Assassin's Creed: Heresy

by Christie Golden

  Simon settled his cup in its fragile saucer with a slight clink and addressed his employer. “While I respect Isabelle’s approach, I’m my own person, and I have a fresh angle I’d like to implement.”

  “Go on.”

  Here we go, Simon thought. “First… I’m a historian. That’s my strength and area of expertise. The division is, after all, focused on the exploration and analysis of history.”

  “So as to further the goals of the Order,” Laetitia put in.

  “Quite right. I believe that a return to the roots of the department will benefit the Order tremendously, and here’s why.”

  Simon slid his chair back. Striding to one of the walls, he touched a button. The wall slid away to reveal a whiteboard and several colored markers.

  “Simon, you’re the only person I know who still uses a whiteboard for a presentation,” lamented Kilkerman.

  “Hush, David, or I’ll request a chalkboard and ask you to clap the erasers,” Simon replied. The quip was rewarded by a few chuckles, Kilkerman’s laugh the loudest. Simon wrote HISTORICAL RESEARCH DIVISION on the board, stepped back, examined the words, and straightened out the T in HISTORICAL.

  “Now then. Our greatest tool is the Animus.” He nodded toward Kilkerman as he spoke. The current head of the project raised his marmalade toast in solidarity. “We all know what it does; accesses the genetic memory of the subjects, homes in on specific ancestors, and so forth and so on. It’s my understanding that there’s a shiny new one available to be used, right, David?”

  “There is indeed,” Kilkerman said, straightening. “A great leap forward in technology—Model number 4.35. We’ve virtually eliminated such side effects as nausea and headaches. Plus we’ve found ways to make it even more integrative.”

  “I’m personally quite excited to hear that, and you’ll see why in just a moment,” Simon said.

  He turned back to the board, writing the word ANIMUS in bright red. He drew two arrows below it angling toward the right and the left. “Hitherto, we’ve used the Animus primarily to gather one specific type of information—the locations of Pieces of Eden.”

  The Templars had a single task—to guide humanity’s development correctly—but many tools with which to do so. The Pieces of Eden were perhaps the most important. They were the relics of a civilization variously known as the Isu, the Precursors, or the First Civilization. They not only predated humanity, but actually created—and, for a time, enslaved—it. Remnants of Precursor technology had the potential to grant users a variety of abilities and power over others. Their value eclipsed ordinary classifications as “historical” or “monetary.” Although the Templar Order could likely boast the largest collection in the world, even it did not possess many of the priceless artifacts, and several of the items in the collection were broken or otherwise unusable.

  “Once we learned about the existence of a Piece of Eden,” Simon continued, “from, say a mention in an old manuscript, or about a person associated with one—off we went on the hunt for it.”

  Under the left-hand arrow jutting down from the word ANIMUS he wrote: INFORMATION. Below that, he scribbled 1. Pieces of Eden and beneath that, a) Locate. “That hunt consists of, among other methods, utilizing the vast network of living genetic material at our disposal—otherwise known as the valued customers and loyal employees of Abstergo Industries.” Simon wrote i. Customers & Employees beneath a) Locate.

  “Our secondary branch of research involved learning more of what we could about our old enemies, the Assassins. And we wanted the same sort of thing as we did with the Pieces of Eden—the ability to sniff them out in present day.”

  Simon wrote 2. Assassins, and then as he had earlier, the words a) Locate, i. Customers & Employees.

  “Now, this is all fine, absolutely super. It’s been enormously helpful in increasing both the influence of the Order and the bottom line of our company.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ in there,” Reider said.

  “I hope you’re not suggesting we abandon this line of research?” England’s voice was deceptively mild.

  “Not at all,” Simon assured her. “But I think there’s much more the Animus can do for the Order. There’s an aspect of it that we’ve not investigated yet. One that I believe could, over time and if carefully managed, be as advantageous to us in its own way as the acquisition of Pieces of Eden.”

  He now wrote on the board, beneath the second arrow, the word Knowledge.

