mindless bonhomie of the President’s entourage as they ate sweetmeats and drank copious quantities of the beer. Rakul was not expecting such a native brew to have a significant effect but it must have been much stronger than it appeared as he found his head starting to swim, though he considered he was more in control than any of his hosts.

  The music thumped along often returning inexplicably to the ‘Hi Tuna’ chorus. Rakul inquired of a neighbour what ‘Hi Tuna’ meant thinking it held a deeper tribal meaning and the reply was that it was a greeting to a large and tasty pelagic fish. Rakul rubbed his jaw at the reply that the chorus simply meant exactly what it said, confused as to what that was all about, situated at least a thousand miles from the oceans in any direction as they were.

  The music suddenly changed, the beat was still powerful but muted, the thunderous sound moderating to an alluring song evocative of the sights and smells of the African bush. The crowd quietened in acknowledgement of the new music, expectation in the air. The President’s acolytes leaned forward in their chairs, animal desire apparent in their stares. A line of maidens appeared from the side of the stage swaying and stomping to the new beat. The line was led by Matlala girls in a state of high excitement, smiling broadly, eyes round with dagga and anticipation. They wore only a narrow waistband with leather pudenda flap that exposed their buttocks, bracelets around wrists, ankles and necks. The Matlala girls had close curled hair. They sported large breasts that were improbably high as they swung to the sound like ostrich eggs. Equally improbable were their buttocks jutting out like shelves that bounced as the girls spread their knees and stomped along to the chorus like limbo dancers under a high bar. Behind the lead dancers were slave girls from other tribes, equally prepared for the ceremony and made to dance but not at all with the same pleasure as the locals. There were girls of different ethnic groups, some tall and slender with close-cropped heads, others tawny, shorter with grandiose coiffures stiffened with red mud. All were dressed the same; all statuesque in their youthful sexuality.

  Rakul was stirred despite himself. The heady combination of the beat, the beer and the tall flames animating the night allied to this abundance of buxom womanhood staring boldly at the most senior aides to the President, defying them to choose them for new spouses, was undeniably powerful.

  The President’s entourage waited impatiently for him to take the first choice. His kraal was already full with more than thirty wives taken over the last two decades. His older wives had substantial families already, each with a series of linked rondavels for their large families around the presidential compound. The younger wives had a couple of babies or were the ones w
orking hard to start their own royal family so only owned one or two huts. This did not stop the President from selecting a couple of new brides, one a Matlala girl he had been watching ahead of the choosing and one a very attractive Ovazimba girl with long ropes of earth-red hair. The Ovazimba were prized by the Matlala for their aggressively sensuality. The two newly betrothed girls approached the President and squeezed either side of him on his wide seat, turned towards him so that their breasts jostled his arms and chest. Rakul glanced down to see the Ovazimba girl’s buttocks pushing towards him as she wriggled in to the President. If they pleased him through the night then they could expect to be announced as new wives and set about building their own bridal rondavels at the edge of the compound.

  Once the President had chosen from the long line of maidens the rest of his men eagerly jostled to choose from the remainder. They each had their slot to make a choice. A few favoured men were allowed to choose more than one. Rakul was amused by the structured nature of the mating ceremony; even he could not treat the womenfolk of Jarlanka in such a brazen manner. He pictured his commander Ivanka Makhtarian, naked apart from a tiny thong, inserted in the human millipede of African girls, feet spread wide stomping and turning their breasts to the rhythm. The President heard a guffaw from Rakul beyond the attentions of the Ovazimba girl. He pushed her head down to better see his new ally and said, “You too must make a choice as our honoured guest. Are these not the finest women you can find anywhere in the heavens?”