The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Since I wasn’t able to eradicate gods and religion I tried a stopgap measure,” Kenntnis said. “I fostered the idea of loving and compassionate gods hoping that would weaken them further until we could push them back out of your world.”

  Cross joined back in. “Religion’s about obedience and fear, and your early ones were real lip smackers. Blood sacrifice. Good stuff. But he,” a gesture to Kenntnis, “was having an effect. Human sacrifice gave way to animal sacrifice, polytheism was pretty damn tolerant. So us Old Ones got together and fucked him good.”

  “How?” Richard asked

  “We encouraged the One Bookers,” said Cross. “They’ve been a magnificent disaster.”

  “Wha … what?” stuttered Richard.

  “Monotheism. The second worst idea after religion,” Kenntnis said, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head pained him. “Now everybody has the ‘one true god’ and the Old Ones have religious hatred and religious wars on which to feed. Two thousand years of crusade, jihad, inquisition, pogrom …” Kenntnis sighed and he seemed to be looking across a vast distance. For the briefest instant Richard thought he saw whirling lights in the profound darkness of Kenntnis’s eyes. Then Kenntnis blinked and the lights were gone.

  “Then Scripture is—” Richard began.

  “Bullshit,” Cross interrupted. “Well, it’s not totally untrue. You humans actually wrote down some of the unbelievably horrible shit we did—killing every firstborn son. Fucking over Job, ordering you to war with your neighbors. Actually read what ‘God,’” Cross provided the quotation marks with quick flicks of his fingers, “ordered Joshua to do to Jericho. And what’s really amazing is how you humans try to justify it and find some holy meaning instead of saying, Wow, these gods are crazy murderous psychopaths who like to watch us suffer. Why would I believe in this?” Cross seemed to be working himself up into a rage.

  Kenntnis rubbed a hand over his face and he looked unimaginably tired. “Anyway, I thought the grand march toward secular humanism was a dismal failure and then Cross showed up—the schizophrenic god. He had been supping on human emotions and there had actually been enough people who accepted and tried to live by these compassionate ideals that it began to affect this particular Old One.” Kenntnis turned and stared at Cross and reluctantly Richard did the same.

  When set beside this incredible explanation Cross’s constantly changing appearance began to make a degree of sense.

  “So you reflect back the vision of the faithful,” Richard said slowly.

  “Yeah, but it depends on which faithful. For some I’m a pretty blond Jesus. For others I’m Allah, and for others, Yahveh.” The homeless man stopped frowning and preened a bit. “Not to be immodest, but I was the source for three world religions.”

  Memories of prayers and services spun through Richard’s head. There was the feeling of an emotional snap and the core from which he guided his life seemed suddenly empty. The loss overwhelmed him, and he no longer heard them talking.

  Slowly he became aware of Cross’s voice again. “ … got me with a triple whammy. A bombing in Tel Aviv, a retaliation in Gaza, and a gay bashing in America, and a massacre of Hindus in India. Guess that’s actually four, but anyway they split me.”

  “That was deliberate?” Richard asked.

  “Oh, yeah, they wanted to get me away from you and release some of the fractals so they could kill you.”

  “Why?” Richard cried.

  “Because your presence at my side gives me an advantage in the struggle,” Kenntnis said gently.

  “How did they find out about me?” Richard cried.

  “They watch me just as I watch them.”

  Richard looked at Cross. “You said you wanted to die. If Kenntnis wins will you die?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the other aspects of you want to prevent that,” Richard continued.

  “Well, duh. That whole Kenntnis wins thing … not really good for our … their side.”

  “If Cross dies will it affect the rest of them?” Richard asked.

  Cross perked up and looked hopeful. “Kid’s got a point. Maybe it would weaken them. He could use the sw—” Kenntnis glared and Cross subsided.

  “You are too useful to me, and I’m afraid it will make them even more powerful without your moderating influence. So, no,” Kenntnis said firmly. Cross slumped.

  “I don’t understand how you can be all these creatures—” Richard began.

  Cross made a rude noise. “Oh, please, you said you were a believer. That means you’ve accepted this shit for years—Father, Son, Holy Ghost.”

  “But we’re not talking about faith now,” Richard said. The effort to keep his voice level made his throat hurt. He fought back the rage. “I’m talking biology.”

  “There are examples even in this world—amoebas, atoms. His kind evolved in a different universe, under different conditions,” said Kenntnis.

  “Then you contain Allah and Yahveh … ?” Richard began.

  Cross shook his head. “Not the big ones. They split off totally a few hundred years ago. And it’s a damn good thing one of them, including the Big J, didn’t try to come and croak you last night. If they had, you’d be dead.” There was another significant look between Cross and Kenntnis. Kenntnis gave an almost imperceptible head shake. “What I try to keep pasted together are all the little Jesusi created by small but passionate nut bag Christian sects, and the little Allahs created by equally nutty Moslem sects, and the little Yahvehs created by Jewish nuts.”

  Richard stood and looked down at Kenntnis. “You’re trying to enlist me in a war on God.”

  “No, I’m trying to enlist you in a war on invading creatures who will enslave your kind, turn this world into a living hell and sink you in a darkness from which there is no morning.”