  “Now, you might be thinking that information is knowledge. But data demands context in order to be useful. For instance, say it’s a fact that there is a place where there is earth, stones, wood, and water. When we realize that the water is an ocean, the earth and stones are a rocky shoreline, and the wood is spars from a seafaring vessel, we give that information context. Now what was once merely raw data has become information that leads us to realize that there is a high likelihood of a shipwreck.”

  “I’ve got a full schedule, Simon,” Rikkin said. “Get to the point, or there’s a high likelihood your own ship will be scuttled before its maiden voyage.”

  Simon’s ears grew hot, but he had to acknowledge the metaphor was apt. “My point is that while computers could decipher all this, and we’ve certainly put technology to good use, we’ve also realized the value of the human touch. I’ll circle back to this in just a moment. Once we start utilizing the Animus not just for data and information, but for knowledge, with all its lovely subtleties, look what opens up for us.”

  He went back to the board and under Knowledge wrote Pieces of Eden.

  “With information, we know what—enough to identify the specific artifact—and where. But with knowledge, we’ll know what it does, how it was used, and….” He wrote the last words in bold letters. “… how to fix it.”

  His fellow Inner Sanctum members were staring at the whiteboard with expressions that ranged from dubious to enthusiastic to downright hostile. Most, however, at least seemed interested, and he seized upon that.

  “And let’s now apply Knowledge to the Assassins,” Simon continued. “We won’t just know who was an Assassin in a given time period, or where to perhaps locate Assassins today. We’ll know who they were—what sort of person. We’ll know what matters to them, and to the Assassin Brotherhood, and make note of how that’s changed over the years. We’ll better know how to manipulate them. To break them. And when we start to value knowledge rather than just data and information, there’s no telling what we can discover. We don’t know what we don’t know. The potential is staggering.”

  He stepped back, regarding what he had written. “We’ll keep these goals as primary ones, of course,” he said, circling the word INFORMATION and its attendant comments, “but once we start the ball rolling, we can use the Animus to see interweavings. Patterns. We can rediscover lost theories, ideas, inventions. Wrap up centuries-old mysteries once and for all. Discover what truths really lay behind the old myths and legends and folklore. I posit that all this and more is possible, provided we expand the purpose of the Animus and open our minds.”

  “We’re doing this now,” Kilkerman said, his hands folded over his large belly and his eyes no longer twinkling with humor. “Trust me, Simon, we’re paying close attention to what we learn.”

  “Yes—and we can do so much more with not much more effort.”

  “We did not need this romantic, sentimental approach to virtually wipe out our enemy over fifteen years ago.” The contempt in Stearns’s voice made the room feel abruptly chilly.

  “No, we did not. But they’re getting harder to find. Cleverer, more creative. And we need to be, too, if we’re to stop them.”

  “Time is a precious resource,” Berg said pointedly.

  “It is,” Simon agreed, “and we must be careful how we allocate it. We presently spend a very great deal of time gallivanting about looking for Pieces of Eden, when we’re already in possession of a few we either don’t understand or are damaged in some manner. We could both narrow
our Animus experiences and make them more general. We need to target individuals whom we know to have an abundance of Precursor DNA, and—”

  “We are already doing that as well,” Gramática said.

  “Through Abstergo Entertainment and Dr. Nakamura’s department, yes,” Simon replied, “people who aren’t Templars, and don’t know exactly what they’re looking for. How much more effective would an Animus hour be if one of us were making use of it? Our DNA is a massive and presently untapped resource.

  “One hour of our time could yield solutions to things we haven’t even thought of yet,” said Simon. “And of course, there is also knowledge for knowledge’s sake. It’s impossible to put a price tag on something like that.”

  “Spoken like a true historian,” Berg said, and somehow managed to make the word sound unsavory. Despite himself, Simon bristled.

