Tomb of the Khan

  “Rebecca,” Griffin said. “Good to see you back in action.”

  Apparently, the door only appeared to be boarded up. The woman motioned them all forward. “Hurry, inside.”

  Griffin led the way, and Owen followed him, peering back at Javier. They came into a foyer, and the interior of the house matched its exterior. Faded wallpaper peeled away from the walls, doorways stood at angles other than right, and the smell of dust and mildew soured the air. A staircase Owen would have a hard time trusting led up to the second floor, and a hallway reached into impenetrable darkness beneath it. There were empty rooms to either side of them with cobwebbed chandeliers.

  Rebecca closed the front door and secured it with an electronic lock that was definitely not original to the house, and Owen realized the place was probably much more secure than it looked.

  “You’re later than I expected,” she said. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Templars staged a raid as we were leaving,” Griffin said. “Had to come the long way.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “But at least you’re here.”

  “What is this place?” Owen asked.

  Rebecca looked around and up at the ceiling. “It’s what it looks like. Mostly.”

  “So it’s a haunted house?” Javier said.

  Rebecca smiled, her teeth barely visible in the darkness. “The only ghosts here are the ones you carry in your DNA, Javier.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Of course we do.”

  Owen didn’t like that, or the way she said it.

  “So what’s the plan?” Griffin asked. “Gavin said you’d have orders.”

  Rebecca nodded. “This way.”

  She walked away from them, toward the black hallway under the stairs. The three of them followed her, but before she’d gone too far, she opened a door to the right.

  “Watch your step,” she said, apparently intending them to walk through it. “The staircase goes down to the basement.”

  Griffin led the way without any hesitation, followed by Javier. Owen reached his hands out to either side until he found a handrail, and then slowly inched his way forward, his eyes trying desperately to find something in the darkness to latch on to, even inventing things if they had to. His toe found the edge of the first step, and then the next one down, and the next, one at a time. Beneath him, Griffin’s footsteps thunked and echoed. Above him, Rebecca closed the door to the staircase.

  “Lights coming on,” she said. “Shield your eyes.”

  Owen closed his, but through his eyelids he could tell when the stairway lit up around him. Upon opening his eyes, he discovered that this area of the house was in the opposite condition of everything else above. The walls were smooth, covered in gray paneling, and at the bottom of the steps they entered into a room that better fit Owen’s idea of what an Assassin’s hideout should look like. More than the storage unit anyway.

  There were several computers, a large glass conference table, and an entire wall of weapons, clothing, and armor. Over in a far corner of the room, Owen noticed a reclining chair much like the one Monroe had used with his Animus.

  “Is that your baby?” Griffin asked, nodding toward it. “Here?”

  “No,” Rebecca said. “This is something else. New Abstergo tech. Shaun got hold of a processor and blueprints in Madrid. I used them to build this machine.”

  “Shaun?” Javier asked.

  “We have a friend with that name,” Owen said.

  “Oh?” Rebecca cocked her head. She had short brown hair, with olive skin that reminded Owen of Natalya. “Is your friend also a cynical egotist who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else?”

  Owen stammered. “Um, no.”

  Rebecca shrugged. “Must be a different guy, then.” She turned to Griffin. “You still remember how to run the Animus?”

  “Of course,” Griffin said. “Why? You’re not staying?”

  “No. I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “What could be more important than this?” Griffin asked. “We’re talking about the Trident of Eden. One of the prongs has already been found. The second—”

  “I know that,” Rebecca said. “But trust me, there is a hell of a lot going on in the world right now, and the Brotherhood is spread way too thin. I have my orders. For now, you’ll just have to manage on your own. This location is secure, and I’ve set everything up for you. It should be plug and play. Think you can handle that?”

  Griffin stood there a moment, eyes narrowed, and Owen felt a tension between the two Assassins. Griffin seemed unsettled and angry. Apparently, things weren’t always harmonious in the Brotherhood. But the moment passed quickly, after which Griffin nodded, and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “Fine,” he said. “I know it’s not your choice.”

  “It isn’t,” she said. “But it really isn’t Gavin’s, or even William’s. The Templars took away that choice when they almost wiped us out fifteen years ago.”

  “What are my instructions?” Griffin asked.

  “Rothenberg says the Templars are currently after the second dagger, which was last seen in medieval China. We need to get to it first.” Rebecca turned and pointed at Owen. “Through the ghosts inside his DNA.”

  Sean couldn’t wait to get back into the Animus. Victoria had started imposing durational limits on his sessions, and yesterday, she hadn’t let him into a simulation at all. That had been pretty frustrating, but Sean had managed to get through the day, and as soon as he finished his breakfast this morning, he’d be back in the ring.

  “Morning,” David said through a yawn as he walked into the lounge that served as their space for eating and relaxing. “They bring the muffins out yet?”

  Sean nodded toward the buffet counter. “Banana nut today.”

  David stopped mid-stride. “Never mind.”

  “You don’t like bananas?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t like the nuts,” David said, pushing his thick, white-framed glasses up as he headed toward the hot plates.

