Last Descendants

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “Why?” Sean asked.

  Monroe leaned over and pulled a small tablet out from a slot in the coffee table. He swiped and tapped its screen with his fingers, and a glowing, 3-D image of the earth rose up from the black glass surface, almost as wide as the table. It rotated slowly on its axis, while glowing dots pulsated at numerous locations across its surface.

  “Whoa,” David said, pushing up his glasses. “That is cool.”

  “Abstergo must be so pissed at you,” Owen said.

  “Give me some credit,” Monroe said. “This table is all mine.”

  “What are those dots?” Grace asked, leaning forward.

  “Events,” Monroe said, “throughout history.”

  “What kind of events?” Grace asked.

  Monroe had relaxed back into his normal posture, hands in his pockets. “I’m about to tell you some pretty wild stuff. But you have to go with me on this. I swear it’s all true.” He ambled around the table, glancing periodically at the image of the earth. “Two factions have been waging a secret war for the fate of humanity since the beginning of recorded history, and probably longer than that. These factions are ancestral. They’ve been called by many names, but currently they’re known as the Assassin Brotherhood and the Templar Order.”

  “Secret societies?” Sean said. “Are you serious?”

  “Look around you,” Monroe said. “Does this not look serious to you?”

  “So that Assassin chasing us,” Owen said. “He was part of this Brotherhood?”

  “Yes,” Monroe said.

  “Why did he shoot that Abstergo guy?” Owen asked.

  “Abstergo is a front for the Templars,” Monroe said.

  Owen thought back to what the stranger had said before the Assassin’s dart had struck him down. He’d mentioned Owen’s father, and Owen wondered if his dad had anything to do with this secret war.

  “These dots,” Monroe said, “represent known events, people, or places connected to the conflict between the Assassins and Templars.” He lifted a hand and touched one of many dots blinking on the Italian peninsula. As he did so, a second image opened up before it, a man dressed in an embroidered vest, flowing sleeves, and a cloak with a pointed hood shadowing his face. “This is Ezio Auditore, a fifteenth-century noblemen and perhaps one of the greatest Assassins in history. But the Brotherhood can trace its roots in Italy back even further, to the Roman Liberalis Circulum.” He swiped that window away, took a few steps, and touched a dot in the Middle East. The image that opened was one of a mountain fortress. “This was once the bastion of the Assassin Brotherhood, destroyed by the Mongols in the Middle Ages in an act of revenge for the assassination of Genghis Khan.” He closed that window and walked around the earth to touch a dot on the eastern seaboard of the United States. “The American Revolution wasn’t just a fight for independence from the English crown. It was a war for the soul of a nation, influenced by these two factions.”

  Monroe had opened only a small fraction of the innumerable, glowing dots. If each of them represented an event from this secret war, the scope of the conflict was incredible. Almost unbelievable. And yet, Owen couldn’t just dismiss it, because he had seen an Assassin in action.

  “What are they fighting over?” Natalya asked. It was the first time she had spoken, and her voice was somehow soft and strong at the same time.

  Monroe swiped the tablet, and the image of the globe vanished. “To answer that,” he said, “let me paint a picture for you. Imagine a society coming apart at the seams. Violent crime is exploding, poverty is rampant, racial inequality, you name it. A society gone to hell. To bring it back from the brink of destruction, there are two possible courses of action. The first is for the people in power to impose order on the chaos. To forcibly shape and guide society toward improvement. The second is to put the power in the hands of the people, to let them decide for themselves what kind of society they want to build and trust in their better natures. Now, which of those paths would you choose?”

  No one spoke. Owen wondered if the question was rhetorical, or if Monroe expected an answer. But he soon moved on.

  “That’s what they’re fighting over, Natalya. The Templar Order represents those in power, the ones determined to guide humanity to a better way. The Assassins champion the free will of every individual in a society. Both factions are trying to make things the way they believe they ought to be.”

  “So they’re fighting for the same thing?” David asked.

  “They want the same thing,” Monroe said. “They’re fighting over how to get it.”

  “For hundreds of years?” Sean said.

  “For thousands of years,” Monroe said.

  “Why are you telling us this?” Grace asked. “We don’t have anything to do with it.”

  Monroe folded his arms. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “How?” Javier asked.

  “I’ve seen your DNA,” Monroe said. “I’ve seen your ancestors. By birth, each one of you here is an Assassin or a Templar.” He looked at Javier. “Some of you are both.”

  Sean looked around the room at the others, wondering if any of them were buying what Monroe had just told them. That Owen kid claimed to have actually seen one of these Assassins shoot someone right in front of him, and assuming he wasn’t a liar or crazy, that was information Sean couldn’t ignore.

  When Monroe had come for him earlier that evening, promising him more time in the Animus, Sean hadn’t even hesitated. The Animus got him out of his wheelchair and gave him back his legs, and he would take that anytime. But it seemed Monroe had been hiding an agenda of his own, and Sean wasn’t sure what to make of that, or this secret war.

  “This is insane, man,” Javier said. He seemed like a pretty tough guy, kind of quiet, and maybe not too smart.

