Strange Cosmology

by Alex Raizman

  Ryan moved closer to Athena, creating some extra space on their side of the booth, and Isabel sat down.

  “I...heard about your church on the news. The Church of Adversity?” Isabel said, proud that she managed not to stammer.

  Arthur laughed. “Oh, yes. I’m so glad we’re still hitting the news cycle with gods running around. I was worried we’d get buried. That is my church, yes. Have you considered becoming a member?” He flashed her a dazzling grin.

  “Um…” Isabel said, her brain locking up.

  “Arthur....” Athena said warningly.

  “I wasn’t asking to buy her soul. Just a bit of recruiting. Still, question retracted.”

  “Thanks,” Isabel muttered, then blurted, “So it’s true then? Lucifer is out, and you’re in charge now?” Immediately she wanted to retract the question. It was so damn obvious.

  At least it didn’t seem to bother Arthur, whose eyes lit up. “He’s super out. I’ve got his head on a pike outside of my citadel right now.”

  Uriel laughed lightly, and Isabel decided that she was officially creeped out.

  “It was lovely to meet all of you,” Arthur said, “but we have other business. Enjoy your evening.”

  “That was your meeting?” Isabel exclaimed as soon as they were out of earshot. “Please tell me you didn’t sell your soul.”

  Ryan shook his head. “I’m not as dumb as I look, Izzy.”

  Isabel snorted. “That’s a relief; otherwise I’d wonder how you remembered to breathe.”

  He gave her a broad smile and an extended digit. “Thankfully, I don’t need to remember it anymore.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, remind me again how awesome it is to be a god. ‘Oh, I don’t need to breathe!’ ‘Oh, I don’t need to use a bathroom, ever!’ ‘Oh, I can get my face shot off and give my sister a heart attack and be better the next day!’”

  “I also don’t get hungover.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Isabel sighed. “Seriously, though, did you just make a deal with the devil?”

  “Arthur’s, well, a different devil,” Ryan said. “He’s already proven that his word is good.”

  “If you say so,” Isabel said.

  Crystal was pleased that the crowd at the bar had died down just as she had managed to slip away for a few minutes, and that Candia wasted no time coming over.

  “Another drink,” the bartender asked, “or something else? Or both?”

  “Both,” Crystal said. All the regular patrons of Empyrean Provocation knew that Candia collected, and dispensed, gossip, but most weren’t aware that gossip was only the tip of the iceberg. Crystal firmly believed that her friend might have been some kind of intelligence agent at some point. It wasn’t impossible that she still was, as she was in a perfect spot to learn about the goings-on of the supernatural world.

  “How about if I go first?” Crystal asked as Candia mixed her drink.

  “That’s a change.”

  Crystal shrugged. “I like to mix it up sometimes. So here it is: I’ve seen with my own eyes that Olympus is abandoned and in ruins. Hades has gone to consult the Fates, hoping they’d known where the Olympians had gone.”

  “Hmmm,” Candia said, biting her lip. “That is interesting. The underworld gods have been disrupting things since they got back, but I hadn’t heard anything about Hades. That explains it. Also, people have been speculating about Olympus for ages, but no one has known.” She handed Crystal her drink. “I appreciate it. So what do you want to know?”

  Crystal knew that she’d just earned some serious credit. “I don’t suppose you happen to know anything about gods affiliated with the U.S. Military?”

  “I hadn’t...really?” Candia asked in a shocked whisper. “That violates all sorts of treaties. You all don’t get involved with governments, ever.”

  Crystal sighed and nodded. It’d been too much to hope that Candia would know something. “We don’t know who they are. We think they might even be…some kind of manufactured gods.”

  “Something else I hadn’t heard.” Candia’s antenna twitched in irritation. “I’m supposed to know about these things.”

  “I don’t think they’ve been running in our circles.”

  Candia’s antenna drooped. “And I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you again, because no one knows what Moloch’s up to.”

  “Damn,” Crystal said, staring into her glass. “Do you happen to know something I should know about?”

  “Harder to say, since I don’t know what you don’t know,” Candia said. “Lots of people are talking about the Eschaton.”

  “I’m not surprised. What are they saying?”

  Candia smiled, obviously relieved to have something to share. “He’s quite the hot topic. Even if most of your kind still don’t believe you about the end of the world, he’s a new god, he’s forming a pantheon, he’s announced himself to the world...a lot of people are very interested.”