  His older sister, Grace, walked into the room then, her dark, curly hair pulled to the back of her head. She was fifteen, almost Sean’s age, and over the past few weeks he’d been getting to know her better than he had her thirteen-year-old brother. Grace and David almost hadn’t stayed at the Aerie. Their dad had actually taken them both home for a few days, but then they’d come back. Sean hadn’t asked what that was all about yet, but maybe he would soon.

  For him, there was never a question of staying. The lawsuit settlement from the accident a few years ago had barely covered Sean’s hospital bills, and his parents needed the money Abstergo paid them. Being a paraplegic cost them over seventy thousand dollars a year. But even without that, Sean would have wanted to stay, for himself.

  “Morning, Grace,” he said.

  “Morning.” She went straight for the coffee. “Victoria going to let you in today?”

  Sean scooped up some of his scrambled eggs. “She said she would.”

  “Where’d you leave off? Tommy back from London?”

  “Yeah. I finished with that investigation and came back to another riot.”

  “Tommy Grayling seems to like a riot,” she said, coming over to sit next to him.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “All right.” Grace took a sip of her coffee and looked at him over the rim of her mug. “You seem to like a riot, then.”

  Sean smiled. “I like the action, that’s true. But mostly, New York City in the nineteenth century just had a lot of riots.”

  “You seen Natalya today?” David asked as he sat down with a plate more bacon than eggs.

  “Not yet,” Sean said, but he didn’t mind. Things were still awkward with her, and he got nervous whenever she entered the room. He never should have said anything. He should have just left everything between Tommy and Adelina behind in the simulation. But it had been more confusing back then, who was who and what it all meant. He wasn’t even sure how much he really lik
ed Natalya, or if that was just Tommy flowing through his mind, in love with Natalya’s ancestor.

  “Why does Victoria limit you anyway?” Grace asked.

  “She says I could become too dependent on it.” Sean pushed his nearly empty plate away.

  “Like an addict?” David asked.

  “Something like that,” Sean said. But he didn’t see it that way. It was true that he’d spend every waking moment in the simulation if he could, but that didn’t make it an addiction. How can you be addicted to air?

  “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?” Grace said. “And I don’t mean the simulations.”

  Sean looked at her rich, brown eyes. She sounded completely sincere, in the way that few people did when they said that kind of thing. They’d learned about disability politics, and they meant well, but they didn’t get it. It actually seemed like Grace might understand.

  Sean knocked on the armrest of his wheelchair. “To me, there is something wrong with this.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she said. “You’re—”

  “Good morning,” Natalya said as she walked into the room.

  “Good morning,” David said. “Missed you last night.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.” Natalya grabbed a bagel and a yogurt.

  Whatever Grace had been about to say hung in the air for a moment longer, and then dissipated like the steam from her coffee. Sean was glad to let it go.

  “You still getting those headaches?” Grace asked Natalya.

  She nodded. “Aren’t you guys?”

  “Mine go away in a few hours,” Grace said.

  “Mine too,” Sean said. They’d been pretty bad, at first, but not anymore. They were worth it to him anyway.

  Natalya took a seat at the table, across from Sean, and he felt his stomach tighten just a bit. If there was one thing he could change about his experience at the Aerie, it would be his attraction to her.

  “Have you found the Piece of Eden?” David asked, chewing on a bacon strip.

  The table grew quiet. They all knew why they were there. They all knew what had happened in Monroe’s simulation of the Draft Riots, back before Abstergo had found them and told them the whole story. They all knew what was at stake if the three prongs of the Trident of Eden were found and combined. But that wasn’t something they talked about often, or openly. It was still a bit like talking about aliens, or wizards.

  “Not yet,” Natalya said calmly.

  “How’s the China simulation going?” Grace asked.

  Natalya stared at the bagel on her plate. “It’s hard. There’s a lot of death.”

  “That would be hard on anyone,” Sean said, trying to help, but it somehow came out sounding dismissive.

  Natalya just nodded without looking up.

  He wanted to escape, quickly, before things got more awkward. “Tommy awaits,” he said. “I think I’ll head out.”

  “See you this evening,” Grace said.

  David gave him a nod, and Sean rolled his wheelchair backward from the table, and then pivoted toward the door. Anytime he left a group this way, by himself, in his chair, he could feel them all trying not to watch him go. People told him that was just in his head, but there was always this silence behind him, like they were afraid to talk until he was gone, like they had to wait and be respectful or something as he struggled. He hated it, and was glad to reach the door, at which point David started talking about the simulation of his great-grandpa’s memories as a World War II pilot with the Tuskegee Airmen.

  Sean left the lounge and wheeled himself toward the Animus rooms. The Aerie had five separate buildings, all connected by a network of enclosed glass walkways through the trees. He and the others kept mostly to the same two buildings: the main reception area (where they went when their parents came to visit or take them out for a few hours), and the building they were in now, where they ate, slept, and explored their genetic memories. Sean didn’t know what Abstergo did in the other parts of the facility.