  “I’ll prove it to you,” he heard himself saying. Instantly he wished the words back, but they were out there now, floating about like lost balloons. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and took a deep breath. “As I said earlier, we all know our lineages. I have an ancestor who fought in Joan of Arc’s army. She is believed to have possessed one of the Swords of Eden… Piece of Eden 25, according to the inventory. I have a theory that it might well be the one that belonged to Jacques de Molay himself.”

  “The one in my office,” purred Rikkin. He turned to the rest of the Inner Sanctum. “There’s a lot of its history that’s still unknown. What we do know is that it once belonged to de Molay, and later fell into the hands of Grand Master François-Thomas Germain, during the French Revolution. The Assassin Arno Dorian took it from Germain upon killing him.”

  Simon nodded. “It is my intention to spend time in the Animus myself and confirm that this sword is the same that was once classified as Piece of Eden 25.”

  Rikkin leaned on the table, cooling cup of coffee in one hand, chin in the other. “De Molay’s sword was damaged when it was in the possession of Germain. Whatever unique abilities it once displayed, it no longer seems to possess.”

  “I repeat—with someone of my knowledge in the chair, I may well be able to determine how to repair it if I can see it in action.”

  A small smile quirked Rikkin’s lips. “All right,” he said. “Let’s call this a test run. I’ll let you follow this breadcrumb trail, Hathaway, and find out where it leads. If you can give me concrete results in one week, I’ll greenlight the shift in your department’s direction and allocate the appropriate resources.”

  Simon’s heart sank. A week? Rikkin’s smile widened, as if he could read the mind of the newest member of the Templar Inner Sanctum.

  “Done,” Simon said, and squared his shoulders.

  “Excellent.” Rikkin placed his napkin on the table and rose. “You’d best be about it, then.” There might have been more obvious ways to end a meeting, but Simon currently couldn’t think of one. “Oh, and Simon?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Rikkin and Kilkerman exchanged glances, as if they were in a secret together. “It’s not really a ‘chair’ anymore,” Rikkin said.

  “Beg pardon?” asked Simon.

  “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  It was a familiar room, but now it was his, and Simon found that made a difference.

  Carrying an enormous box of books, he paused at the wide threshold to look around. To the left, the astonishing view of the London Eye, Big Ben, and the Palace of Westminster where Parliament sat took up a huge section of the wall. A second large window on the right, closer to Isabelle’s—now his—desk, ensured that plenty of light filled the room. Large, comfortable leather chairs provided the option of curling up with a book, and the massive bookcases offered hundreds of titles from which to choose. The heady smell of old paper and leather bindings permeated the room; the intoxicating scent of the past.

  Simon walked through the sitting area, his feet making no sound on the thick, rich red carpeting, and placed the box on the large desk. Isabelle had not overly personalized her office, but he noticed that there were some places in the cabinets where objects had obviously been removed. Gramática had a wife and children, but never mentioned them—nor apparently saw them, given the hours he spent at the lab. Rikkin had a daughter, Sofia, but she was an adult and a full Templar in her own right. The cool killer Berg, oddly enough, was the only high-ranking Templar of Simon’s acquaintance who had a small child he genuinely seemed to love; a little girl with cystic fibrosis. Simon only knew this because treatment for her had been the main bait with which the Order had tempted Berg to join their ranks.

  Simon had no child, no wife, no girlfriend, not even a cat, and he was quite content with that status.

  As he trudged back and forth down the hall with his belongings, Simon thought about the deadline Rikkin had set him. Fortunately Simon had done his research before making his presentation. Joan’s life was well chronicled and there was a bounty of primary sources—the meat and drink of researchers. Hopefully, it would be enough to enable Simon to make the most use of the single week.

  Joan of Arc. Fascinating, that he claimed as an ancestor someone who had traveled with her. He had never experienced the Animus personally, as he had never been a field agent and so had not participated in the Animi Training Program. He was well aware that the authors of precious primary resources were hardly impartial. But he, a historian with, as the saying went, no horse in this race—he would be able to be much more objective.