  “I don’t suppose any of them would be interested in helping us?”

  “Not yet, as far as I’ve heard. But I’m listening. And I’ll be listening harder. You definitely gave me more than I gave you tonight.”

  Crystal shrugged. “It will even out, love.”

  Candia laughed. “I’ll make sure it does. Come see me again soon, and I’m sure I’ll have something to tell you.”

  ***

  Footsteps approached, and Bast realized she was hoping it was Cassandra. She had found herself warming to the woman, slowly but surely. It was a process Bast had become familiar with over the centuries. Back in her day, they’d called it conversion. In more modern times, it had been called indoctrination, then brainwashing. These days it had a fancy, psychological name: Stockholm syndrome.

  Lub-dub-lub-dub

  It seemed to Bast that Cassandra’s heartbeat was louder today than it had ever been. Each time another person was in a room, Bast was more aware of the sound than the last time, and when the full quartet of researchers was present, the sound became a near cacophony.

  The sounds of hearts, echoing in her mind. Maybe I am crazy? It was possible, she admitted to herself. Sane gods didn’t hear every heartbeat and find themselves nearly driven to distraction.

  Cassandra deliberately stopped just before she reached a point she knew she could be seen. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts. It was four in the morning, and she hadn’t slept. After several hours of tossing and turning, she’d gotten out of bed and tried to organize her thoughts. Eventually, those thoughts have become hypotheses, and then questions, and finally, possibly, plans. She looked down at the notepad she had spent half the night filling and steeled herself. She moved the mirror into position, sat down at her desk, and smiled.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Bast caught a hint of strain in Cassandra’s voice, a slight tightening around her eyes. It was so frustrating not to be able to respond, to figure out what was going on. Bast needed information, and it was impossible to get when she couldn’t really influence the direction of the conversation. The listening and blinking also limited how effective the interactions were at filling her Hungers. They did as much to slake her need for Company as the slow drips of water did to relieve her thirst. It was much better than having nothing, but the glacial progress was maddening.

  “I have some questions for you,” Cassandra said. “Is that all right?”

  Bast blinked once to signal yes.

  “Did you sleep?”

  Two blinks for no.

  “Does sleep deprivation harm you physically?”

  Bast hesitated, unsure of how to answer the question. The correct answer was both yes and no. She could stay awake for months if she wasn’t using her power and never feel any ill effects. When she was Hungry, though, she felt fatigue as intense as any mortal. Even more important than the truth, though, was giving the answer that would best serve her purposes, and she wasn’t certain what that was.

  Cassandra watched Bast in
the mirror, noting the lack of an immediate response. She was annoyed with herself. She had carefully composed her list of questions, trying to cover everything she needed to know and make sure that all of them could be easily answered yes or no. She couldn’t believe that on the second question there was already a problem.

  “Let me try again,” Cassandra said. “Does a lack of sleep harm you in the same way it would harm a human?”

  Bast blinked twice for no.

  “Is your life in any danger because you haven’t slept?”

  Bast decided that, for now, she would just be honest. She blinked twice.

  “Does it cause you discomfort?”

  One blink.

  “I’m going to ask you to answer this next question with a series of blinks, and then we’ll go back to yes or no. On a scale of one to ten, what is the level of discomfort you’re experiencing because of your lack of sleep?”

  Bast thought for a second and then blinked eight times. She was thoroughly perplexed by this conversation. On the one hand, Cassandra seemed detached and clinical. She was reading from a notepad and using a more formal tone. On the other hand, she winced slightly when she saw Bast’s answer. What the hell was going on?

  “We’re feeding you through a nutrient drip,” Cassandra said. “As far as you know, is that enough to meet your physical needs? In other words, is your body able to sustain itself without actually eating?”

  One blink.

  More questions followed, covering eating, drinking, exercise, and even, to Bast’s great relief, social interaction. It was apparent that Cassandra had prepared for this conversation, and she’d been damn thorough. Bast quickly realized that despite her limited answers, she was giving the researcher a relatively detailed picture of her physical and emotional health, as well as her needs. For the first time, she found herself actually feeling respect for Cassandra.

  Mixed in with the other questions, seemingly at random, were inquiries about Bast’s power. She would be blinking away about eating, and suddenly Cassandra would ask, “Do you need to use gestures to warp reality?” After Bast replied, it would be back to questions about food, and then whether or not she dreamed, and then, suddenly, “Do you need to say some sort of spell or power word when you use your supernatural abilities?” These offhand questions didn’t even break Cassandra’s rhythm, just thrown in among the topics that seemed to interest Cassandra more.