  “And what happens if you win?”

  “I give you the stars,” said Kenntnis simply.

  They left it there. It was Richard himself who ended the discussion, saying he was too tired and too disturbed to properly evaluate what he’d heard. He needed time to process. Kenntnis offered a guest room and this time it was accepted. Kenntnis thought that was a pretty major victory. The policeman had so many barriers around himself. This was the first sign they were breaking through.

  The attack on his own building had shaken Kenntnis. He had to assume it was an overzealous subordinate, but if it had been Grenier himself it meant he and his masters were far too confident for Kenntnis’s peace of mind. So he set Cross patrolling inside and outside the building, watching for magic. At least they’d managed to damp down Rhiana so she didn’t interfere with the task.

  Kenntnis lit a candle in one of the antique silver candlesticks in the dining room. It was an archaic gesture considering how deeply he revered and nurtured science and technology, but there was a power in the symbolism of the flame. Shielding the fluttering tongue of fire with his hand, Kenntnis went to the bedroom where Rhiana slept.

  A fall of pale peach-colored muslin hung from a hook in the ceiling and draped, tent-like, over the graceful sleigh bed. Kenntnis caught a glimpse of himself reflected and refracted in the three mirrors in the vanity. Delicate Limoges boxes dotted the polished wood surface of the vanity. The Bose was set so low that the music of the Bach fugue was more an impression than any real sound. Nervous, Kenntnis checked to make certain it was still set for continuous play.

  Reassured, he moved to the bed and drew back the veiling muslin. The light fell flickering over her extraordinary features. The high points of her cheekbones narrowed down to the pointed chin. Sooty lashes swept the top of those cheekbones. In the candlelight her skin seemed luminescent. The long black hair fanned across the pillow and cascaded over her shoulders. She slept with wanton abandon, sprawled across the entire bed, one arm thrown behind her head, one foot escaping from beneath the covers.

  What was she? Kenntnis wondered. It had been long, long since this much power had walked in human form. Tomorrow he woul
d begin investigating her and try to find some answers.

  He left Rhiana and moved down the hall to where Richard slept. It was a simpler space with twin beds, a dresser and a large armchair set in front of a fireplace. The closet door was open and Kenntnis could see the coat, slacks and shirt carefully hung, the shoes set neatly on the floor beneath the clothes. The policeman’s underwear was folded on the dresser. Next to it lay his empty holster. Kenntnis looked for the gun and found it lying on the table between the beds.

  Richard slept curled tightly on his side. One hand was beneath the pillow, the other clenched beneath his chin. The white-gold hair had escaped from its perfect part, forming a soft fringe across his forehead. There was a furrow between the pale brows. If he had dreams they weren’t pleasant.

  A shadow on the wrist caught Kenntnis’s attention. At first he thought it was a line formed by the sheet, but then he realized there was a scar running across Richard’s wrist. Kenntnis craned to look down at the other arm. The skin was unblemished. Disturbed, Kenntnis stepped back and considered this development. Old, but not terribly old. Kenntnis wondered if this was the source of the missing months. Suddenly the man seemed terribly small and frail to be the repository for Kenntnis’s hopes and the bulwark against his fears.

  Kenntnis started for the door. Richard’s voice stopped him before he reached it. “Who are you?”

  Kenntnis turned back slowly. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “A piece of rope caught around my wrist during a yacht race,” said Richard. His look dared Kenntnis to disagree. Kenntnis took the dare.

  “And the examiners at the police academy bought that load of shit?”

  “Albuquerque has a profound shortage of police,” said Richard placidly.

  They stared at one another in silence for a few moments.

  “I need to know if you’re strong enough to take this. Why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “I only discuss personal matters with friends,” said Richard. “Who are you?” he repeated.

  “And I only give my name to friends,” answered Kenntnis. As a barb it missed its mark. Richard just smiled.

  “So I guess we’ll keep our secrets.” Kenntnis frowned, realizing he’d been trumped and hating it. Richard chuckled, a rich musical sound, and Kenntnis realized this was the first time he’d ever heard the policeman’s laugh. “I think you’re too used to getting your own way.”

  “You planning on teaching me humility?” asked Kenntnis.

  “No, just pricking your arrogance now and then.”

  “Are you going to work for me?” Kenntnis demanded.

  “I don’t know yet,” Richard replied.

  “Don’t take too long. Events are moving with or without you,” Kenntnis warned.

  Chapter EIGHT

  In the morning Richard had found a box of non-adhesive bandages, medical tape and scissors sitting in the bathroom. He wanted to return to his apartment for a shower and clean clothes, but the bandages were a stark reminder that he needed another person to wrap his hands. The shower was stocked with high-end bath products scented with sandalwood. In a drawer by the sink he found an antique straight razor with a mother of pearl handle and shaving soap and a brush in a Limoges cup.

  Given the attention to detail he’d found in the bathroom, Richard half expected to find a change of clothes in the closet, but only his torn and dirty clothes were there. He dressed, gathered up the antibiotic ointment and bandages and went in search of help.