  He fired up the computer and logged in. The Abstergo logo appeared on the large wall screen. “Animus Room,” he said aloud. He was standing in front of the desk, unpacking a glass display case containing a rare eleventh-century version of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives, when the face of the chief Animus technician appeared. She had long, glossy black hair gathered into a bun in a professional manner, dark brown eyes, and a friendly smile.

  “Good morning, Professor Hathaway, I’m Amanda Sekibo. How may I help you?”

  “Hello, Ms. Sekibo, we’ve not properly met yet, but I’m the new—”

  “Head of Historical Research, yes, sir,” she replied. “Dr. Kilkerman has told us all about you. We’re all looking forward to introducing our new Animus to you. What can I do for you today?”

  “I was in a meeting about an hour ago with Mr. Rikkin,” he said. “I’m cleared to use the Animus for a rather time-sensitive project. I had assumed you would be notified. I’d like to schedule my first session immediately, if it’s quite convenient.”

  Sekibo’s brow furrowed. “Hang on a moment, please… ah, all right, yes, you are indeed already confirmed and cleared for Animus usage, but not until you’ve met with Dr. Bibeau.”

  “Who’s he when he’s at home?”

  “She, sir, and she’s one of our top psychiatrists.”

  Simon bristled. “I’ve had multiple evaluations and there’s never been a jot of concern. I’m certain I don’t need to be wasting the good doctor’s time with—”

  “I’m sorry, sir, Mr. Rikkin has made it quite clear.” Sekibo had the sort of apologetic look people wore when the answer was going to be “no,” regardless of anything one said.

  Simon knew, of course, about the various dangers of the Animus. It was nothing like the mass-marketed videogames that had won Abstergo Entertainment so many awards and had (not at all incidentally) for several years provided the Templars with an enormous stream of income in addition to information. One needed to be monitored, and he understood that with this new model one couldn’t even get settled into it without assistance. Simon removed his specs and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

  “Well, of course I respect Mr. Rikkin’s decision. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Bibeau straight away.”

  The young woman had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, sir, she’s flying in tonight from the States. I expect she’ll be ready to see you first thing in the morning.”
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br />   “Right,” Simon said. Of course. “One more thing—just confirming that Mr. Rikkin did, indeed, impress upon you that I have a project due in a week?”

  “Yes, sir, once you’re cleared, you’re mint to go.”

  “Cheers,” Simon said, and ended the call. To himself, he muttered, “Six days it is.” He plopped down in the comfortable leather chair where he had seen Isabelle Ardant so many times, located Bibeau’s name in the company directory, and composed an e-mail to her requesting they meet for breakfast at Temp’s at seven-thirty sharp.

  Heaven help you if you cost me another minute in the Animus, he thought sourly, and hit “send.”

  DAY 2

  In the end, it was Simon who was almost late. The lack of sleep during the initiation ritual had caught up with him. Victoria Bibeau was waiting for him when he arrived at seven twenty-six.

  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this trim, bright-eyed woman with a pixie haircut and toothy but genuine smile. He wondered how it was she did not look a bit jet-lagged. Her handshake was firm, but not crushing.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Professor Hathaway,” she said, and there was just a hint of a French accent in her voice.

  “I hope you had a pleasant flight.”

  “Thank you, I did, it is nice to be in London again. Tea always tastes better to me when I and the cup are surrounded by England.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said as they stepped inside. Abstergo had a total of three restaurants on site, ranging from the Snack Shack for quick bites, coffee, and tea, to the elaborate Bella Cibo, where important guests were wined and dined. Tempest in a Teapot, abbreviated to Temp’s more often than not, served only light breakfasts, elevenses, and afternoon tea, and was Simon’s favorite, mainly because he almost always found himself working through lunch and dinner, and Temp’s delivered.

  “Good morning, Professor Hathaway,” the waiter greeted them. He bore a tray with a small teapot, two cups, milk, lemon, and honey, and set the items down between them as he spoke. “The usual for you, sir?”