  By the time she’d asked the last of her prepared questions, as well as the ones that had occurred to her during the conversation, Cassandra was exhausted. Not nearly as exhausted as Bast must be, she thought grimly. The fact that Bast couldn’t sleep because of her physical discomfort, a product of her unique biology that Cassandra would love to fully understand, was disconcerting. As a scientist, she was fascinated by the picture that was emerging: while Bast’s body didn’t actually require anything to keep it alive, her psyche was dependent on physical “fuel”. But Cassandra wasn’t just a scientist; she was a human being, and the more she understood the unique nature of this situation, the more she wanted to throw up.

  Bast studied Cassandra’s face in the mirror, still trying to figure out what was going on. Abruptly, the other woman stood up and disappeared from sight.

  Wait, Bast thought. She reviewed the last few hours and the barrage of research questions she had willingly answered. Was that what all of this was about? Was she trying to gain my trust so she could get me to cooperate? Has she been manipulating me? I’ll kill her first. I’ll kill her slowly. I’ll make her rue the day she dared to-

  Lub-dub-lub-dub

  Cassandra’s heartbeat grew louder, and Bast saw the woman’s face just above her. Between the distracting sound and her rising fury, Bast didn’t even notice the slight pressure on her lips until Cassandra spoke.

  “Open your mouth,” she said. “As much as you can.”

  For a second, Bast resisted. Then she realized that whatever the treacherous bitch was trying to put in her mouth could probably just as easily be administered through her IV, and it might not be wise to let Cassandra suspect that she had caught on.

  She parted her lips as far as the mask would allow, creating a tiny opening. She seethed as she felt a small, slick object force its way through the opening, but then…

  Water. It was a tiny straw, or perhaps a tube, and there was water slowly flowing into her mouth. Bast sucked greedily, and though the small instrument only allowed a trickle, it was a steady trickle, and she was able to drink her fill.

  Cassandra held the tube in place until the IV bag of water was empty, and then asked, “Do you need more? I can refill the bag.”

  Two blinks.

  “All right,” she said. “I need to think for a minute.”

  Cassandra had been careful in her questions about Bast’s power, hoping that sprinkling them throughout the interview would make it harder for the goddess to deceive her. Every answer had matched what the Myrmidons had said about their abilities, which meant that speaking had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

  Lazzario was an idiot. All this time, Bast’s torture had been intensified because a paranoid manchild had spent too much time sitting in the basement and pretending to be an elven wizard. “Verbal component” indeed. What a bunch of bullshit.

  Still, Cassandra hesitated. What she had done so far was more than enough to get her fired, and probably enough to get her thrown in jail. What she was considering doing, though…

  What she was considering doing was treason. It had been explicitly defined as such on half a dozen occasions.

  Maybe I won’t get caught. I probably won’t, if I’m careful. And even if I am…

  Even if she was, everyone had limits, and Cassandra had found hers.

  Bast saw Cassandra’s face over hers again and heard a series of clicks.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Cassandra said. “Do you understand?”

  Bast blinked once, and then suddenly the mask was lifted away.

  “Don’t scream,” Cassandra told her. “For the love of God, keep your voice down.”

  Bast felt her own heart hammering as hard as Cassandra’s. Her vision swam as tears flowed freely, and she took a moment to work her jaw. “Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  Cassandra jerked slightly, and glanced toward the door, then whispered, “You’re welcome. I have food. Crackers and carrots, and some chocolate. I think there’s some soup I could heat up, or-”

  “Anything,” Bast gasped. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Once, Bast might have thought that being fed was demeaning, but her long imprisonment had radically altered her definition of that word.

  “Thank you,” she said again after she had eaten her fill.

  “You’re welcome.” Cassandra checked her watch. “We should have an hour before anyone else arrives, but I’m not taking any chances. In half an hour, I’m going to have to put the mask back on.”

  “I understand.”

  “I need to be clear on something, Bast,” Cassandra said. “It’s possible that someday Doctor Pivarti or Admiral Bridges will decide to take the mask off and talk to you. If you tell them about this, I’m going to jail. Or worse.”

  “I understand. I promise I won’t say anything.” Bast was completely sincere and mentally vowed that nothing would drag that information from her.