“Mademoiselle Al-Faradi!” A woman crossing the atrium had noticed them standing there and stopped to wave cheerily. “We didn’t know you were coming.”
“That’s alright, Ojin. I didn’t want to interrupt the flow. It’s best, I think, if my guests see the Library operating in full-swing.”
The woman, Ojin, glanced at Rick and the others interestedly. “Ooh, new members? No wonder you came through the Door of Initiation!”
“The museum entrance,” Nasim explained, turning to the group, “is a bit impractical for day-to-day use. With the Louvre the way it usually is, Paris could hardly miss two hundred people disappearing through a secret trapdoor in one of their most famous landmarks. We only use it when we’re trying to show off.”
“So how do they get here?” Kai asked, nodding to the crowd.
“The tunnels.” Nasim pointed across the room towards the nearest tunnel, marked clearly with a glowing green sign that read ORANGERIE MUSEUM. “It connects to the oldest segments of the city’s numerous tunnels. There’s a handful of hidden entrances scattered around the 1st Arrondissement, just enough to thin out the herd during the morning commute.”
“Mine is in an old outflow pipe along the Seine,” Ojin said. “Beneath the Pont du Carousel bridge. Smells, but it still beats the Metro. Anyway, welcome to the project!”
Nasim turned to them as Ojin hurried on her way. “If you decide to accept my offer, enter through Le Louvre tomorrow morning at seven. The museum will remain empty until eight, and the entrance will be unlocked until then. After that, it closes.”
* * *
Between Estelle and Toulouse, her flat had felt plenty spacious. With the addition of three guests, she realized just how small it really was.
After snuggling Toulouse to death and giving him a whole half tuna steak they’d picked up on the trip back from Le Louvre, Estelle ordered them takeout. It was delivered to the living room window via drone, and they sat around the coffee table to eat and decide what their next move would be. The TV was on, talking heads discussing the Sinai incident and occasionally cutting to clips of amateur footage that had captured the Ark’s final moments in this world.
Estelle barely heard any of it. She was too deep in her own thoughts, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. Nobody spoke while they ate. Toulouse, as if agitated by the pregnant silence, meowed loudly.
Booker reached over and scratched him behind the ears. “So. What’re we thinking?”
“Pay shoundsh good,” Rick said, mouth full of rice and tikka masala.
“Is that all you care about?” Booker asked, frowning.
“Hey, which one of us literally walked through fire to save the world?” Rick shrugged. “But, yeah, kinda.”
“We need it,” Kai added, and though he was agreeing with Rick, Estelle thought he looked less cavalier about it all. “Some steady income would be a nice change. Not to mention the other perks.” He and Rick exchanged dark looks.
“Meaning what?” Booker asked.
Rick sighed. He had been sprawled on the floor, but now he sat up. “Well, when you frequent certain circles -- of professionally paranoid thieves-for-hire, say -- you need to observe all the correct social mores. If you don’t, then…”
“You get burned,” Kai finished. “Hard.”
“Honor among thieves is only one-half of the bargain. The other side is a biblical shitstorm waiting to fall upon you the moment you break from the pack.”
“But how will they know,” Booker began.
“Ibis knows. If he’s smart, he’ll have already spread the word on Club Nabonidus and every other forum that we can’t be trusted. No better way to bump off the competition than to convince everyone else to do it for you.”
“Is it really that bad?” Estelle asked. “I mean, you’re not in danger, are you?”
“We can’t go home,” Kai said matter-of-factly. “At least, not permanently. We’ll need to break our lease, get Amy and tie up some loose ends. But the longer we stay in the open --”
“The more time our former colleagues have to send headhunters after us,” Rick said, sounding grumpy. “Y’know, just to make sure we didn’t spill all the beans to the FBI. So, yeah, I’m inclined to take Nasim’s offer. Not just for the pay, but for the extra layers of protection that someone of her caliber can provide.”
“Assuming she wants to,” Booker said. “She might decide it’s more trouble than you’re worth.”
“She won’t,” Estelle said firmly. “Nasim isn’t heartless. More importantly, she needs us. That much was clear.”
He looked round at her, eyebrows raised. “So you’re on board with this too?”
“Well…yes.” It had never been a question for her. The opportunity to learn more about the Remnants, their creators, and what they had done to her had felt like the natural choice even before it was presented to her. Not to mention the opportunity to truly change the world. She frowned at Booker. “Aren’t you?”
He took a moment before answering, finishing up the last bit of his roghan josh. “I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with the Remnants yet. All that…it’s above my paygrade.” He set aside his biodegradable carton, which Toulouse promptly went to investigate. “Ibis. That’s what I’m after.”
“So go back to the FBI,” Rick said mildly.
“I probably will have to go back to the States, at least until the OPR clears me.” He sighed. “I’m not a hundred percent sure they won’t just arrest me. But if they don’t…”
“Pharos is the best place to be if we want to find out who Ibis is and stop him,” Estelle said.
