Reverse Engineering

"Don\'t be shocked that people die

Be surprised you\'re still alive



All heads are bowed in silent reverence

The floor is wet with tears of sorrowful remembrance..."

Flyleaf, "Cassie" [acoustic version]



Hours later, Ophelia sat in Klein\'s workspace, a room in an underground base fashioned after an idealized professor\'s office of a historical university. Normal paper books littered the room, stacked on the oaken desk and crammed together on shelves that lined the walls. Old poster prints of fractals, solar systems, and blueprints, obviously rescued from somewhere dusty, adorned the concrete walls, which he had taken the time to paint over in a warm, yellow tone. It would be much more enjoyable if she wasn\'t handcuffed to a chair and gagged.



Nevertheless, her eyes were dry, and if there wasn\'t a smile behind the gag, she certainly wasn\'t trying to scream through it; while she waited, Alexander Klein himself was preparing her office--he said. Quietly, she wondered if she would be allowed to keep the things that mattered most to her--the laptop and her plans. As a worry mechanism, like anyone else picking at his or her nails, she started to examine the equations scrawled on the board. It looked, to her tired eyes, like a Taylor expansion; itching for a dry-erase marker to begin working with it; turning it over in her mind was fun, but never enough, for Ophelia.



As she tried to keep everything straight in her mind, the door cracked open, and a pair of shining green eyes appeared at the door. Definitely not Alexander. Ophelia tried to call to it: "Come in!" Nothing intelligible came out through the gag, but the door opened further anyway, revealing a short, slender girl with fluffy red hair.



"Are you Ophelia?"



"Mmmhm."



"Dr. Klein wanted to know if you wanted anything to eat."



"Mmmmhm." Ophelia\'s memory of a sandwich on the ship, before it had been hijacked, was her last meal in a day or two. "Mmmm mm?"



"Oh! I am so sorry." She crossed the room to Ophelia\'s chair, playing with her hair, and began to undo the bonds that held her there. "I\'m Noella, I\'m Dr. Klein\'s personal assistant. I guess I\'m your assistant now, too."



As the gag came off her mouth, Ophelia sputtered. "I\'ve never had an assistant. Did--did he say I need one?"



"He said, if you want, I\'ll do what you need me to. Anything you want."



"Oh. Okay." Ophelia stood. "Um, what\'s for dinner?"



"I made some pasta." Noella shrugged. "I\'m not a very good cook."



"Pasta is okay."



"I hope Dr. Klein doesn\'t mind it."



"I\'m sure he won\'t." The Dr. Klein she recalled could live off black coffee and cereal bars for days.



They left the room together, entering a surprisingly pleasant corridor lined with opulent cherry wood and a few doors to other rooms; storerooms? Labs? She reached out and tried a few doors to find that they were all locked. Her heavy boots felt strange on the royal-red carpet that blanketed the floor as she followed Noella towards the brass elevator at the end of the hall.



Noella took a key from her pocket and unlocked the elevator, leading Ophelia into the gloomy chamber, lit dimly, unlike the rest of the hall. Before Ophelia could see what keycode she entered to move the lift. A sense of psychic discomfort enveloped her as she realized she had no idea where the lift would take her. Suppose Noella had lied. Suppose Klein had lied. Suppose this "dinner" would end in her death.



Before worse thoughts could come, the elevator arrived, opening on a small antechamber painted in a grim grey that led into a large, traditional dining room, where only Dr. Klein sat, at the head of the table, an open laptop cradled on his legs; his feet were rested atop his table setting. He immediately turned to see Noella and Ophelia entering the room.



"Good evening. I assume Noella has introduced herself?"



"Yes, Alexander."



"Ophelia, I think, for now," he said, placing the laptop on the table, "I would prefer if you addressed me professionally."



"Oh. Of course. Doctor Klein."



"Thank you. Noella."



"Yes, Doctor?"



"Go and get dinner, and our other guests, please."



Without another word, Noella scurried from the room. Ophelia turned to Alexander. "Other guests?"



"I wanted to show you something. I found two missionaries on board the ship on which you stowed away, and I took them here with me to demonstrate the level of fanaticism that you are defending. Consider it motivation for your new work on Project R." He indicated a chair near his. "Sit, Ophelia, and see what my work would wipe from the world."



Noella returned through a far door on the left, holding a large bowl, which she set in front of Alexander and Ophelia.



"What is it, Noella?"



"It\'s pasta, sir. Is that all right?"



"I suppose." He turned to Ophelia. "You see, I just--took her from Sol\'s surface. I should have asked if she knew how to cook." Directing himself to Noella once more, he added, "You really should try to learn. We\'ll all be happier. Now, introduce our other guests to Doctor Knight."



Ophelia gasped as a man and a woman were led together into the dining hall, their bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor or the Oriental rug where Noella let them stand. Both were blindfolded, dressed in the rags of what Ophelia recognized as the garb of an associate of the church. The man bled slightly from his mouth, and the woman towards whom his bound hands reached was marred by burns.



"Ophelia, pay attention. This is Michael Clark, and his wife Hester. They both consider themselves messengers of God. Isn\'t that right--Michael?" Dr. Klein began to serve himself dinner. "Noella, Ophelia, please eat." No answer came from Clark. "Mr. Clark, I think you should acknowledge the question."



"Yes, sir. We do." His voice, tired, defeated, sounded more like a shamed whisper.



Noella averted her eyes and ate, downcast.



"Tell Doctor Knight here what you believe. Either of you. Answer quickly."



Hester spoke. "Our central belief is our belief in the Pantheon. it is the cause of all creation. The Goddess, Mistress of the Pantheon, hears our chants and answers them. Correct worship brings salvation, and entrance to the Garden of Angels after death. This is my faith. And," she added to the recitation, "you will not take it from me--ever!"



Her husband kept reaching for her, blinded, as she dissolved into tears.



Klein continued. "And what is your plan for this world?"



Michael answered for his wife: "To spread the words of the Goddess, to minimize man and maximize the angels, and to offer justice and care for those who seek the Garden."



Abandoning his plate, Klein stood, approaching the couple and removing their blindfolds. "And is it not true that you would deny this care to me, and others who do not follow the Pantheon?"



"Yes, it is," whispered Hester.



"Look at me!" His hands tangled themselves in her coarse, blonde hair. "Tell me that you would erase human progress. Tell me, to my face, that you believe that my discipline, my studies, do more harm than good! Technology made your clothing. It feeds you. It shelters you. It entertains you, and allows you to spread your backward gospel condemning it--and I am so, so tired of your damned ingratitude!" By the last sentence, he was roaring; Ophelia watched, afraid now for herself as well, as Klein held a gun to Hester\'s forehead. Noella had abandoned dinner and stared, fascinated.



After a long silence, Hester managed: "It\'s all true, sir."



She closed her eyes and waited for the shot to come.



Instead, Klein dropped her to the ground. "Do you see, Ophelia, the sort of fanaticism we\'re fighting? I promise you, you\'re doing the right thing with me. Believe me. Project R is the solution to this--cancer!"



Ophelia stood. "You\'re talking about genocide."



"Genocide for the good of those who remain. And it can start here!" Klein flicked the safety off the gun and fired; Hester and Michael collapsed together, close even in death.