The Epiphany Quartet

By Graham Pryor

A priest searching for God at the centre of the galaxy,
a young man looking for his lost first love, three old
men seeking the reprise of their youth, and a female
slave pondering her identity... Each will discover that
what they wished for was in fact something entirely
different. But did any of them recognise their epiphany?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781445770475

Graham Pryor

Graham Pryor studied American Studies and English at the University of Hull. Subsequently, he pursued a career in information management, leaving his childhood home in Hythe, Kent, for the north-east of Scotland, where he has lived and worked for the past forty years. Cerberus is his fifteenth novel and, he says, his favourite.

Book preview

1  The Missionary

What are you doing here, priest?

The engineer put down his coffee and pressed symbols on the wall dispenser’s touchpad, holding out an open hand for the nutrition bar that slid from a narrow chute.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, but we usually carry folk at the other end of the spiritual spectrum: engineers like me, prospectors, real estate guys; they’re our regular kind of passengers. Here at the core you won’t find many with much call for praying.

He unwrapped the sticky confection and took a bite. He wasn’t particularly interested to hear Cole’s answer, only it was awkward sharing the kitchen module with another passenger if there was no conversation, and he’d got at least a further twenty-four hours work to complete in this section of the ship, so he’d likely be having his break here again.

The priest smiled. It is a question that, until two years ago, I would have asked myself. But since that point, since that evening on the Feast of Epiphany, I have had the clearest possible answer. I am going to find God.

Travis gulped on his coffee. Hey, I thought you guys had already found God, which is why you wear that collar thing and have a big gold cross stamped on your tunic.

No, that’s not what I mean, quickly answered Cole. "And to make myself more easily understood I should have given you the official reason for my presence here. You’ve heard of the Interstellar Sons of the Sacred Heart, perhaps? We have been visible in the popular media for a while recently.

Travis nodded slowly. He’d never heard of the Interstellar Sons, but it would be discourteous to say so, for from the bright look on the priest’s face they clearly meant something important to him. Can’t say I take much notice of the popular media, he answered. It’s all just background noise to me out here. But, he swallowed the lie with a swig of coffee, I believe they’re a religious order. Yours presumably.

Indeed. And what you must have missed by your indifference to popular media, if I may make such an observation without giving offence, is that we are engaged in a mission to carry the word of God to the newly settled worlds of our galaxy.

Which is why you’re here, exhaled Travis. "A missionary. Going to the core as well; you’ve taken on a challenge I must say. You know the state of things down there, of course?

On Proteus? Absolutely. I assume you are referring to the  Oulu.

Mmm, Travis shook his head. Strange people, and I’ve seen some darned strange aliens before now. Without explaining further he put his empty mug on the circular tray that protruded from the dispenser and it was withdrawn into the machine with a plop of vacuum. Must get back to work. He stood, then turned back. But say, why did you give me that earlier stuff about finding God? Seems like you’ve already cracked that one if you’re intending to take the knowledge to others.

If you have time, and really want to know, I will be happy to satisfy your curiosity.

I have to work now, said Travis, but I’ll be here a couple of hours from now for a spot of lunch. I should have fixed the ventilation software by then. See you then?

See you then, smiled the priest, noting the time on his identity implant.

For the next two hours Cole sat at the table screen in his quarters and continued his study of Pi, the main human base on Proteus, the habitable planet described by the more sensational media as being at the centre of the galaxy, or the core as Travis had described it. First he read – for the umpteenth time – the long list of regulations governing visits to the base, noting with a sigh the controlling protocols and procedures that human beings always seemed to export to all points across space. He decided to ignore the commonplace conventions and codes of practice with which he had become familiar at other locations and instead looked for principles that had been recorded specifically for interaction with the Oulu, the native species of Proteus.

Little had been written on how to conduct relations with them. There were the typical warnings to beware of potential danger, to acknowledge that as an alien species their values were unlikely to reflect human values, and that one should always go armed when entering Oulu territory. But any protocols of behaviour specific to the Oulu were sparse, the advice being the usual array of suspicious cautions about the potential threat from the unknown.

Cole wiped the screen clean and with a wave of his hand pulled up the latest life science reports that the ship’s computer had downloaded whilst he was in hibernation. They told him only very basic information, having been compiled by the administrators of Pi from notes written by the single exobiologist to have joined the Pi team, a woman called Reece. Reece’s focus had been on the physiology and morphology of the Oulu, which was helpful for Cole but not what he really sought. His business was more to do with the spirit than the body, and he scoured the three reports for any unwitting evidence of the psychology of these reportedly indifferent aliens.

Aliens, ha! he snorted, seeing the term used throughout the reports. But we’re the aliens here. He caught himself with a flush of guilt. Yet we’re all God’s children, all of us. The thought reminded him that he had not prayed at all diligently since being awakened, so he slid forward to the edge of his seat and, pressing his palms together, closed his eyes.

Although it was two days since Cole had been withdrawn from hibernation he was still feeling drowsy, so it was no surprise when he found himself slumped in his chair, his neck stiff, waking from a deep sleep. He also recognised the feeling of being dehydrated, if not a little hungry, and abandoning his devotions and the reports he’d downloaded he made his way back to the kitchen in search of potable water and a decent lunch. The ship maintained a twenty-four hour regime with which his body clock had not yet harmonised, and he felt ravenous. When the synth medic had finished checking him over, right after resuscitation, he’d been ready for breakfast, just as if he’d woken after a night’s sleep; but they brought him a steak and corn, which he simply couldn’t face. The automatic dispenser in the kitchen had instead produced a satisfying breakfast of eggs and rolls; he now speculated whether it would offer that steak.

Cole was being carried on a large transporter along with several construction crews. He’d learned that from Travis. They would all have hearty appetites and he wondered if there was some central eating area, as surely the kitchen dispensers would be limited. Travis would argue otherwise.

Oh, stop this obsession with food, he snapped at himself. Isn’t that what got you into this situation in the first place? He flinched at his tone and the implied self-doubt concerning his mission.

But it had been doubt concerning his calling that had led to his diversion into compulsive eating. The more he had worried that he was not sufficiently pious, the more he descended into lengthy bouts of gorging, and the more he gorged the greater grew his sense of being unworthy. I’m a food addict, oh the shame of it, was his realisation as he awoke one morning, his stomach bloated and the greasy remains of a decimated lobster on his table a sight that brought a burning reflux to his throat.

He told no-one of his gustatory obsession but had retreated into a period of self-healing, isolated in his cell, his only contact with the outside world the abbot’s son, who would deliver him simple measures of muesli, bread, small portions of cheese, and salads, plus a folded copy of The Interlocutor, a digest of current events produced by the Order of the Sacred Heart to ensure that its members remained focused on doing God’s work in the real world. He dared not leave his cell for fear of temptation, since the seminary that was his home lay smack in the middle of a commercial district blessed (as he had once thought) with all manner of eateries and food markets.

His memory of that period of self-imposed ostracisation now impelled him into motion. He experienced a faint shiver of pride, immediately reproached, then gladness that he had prevailed. Indeed, look where it has brought me, he grinned. If I had not been so ensconced in my cell at that time, if I had been out stuffing myself in a burger bar or waiting to collect an order of chicken vindaloo, I’d never have seen...He shook his head and stepped out jauntily toward the kitchen module.

"Just punch in your personal code – it’s on your implant – and