  “I warned you it was wild,” Monroe said. “That doesn’t make it not true.”

  “So what if it is true?” Grace said. “So what if we have Assassin or Templar ancestors way back when? I’m sure lots of people do. That doesn’t explain why you brought us here.”

  “Or what you’ve been doing,” Owen said, “going around to different schools with your Animus.”

  “Those are actually two questions,” Monroe said. “I’ll start with the second one, because it’s got a pretty simple answer. Basically, I think the Assassins and Templars are both wrong.”

  “Then what do you believe?” Sean asked. It seemed important to know where Monroe stood, considering he’d been scouring through their DNA. Sean knew how he would answer the question Monroe had posed earlier. He wanted order. He wanted a world where people weren’t allowed to drive drunk and ruin others’ lives. There was right and there was wrong. People didn’t get to choose that for themselves.

  “I believe in free will,” Monroe said.

  “So you agree with the Assassins,” Sean said.

  Monroe shook his head. “I don’t think the Assassins believe in free will. They say they do, but then they demand every member of their Brotherhood swear loyalty and absolute obedience. I don’t believe we should give our free will over to any person or faction or creed. The Assassins and Templars need to be stopped, and one way I can do that is by getting to you first. Before they can recruit you.”

  “Recruit us?” Grace said.

  “Sounds like you’re trying to take away our free will,” Javier said.

  “Not at all.” Monroe sighed. “You do whatever you think is the right thing to do. Always. My only objective was to make you aware.”

  “But that’s not why you brought us here?” Grace said.

  Monroe pointed at Owen and Javier. “I brought you here because of them. A few nights ago, they went into the Animus, and they found something the Assassins and Templars would do anything to obtain.”

  Owen and Javier looked at each other, and then Owen said, “That’s why you pulled us out. There wasn’t anything wrong with the simulation.”

  “No,” Monroe said, “there wasn’t anyt
hing wrong with the simulation. My tech works, and my simulations don’t collapse. But I did have to get you out of there.”

  “Why?” Javier asked.

  “A precaution. I’ve poured through every line of code running the Animus, but I knew it was possible there was something I’ve missed. And I was right. That’s why that Abstergo agent showed up, and why the Assassin is here. They know.”

  “Know what?” Sean asked.

  “That we found a Piece of Eden,” Monroe said.

  “What’s a Piece of Eden?” David asked, leaning forward.

  Sean already liked that kid. He was curious, and he seemed earnest.

  Monroe hesitated. “A Piece of Eden is a powerful relic from an ancient civilization that predates humanity. They possessed incredible technologies, and some examples have survived to the present day. But they’re usually very well hidden.”

  “The dagger,” Javier said. “The one Cortés had?”

  Monroe nodded.

  “That’s what it was.” Javier punched his palm. “I knew there had to be something going on. That thing totally brainwashed me—my ancestor.”

  Owen nodded along. “My ancestor believed pretty much anything Cortés said, too.”

  “Right,” Monroe said. “Each Piece of Eden has a different effect and purpose. It seems the one you found can alter someone’s faith and turn them into believers. That may be why some historians think the Aztecs believed Cortés was a god.”

  Sean didn’t like the idea that something could mess with his head that way.

  “So if these Pieces of Eden are hidden,” David said, “how does anyone find them?”

  “Genetic memories,” Monroe said. “If the Assassins or Templars identify someone in history who came into contact with a Piece of Eden, they use the Animus to go back through their descendants’ memories to locate it. Which is where Owen and Javier come in.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “And the rest of us?”

  “I believe you are all essential to finding this particular Piece of Eden,” Monroe said.

  “But Owen and Javier already found it,” Sean said.

  “They interacted with it,” Monroe said. “But they didn’t witness its final resting place. I don’t believe the relic stayed in Mexico.” He raised his tablet and the coffee-table hologram came to life again with a black-and-white image of a large old building. “This is the Astor House hotel in New York City, mid-nineteenth century. The Aztec Club held meetings there.”

  “The Aztec Club?” Javier asked.

  “A small military society of veterans who served during the Mexican-American War in the late 1840s,” Monroe said. “After Cortés conquered Tenochtitlan, I believe his dagger remained in Mexico City until the American occupation, when it was taken from the Spanish government’s treasury. Because, look at this.” The screen switched to the images of several men. Sean recognized one of them as Ulysses S. Grant. “Despite its small numbers, the Aztec Club somehow managed to produce six presidential nominees, three of whom were elected, along with several congressmen and other high-ranking officials. Now what are the odds of that? I believe the club established its political power using the Piece of Eden.”

  “So you’re saying these guys were all Assassins?” David said. “Or were they Templars?”

  “I’m not saying that at all.” Monroe folded his arms around the tablet. “Although some of them might have been either.”

  “But who are the good guys?” David asked. “The Assassins or the Templars?”

  “Neither,” Monroe said. “Or both. Depending on how you look at it. Both have good intentions, and both are capable of evil acts.”

  “I’m still waiting for the part where we come in,” Grace said.