  When he reached his Animus room, Victoria was already there, and he rolled in as casually as he could.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She got up from her computer and smiled. “I can always count on you to be the first one here, Sean.”

  He didn’t know if that was a compliment, or a dig, or some combination of the two. “Can I go in today?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “But I think yesterday was a useful and necessary break for you, don’t you? I might build a few more such days into your schedule.”

  Sean wanted to argue with that, but decided to save it for later. Right now, he just wanted to get into the simulation, and he was afraid if he put up any kind of fight, or seemed too eager, the doctor would change her mind about today.

  He wheeled himself over to the Animus ring, and Victoria seemed to have finally learned not to offer to help him. His legs were one thing, but his arms were strong enough to get him most anywhere he needed to go. He got into position and put the brakes on his wheels. Then he lifted himself into the Animus ring and down into the harness, where his legs dangled above the exoframe platforms. From there, Victoria clasped his feet in place and strapped in his arms and hands, then hooked him up to all the machines that monitored his brain and his heart.

  She was moving slowly today, but he said nothing, keeping outwardly calm and patient with each of the straps.

  “There,” she finally said. “I think we’re ready.”

  “Okay,” he said. “New York City, here I—”

  “Actually …” Victoria moved away from him toward one of the computer monitors. “We won’t be sending you back into Tommy Grayling’s memories again.”

  “What?” Sean spun himself around within the ring to face her. “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be a healthy environment for you anymore—”

  “What do you mean? How is it unhealthy?” Sean heard the answer to that question in his own voice, the impatience and anger, but it was too late to stop it.

  Victoria folded her hands in front of her waist. “I know we’ve disagreed about your use of the Animus, Sean, but—”

  “That’s because you don’t understand,” Sean said. “You want to stop me.”

  “Please let me finish—”

  “I don’t want to let you finish,” Sean said. “I want to go into Tommy Grayling’s memories.”

  The door to the room whooshed open, and Isaiah stalked in wearing a black suit made of a fabric that seemed to absorb light. “I think you ought to listen to Dr. Bibeau, Sean. And show her the respect she is due.”

  Sean hadn’t seen the Aerie director in over a week, and this sudden appearance stopped him from speaking, distracting him from his anger.

  Isaiah nodded toward Victoria. “Please continue, Dr. Bibeau. I believe Sean will listen now.”

  She made eye contact with Sean, and though he glowered at her, he kept his mouth shut.

  “I was going to say that we believe the benefit of the Grayling simulation has plateaued. The Animus isn’t here for your entertainment. We would like to give you a range of experiences, in different ancestors.”

  “Why?” Sean asked.

  She looked down at her security blanket of a tablet. “It is too early to go into more detail, but suffice it to say, we believe—”

  “Why?” Sean asked again.

  Victoria turned to Isaiah.

  The director regarded them both with a sober expression. “We may as well tell him. I think he’s mature enough to handle it.”

  “Handle what?” Sean asked.

  Victoria pulled up her tablet again, hugging it to her chest like a shield. “There have been some interesting changes in your neurology. Specifically in your motor cortex.”

  “My motor cortex?” Sean did not want to leap too far ahead of them, but it was hard not to hope where they might be going. “What kind of changes?”

  “Let me be clear,” Isaiah said. “We are not talking about r
estoring your ability to walk with your own legs.”

  Sean felt himself retracting a bit from them. “Then what are you talking about?”

  Victoria cleared her throat. “The Animus simulation is activating your motor cortex in ways it hasn’t been since the accident that left you paralyzed. Essentially, that part of your brain has been starved of input from your legs. Until now.”

  Sean looked down at the exoframe supporting his feet and legs. “So what’s that doing?”

  “We’re more interested in what it could do,” Isaiah said. “The Templars, through Abstergo, have interests in multiple industries, including medicine. We’re hoping that we might use the data we’re gathering from you to better understand the brain of a paralyzed patient.”

  “What could you do with that?” Sean asked.

  “Eventually”—Victoria cast a sidelong glance at Isaiah—“at some point in the future, we might be able to develop uniquely neuro-responsive prosthetics.”

  “What does that mean?” Sean asked.

  “Right now,” Isaiah said, “responsive prosthetics are quite limited. They take months to learn to use, they’re unwieldy, and they’re unavailable to those with spinal cord injuries. We’re hoping to develop something new. Something revolutionary. A prosthetic that the patient would already know how to use, because we will have programmed it to their unique neurology. The prosthetic will already know how to be a part of that patient’s body.”

  Sean felt as though his heart, his breathing, and everything in him had stopped, even though the computer monitor chimed through the silence with his vitals. “I could walk again?”

  “Not with your own legs,” Isaiah said. “With a prosthetic. But I want to caution you that we are still many years away from that.” He pointed to the floor. “We’re in the basic science stage here. For now, you are the basic science stage.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Sean asked.

  Victoria stepped toward him. “We want to observe you in a wide range of genetic memories. As many ancestors as we can. We want to study the total flexibility of your motor cortex. We’ve learned everything we can from Tommy Grayling.”