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Despite the question she’d posed to Saul Durand, Vera Ye did not believe in God.
She had, however, believed in science, and that had been the next best thing. Her mistake was believing that its nature was different. That it was universal, could ever be fully understood, couldn’t be corrupted by humanity’s influence.
“So what’s left?” she’d asked Saul. Her life’s work was a joke. Her mother had made sure of it, probably signed off personally on what the sophons were doing to her collider. Saul’s work? Even if he got over his cynicism, it was nothing now. Jin’s? The same. They probably wouldn’t be happy with Auggie, either. Would her former students become like her and drown in their own despair? Or would they be convinced to betray humanity like her mother had? Will and Jack had the best chance, she thought. Jack got out early, quit physics to get rich quick, while Will might be saved by his own self-doubt. Vera chuckled brokenly. She’d been upset with them before for leaving physics behind, but they might be the only ones with any proper sense.
They deserved better than this. Like she had when she’d first discovered her mother’s files, Vera’s heart burned with hatred for Ye Wenjie. Modern science’s Judas, distrusting humanity enough to sell out all its knowledge to a force that no one understood.
In a tiny space in the back of her mind, she almost felt sorry for her. She had lived a life full of suffering beyond Vera’s ability to grasp and had been handed what was essentially Pandora’s box. Vera couldn’t even say that she wouldn’t be tempted to learn more about what was out there. But Vera was not her mother. Faced with such a direct threat, she would never have done this to her family, biological or otherwise.
This choice might make her a coward, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Every bit of hope had imploded in her heart like a black hole so that no will to continue on would emerge. Soon, the rest of her would collapse along with it. There was nothing left on this Earth for her to do.
Vera pushed aside the gate at the end of the chamber walkway (it moved with surprising ease—in another life, she might have yelled at whoever left it unlocked so carelessly) and took a last look around. This chamber was truly beautiful. Its design was deceptively simple, yet so many important discoveries had been made here—it would be a lovely place to die.
Now, Vera stepped off the edge and into the pool. Her distant reflection grew larger as she fell, and moments before hitting the surface she could see the hopelessness in her own face. There was a faint whistle as she disturbed the still air, then a mighty roar and several thunderous cracks as her ribs splintered and her eardrums shattered upon impact with the water. Finally, as her descent began to slow, there was nothing but complete and utter silence.
Through the surface, the neutrino sensors lining the chamber resembled thousands of tiny eyes staring down at her, seeming to blink as the water rippled above. How ironic. To the real eyes in the sky, Vera Ye was nothing more than one of the infinitely tiny particles this chamber was meant to detect. Her death would be just a fleeting splash in the incomprehensibly vast stream of spacetime.
With this realization, Vera Ye gave up on holding her breath. She drew water into her lungs, the weight of it pulling her further and further down. Her mind, which was supposed to be one of Earth’s sharpest, dulled under the pressure and she felt herself begin to slip away.
The last thing Vera thought about before the world fell into utter blankness was her mother.
Mom, this isn’t an act of vengeance. But if there’s anything I hope for, it’s that you cry when they find me here. I hope I meant more to you than your God’s plan.