Gods of Space

By E.W. Story

Among the ruins of Earth, stealing a sacred relic is much easier than escaping with it, particularly when the fragment of the One God begins to stir . . . Caught in the middle of an interstellar war, one lone priest seeks to complete his pilgrimage in peace.

Two tales of intergalactic adventurers and their encounters with the divine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.W. Story
• Release date: Oct 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995380806

E.W. Story

The initials in the name “E. W. Story” stand for “Evelyn William”. He might also be called “Ed”. Ed was possibly born in Cleve, South Australia, and raised in Adelaide, where he may have studied mathematics. Some propose that he lived in Perth and Darwin as well. It’s not beyond the realm of chance that he has a wife (Liz), two children (Luke and Sarah-Jane), and a dog (Darth). He definitely sold a story called “Cold Sleep, Cold Dreams” that was published in the landmark 1994 Australian science fiction anthology Alien Shores.He is also, almost certainly, the author of “On the Blink”, a story that rated third in a readers’ poll of the Canberra SF Society in 1992. That story appeared under the name “Bradley MacMillan”.He could also be #1 New York Times-bestselling author "Sean Williams".Which is the pseudonym? You decide.

Book preview

The God in the Box

Getting into the Temple had been easy. Pikes and swords were no match for modified cutting-lasers and reinforced vacuum armour. Besides, the guards had been taken by surprise: no-one attacked the Temple of the God, and certainly never in broad daylight—least of all a handful of men and women clad in silver suits with a flatbed floating in their wake. But attack they did, and the guards had been surprised long enough to allow the invaders into the Inner Sanctum itself.

Escape, however, was proving a little more difficult than simply running away.

The leader of the invaders, a burly man with a bearded face that seemed to bulge through his suit’s plastic visor, grabbed the only unsuited member of the party by the arm. His voice bellowed from speakers mounted in his chest-plate—quick, sharp and urgent.

The gates are barricaded. Is there another way out?

The unsuited man, wearing a monk’s cap and robe with poorly-made chain-mail underneath, was clearly terrified. His long, matted hair almost stood on end; his eyes were wide and bloodshot. Although more than forty years of age, fear made him look inexperienced and vulnerable. His name was Brother Randolph.

He made a religious sign with his left hand and tried visibly to calm himself, but when he spoke his voice cracked anyway.

Th-there’s a servant’s entrance, I think.

Where?

Through there. Brother Randolph pointed at a crumbling archway leading back the way they had come, away from the mass of men defending the gates.

Are you sure? The leader of the party eyed the passageway with suspicion. The tunnels were full of cul-de-sacs, pits and worse.

I may have betrayed my Order, Captain Corris, said the ex-monk, straightening his robe and trying to look dignified, but I am not a traitor. Follow me.

Corris, after only a slight hesitation, ordered his ensigns to fall back. Laying a dense pattern of laser-light in their wake, the six vacuum-suited figures, with the levitating flatbed protected in the middle of their defensive formation, retreated into the warrens.

Through his external suit-mikes, Corris could hear the defenders of the Temple crowing with triumph—prematurely, he hoped, although it wouldn’t be long before they remembered the back door and barricaded that as well.

One of the ensigns—a tall, muscular woman called Bonning—cursed as a stray dagger, flung by a Temple guard cowering in an alcove, bounced off her thigh. The light-weight fabric of the suit was designed to deal with high-speed micrometeorites and easily repelled the blade, but the impact still stung.

Fucking priests, she said, levelling her laser at the guard, who screamed and fled. Who would have guessed there’d be so many of them?

The Temple maintains a fanatical Militia, said Brother Randolph, but all of the faithful—from the youngest initiate to the oldest ward—will fight when necessary.

Great, muttered Bonning, nursing her thigh. Now he tells us.

You’ve been attacked by others in the past? asked Corris.

A few times. The Temple is more than just a monastery, and has material assets far more valuable than the Rock—to invaders, anyway. The Abbot is a very wealthy and therefore influential man. He has enemies.

Of course, thought Corris, as he sprayed the corridor ahead of him with coherent light. Hierocracies are always the most feared forms of government. We’re doing the region a favour by weakening them.

That, however, was no more than a shallow justification for his actions, and he knew it. He didn’t give a damn about either the region or the Abbot. All he wanted to do was escape from the Temple and fix the shuttle, if he could. From there, he hoped, the sky was literally the limit.

Presently, Brother Randolph pointed ahead. A wide metal door, bolted, lay in their path. The size of the stones around it indicated that they had reached the Temple’s outer wall.

There, indicated the ex-monk. That’s it.

A small party of guards defended the servant’s entrance, but soon retreated from the superior firepower directed at them. Four ensigns took positions facing the door and directed their lasers along the bolt, then the hinges, while Corris and Bonning covered their backs.

After barely a minute, the door collapsed outward. Corris waved Brother Randolph and the ensigns forward. When they were through, he followed, careful not to damage his suit on the jagged, red-hot metal. Aiming a burst of laser-fire at the lintel, he sealed the doorway behind them with rubble. From the ramparts high above, members of the Temple Militia yelled and hurled arrows and abuse at their heads.

Making sure the flatbed and its precious cargo were secure, the invaders ran toward the nearby forest with Corris yelling into the radio as he went:

Darien, we’re out! Can you hear me?

I hear you, sir. The voice of the science officer was thick with static and barely audible. But I can’t see you. Where—?

On the other side of the Temple. Are you ready to move?

The ‘beds are fully-charged. Plenty of sun on a day like—

Head north-east, the Captain interrupted. The science officer would talk all day, if Corris let him. We’ll meet you half-way. Keep to the trees and try to stay out of trouble.

Will do, sir. There was a moment’s silence, but Darien hadn’t signed off. Did you get it?

Yes, we got it. Corris scowled at the Rock on the flatbed. I just hope it was worth it.

Oh, it will be sir, if we can only—

Enough, Darien. We’ll talk later.

Right you are, sir. Over and out.

They reached the trees without mishap and headed for the rendezvous. Behind them, horns sounded as the gate to the Temple opened. A hundred red-armoured warriors issued from it, shouting and waving their weapons. Like a pack of dogs, Corris thought, and not one woman among them. Primitives. The sooner he was off this god-forsaken planet and back in space, the better.

Brother Randolph stumbled on the uneven ground and fell to his knees. Corris hauled him back onto his feet. The ex-monk wasn’t built for combat situations, that was for sure. His face was flushed, his chest rose and fell with emphysematous desperation, and he wasted energy gesturing and praying to his God. A God that he had betrayed, no matter what