  The smells of freshly baked bread, ham and coffee led him into a large, aggressively modern kitchen. Rhiana was at a table set in the bay of a window. Covered chafing dishes stood on a buffet. Winter sunlight blazed through the glass and danced across the chrome and steel appliances. Flecks of what looked like opal glittered in the granite counter-tops. She was perusing a textbook, her chin propped in her hand.

  Richard glanced curiously at the open page. There were a lot of mathematical formulae. The only thing he could read said,

  A Bose-Einstein condensate is a gaseous superfluid phase formed by atoms cooled to temperatures very near to absolute zero. A rotating Bose-Einstein condensate could be used as a model black hole, allowing light to enter but not to escape. For a popularized version of this theory see the science fiction story “Light of Other Days,” by Bob Shaw, which introduced a condensate as “slow glass.”

  It was a stomach-aching reminder of how he’d struggled to pull out a C in Calculus. Richard returned his attention to a more pleasant subject, the girl. The sun sparked highlights of blue and even deep purple from her hair. A dirty plate sat nearby.

  “Good morning,” Richard said.

  She jumped and looked up. “I didn’t know you were here,” she blurted.

  “I arrived pretty late,” Richard said.

  “Kenntnis should have woken me up.”

  Richard walked to the table. “Look, I was wondering …” He gestured with the box, tube and scissors.

  “Sure.” He sat down, and she took his hands in hers and gently turned them palms up. There was a hiss of quickly indrawn breath. “What happened?”

  “I got burned.”

  “How?”

  “It’s a long story, and I really need to get to work. May I tell you tonight?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  She opened the tube of ointment and spread it gently across the raw blisters on his palms. The tips of her fingers were cool and very soft. Three of the fingernails, two on one hand, one on the other, were broken. The rest were long, perfect ovals carefully polished.

  “Did you break them the other night?” he found himself asking inanely.

  Rhiana nodded and laid a gauze pad over his palm. Her hair fell forward, brushing lightly across his wrists. The tang of citrus wafted to his nostrils. Desire shivered down his nerves. The reactions spreading through his body were unexpected. It had been a long time since he’d experienced any type of physical arousal.

  Sex had been his greatest vice. His dirty secret. It had caused most of the problems in his life, and he hadn’t slept with anyone for four years. It hadn’t been hard, his injuries had been so bad and his fear so great, but now he was faced with Rhiana. He pictured them in bed, skin to skin, sweat slick and burning hot, and a stab of blinding panic gripped his chest. For a moment he writhed, pierced by two divergent, almost painful drives—passion and panic. Panic won and the bulge in his crotch subsided.

  Rhiana shook back her hair and looked at him. “I never thanked you for saving me.”

  “De nada,” he said.

  Her words made him very glad the desire had drained away. If he had acted on his attraction it would have seemed as if he expected her to respond out of gratitude. And she was awfully young, he would be taking advantage.

  She shot him an impish grin and said in a deadpan tone, “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  “Not quite that sanguine,” Richard said. “It fell just a tad outside my job description.”

  Rhiana finished bandaging his hands and jumped to her feet. She nodded toward the chafing dishes. “What can I get you? There’s just about everything.”

  She started lifting lids to reveal eggs poached, fried and scrambled. Beneath another gleaming lid was sausage, ham and bacon. There were waffles and pancakes, toast, fresh fruit and porridge.

  Rhiana wrinkled her nose as she lifted the last lid. “And these weird little fish thingees.”

  “Kippers,” said Richard automatically.

  Rhiana flushed, saying quickly and aggressively. “I knew that.”

  But Richard hadn’t been a psych minor for nothing. “Just some fruit and a slice of ham,” he said quickly to get them past the moment.

  It was pretty evident that the physics text no longer had any lure, so Richard resigned himself to breakfast conversation. “So, where are you from?” he asked, knowing that most people like to talk about themselves and if he asked the questions he would be able to eat. He bit into a piece of honeydew melon. The rich
, sweet flavor exploded across his tongue. Definitely not from a local market.

  “Van Nuys.”

  “And that’s where?”

  “Oh, California. My dad’s a trucker. Mom works for a company that manufactures medical equipment.”

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Three brothers. Two sisters. But four of us are adopted.”

  “Oh.” Richard paused and speared a large blackberry. He wasn’t sure how to respond. That’s nice. How noble of your parents. He settled for another question. “And how did you end up in New Mexico?”

  “They gave me a full scholarship—encouraging women in science, you know. I’m the first one in my family to go to college.” She was babbling with nervousness. Richard wondered if it was him and what he had done to elicit this reaction.

  “Congratulations, that’s a major accomplishment.” He smiled over at her, and she blushed brightly.

  “Thanks.” She twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. “That wasn’t my folks’ reaction. All they could focus on was how the grant only paid for tuition and books, not housing. I had to take out a loan for that. They wouldn’t help at all. Well, maybe they really couldn’t, but still …” She frowned at the memory. She looked up and her brow cleared. “And anyway, I don’t think they understand why I wanted to do it.”

  “Forgive me, Rhiana, I know this is impertinent, but how old are you?” She hesitated and fiddled with her napkin.

  “I’m almost eighteen,” she said.

  “Wow.”

  “I skipped a couple of grades.”