George Chesbro: The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

Finally, Garth asked softly: "What was the second thing you wanted to say to me, Harry?"

"All of these months, after God and Jesus had entered my heart, I thought about the stories you'd told of the Valhalla Project, and of how Siegmund Loge had come up with this mathematical formula called the Triage Parabola that predicted humans would soon be extinct. The stories were true, weren't they?"

"Yes, Harry," Garth answered, his tone flat. "The stories were true."

"But Loge's conclusion wasn't; that's the second thing I wanted to tell you. He may have been a genius, but there's no way any mathematical formula can predict the impact one man, such as yourself, can have on the lives of others-like me. The Triage Parabola is flawed because God, and His miracles, cannot be computed. We will not become extinct, because that is not God's plan. We will survive until that day when Jesus Christ returns to rule us and bring paradise to earth. I thought you should know."

Now there was a prolonged silence. I had nothing to say, and I was almost afraid of what Garth might say. But then Garth simply wrapped his arms around the other man, gently hugged him. My brother's expression was still unreadable.

"I'm glad you're happy, Harry," Garth said evenly.

"Listen!" Harry August said brightly. "There's a bar just around the corner. Will the two of you let me take you there and buy you a drink?"

"I'll drink to that!" I said quickly-and too loudly; my voice echoed in the large, empty room.

Garth looked at me and laughed, and then we followed the blind man out of the room and down a corridor toward the elevators.