  “Right,” Monroe said. “Now we come to all of you.” He switched the display, and six double helixes of DNA stretched across the field in horizontal, parallel spirals. “I’ve assembled you because you have amazingly high Memory Concordance.” Vertical lines appeared, intersecting the DNA strands at matching points. “Your ancestors came into contact in some way with the Piece of Eden, or with one another, during the same event.”

  Sean hoped that meant what he thought it did.

  “What event?” Owen asked.

  “The Draft Riots of 1863,” Monroe said. “New York City.”

  “Draft Riots?” Javier asked.

  “It was during the Civil War,” Grace said. “The government was drafting men to fight the South, but if you were rich you could buy your way out of it.”

  “That’s right,” Monroe said. “So the riots broke out across New York. Gangs and mobs in the thousands. It was anarchy.”

  “And they attacked all the black people in the city,” Grace added. “They even burned down an orphanage for black children.”

  “So are we going back in? Back there?” Sean asked, a little less eager now that he knew more about the situation.

  “That’s up to you,” Monroe said. “But I hope you will. Any one of you might be the key, and I believe it’s essential that we locate the Piece of Eden before the Assassins and Templars do.”

  “Why?” Natalya asked.

  That was only the second or third thing Sean had heard her say since meeting her, but when she spoke, he listened. Something about her drew him in. She was beautiful, of course, but there was something beyond that he couldn’t identify. But to talk to her he’d have to wheel himself over there, and so far, he hadn’t met a girl who found his wheelchair very attractive.

  “What will you do with it if you find it?” Natalya asked.

  “Hide it again,” Monroe said. “Where no memory can uncover it. The important thing is to prevent it from falling into the hands of either the Assassin Brotherhood or the Templar Order.”

  “How do we know you won’t use it?” Javier asked.

  Monroe looked around the group at each of them. “You’re going to have to trust me, just like I am trusting you. So will you do it?”

  “Do what?” Owen asked.

  “Go into the Animus,” Monroe said. “A shared simulation. Experience the memories of your ancestors, and hopefully find out what happened to the Piece of Eden.”

  “Hopefully?” Javier said.

  “Look.” Monroe turned off the display and set the tablet down. “I own this is my fault, and I’m sorry. You’re all in danger because of me. I thought I had the Animus secured. Somehow it alerted Abstergo. I was trying to do something right, giving you access to your origins, but that backfired, and now that a new Piece of Eden is in play, the Assassins and Templars won’t stop until it’s found. But this is your choice.” He took a step backward away from them. “I mean that. Your choice.”

  “What about our parents?” Natalya asked.

  “Time in the Animus is mind time,” Monroe said. “Dream time. It’s subjective, with days of memory passing in a matter of minutes or hours in the real world. You’ll be back before morning.”

  Sean gripped the handrims of his wheelchair. He wasn’t about to let another chance at the Animus pass him by. Who knew when another opportunity would come along? “I’ll do it,” he said.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  Sean sat up higher in his chair and met their stares with confidence. “Who’s with me?”

  “I’ll go,” David said.

  “You’ll what?” Grace scowled at her little brother. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  David shrugged. “I want to help.”

  “Why?” Grace asked.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Sean asked.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Grace said. “Didn’t you just hear me talking about the Draft Riots? Stop and think about your history classes for a minute. The last time David and I went into the Animus, there were drinking fountains we weren’t allowed to use. This is going to be much, much worse.”

  That was something Sean hadn’t even stopped to consider, and he fell into an embarrassed silence.

  “Well, I’m going,” Javier said. />
  “I’m in, too,” Owen said.

  “So am I,” Natalya said.

  That left Grace and David uncommitted. David had already said he wanted to go, but Sean was pretty sure he wouldn’t without his older sister. David looked to her now as she looked around at the group, and finally back at her little brother. “How do you know this will work?” she asked Monroe. “That’s all I care about. We’re in danger right now. How do you know this will make us safe?”

  “It’s safer than doing nothing,” Monroe said. “If we find the Piece of Eden first, and then I hide it, your genetic memories won’t hold the answer anymore. They’ll leave you alone.”

  Sean noticed Grace’s rigid posture bend a little as she seemed to give in. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  “Right on,” Monroe said. “The sooner we do this, the better. The Animus is over there.” He pointed across the darkened room to another island of light filled with computers and equipment.

  The others all got up from their sofas and walked right toward it. Sean had to back his wheelchair out from between the sofas to maneuver around the furniture and the display table, and got a little stuck for a moment. That hadn’t happened to him for a while, and he ground his jaw.

  Owen took a couple of steps toward him. “Need a push?”

  “I got it,” Sean said, sounding sharper than he intended, even though his tone matched the irritation he felt. It had been two years since the accident, and he didn’t know when this frustration and anger would go away, or if it ever would. Maybe it would just keep churning inside him until one day he spontaneously combusted from all that pent-up inner friction. He wished he could at least know what to do with other people’s attempts at kindness, for their sakes and his. “I’ll be over in a minute,” Sean said.

  Owen nodded. “Okay, then.” And he walked over to join the others, though Sean could tell it was an intentionally slow walk, meant to make Sean feel not so far behind, which only caused more frustration.