“Is it? Your dad thought the whole Initiative was compromised. If he was right, if Ibis’ faction goes that deep, then I’m not sure I’ll be able to do much good from within Pharos. We could be walking into the lion’s den”
“Nasim wants to find Ibis just as much as you do,” Estelle replied. “You heard her, she promised to give your investigation all the support it needs.”
“And who’s to say her promises are worth anything?” Booker looked from her to Rick and Kai. “Do any of us really trust Nasim, or Pharos? They lied to all of us from the start, have made it their modus operandi to work in the shadows. Even if they are working with the best of intentions, how far does that really extend?”
Rick shrugged as if conceding the point. Kai merely looked thoughtful. Estelle felt a prickle of annoyance. “How can any of you be thinking of walking away, after what we’ve seen? What we’ve been through?”
“I mean, I’m all in,” Rick said. “But mostly because we’re out of options.”
Booker didn’t look convinced. “Is the FBI really any better?” she asked him. “They already threw you under the bus once because they didn’t want to believe what you were telling them. Do you really think it’d be any different now that things have gotten even crazier?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t. But, be honest, Estelle. Do you really trust Nasim?”
“Yes,” she said at once. “I do. She believes in Pharos. She believed in my father. She doesn’t want to let everything they worked for crumble.” She looked at each of them in turn. “I’m not ready to walk away, and I don’t think any of you are, either. Pharos might need us, but we need them too.”
This was met with a silence, heavy with the shared acknowledgement that what she said was true. What had happened had changed them all in different ways, left each of them with their own questions. There was only one place they could find answers.
Rick stretched out on the floor. “Alright, so how about this? We take the job, but we don’t take their bullshit. We do it for purely selfish reasons --”
“The money,” Kai said.
“The money. And we stay straight with each other. Play it close to the chest where Pharos is concerned, but watch each other’s backs. This only works if we do that. If one of us gets a hinky feeling, we let the others know. If it looks like the walls are caving in, we get the hell out
and don’t look back.”
Kai was looking down at him with an odd expression. “Are you saying we form a new crew?”
Rick stared up at him, then slowly looked around at Estelle and Booker. “Shit,” he said softly. “I guess I am. Unless… we’re really just going to walk away?”
“Nope,” said Estelle.
Booker sighed. “I can’t.”
Rick nodded. A second silence fell over their group, but this time it was different. Not contemplative or uncomfortable, but filled with a buzzing sort of anticipation. Estelle felt the way she had when she was a kid, ready to board a plane with her mom and dad and fly off to someplace exotic, someplace exciting. Someplace new. Anxious, but not in a wholly bad way. Ready for whatever came next.
“Well, then,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you all at the office.”
Secure link established…
Encryption enabled…
X: I don’t know where you are right now, but you might want to consider staying lost.
I: That a threat or just some friendly advice?
X: Don’t. Just don’t. I’m too tired for banter. All that effort, and for what? I’ll be up to my teeth in damage control for months.
I: Believe it or not, this wasn’t a loss.
X: I’m sorry, what? The Ark is gone. Half the fucking Sinai Desert got turned to glass on live feeds. And now she knows. Because your assets survived -- the WRONG ASSETS survived -- she knows we exist. She knows we’re moving against her.
I: Relax. They won’t be able to tell her anything useful.
X: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t know our name or who you are. Her awareness of our existence means it’s only a matter of time before she finds us. Trust me. She’s never failed. Not for long.
I: So that’s it? You’re all ready to pack it in?
X: No, but don’t be surprised if there’s a major shakeup in the next few days. Starting with yours truly. Doesn’t matter how much I hate you, I’ll be the one they hold responsible for letting you off the leash.
I: Tell them it’s not over. Tell them, in fact, that we’re now in a better position than ever to advance our goals.
X: How? The Ark is gone.
I: The Ark was only a means to an end. A tool, and a broken one, incidentally. Like all tools, it’s value was never greater than that of what it could create. And this one’s given us something truly priceless.
X: And what’s that?
I: Assets. Ones that can do things nobody’s been able to do since before human memory.
X: And how long until she figures that out?
I: She already has. But she doesn’t know what to do with them.
X: But you do.
I: But I do.
X: And they can be controlled?
I: Anyone can be controlled.
Epilogue
The Library
Paris, France
Nasim al-Faradi had always hated needles. It was a fear that began in childhood and had followed her throughout her entire adult life, tormenting her with recurrent nightmares of faceless doctors bearing too-large syringes and making a regular checkup a tortuous affair. It had, so far, never been reported in the media. If it had, some might say it humanized her, made her more approachable. To Nasim, it was a weakness. Something she had no intention of revealing to her enemies.
“Just a tiny pinch.”
She closed her eyes, drawing a sharp breath. “Just do it, you bastard.”
Molton tsked in that annoying way of his, and Nasim felt the sharp prick of the needle piercing her skin. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about that jagged end plunging deep into your arm, finding a vein, latching onto it like a leech, violating the sanctity of your body --
She was thinking about it. And now she was feeling lightheaded.
“All done,” Molton said. “See? Not so bad. It’s never so bad.”
Nasim opened her eyes and, with the resolve of a general surveying a bloody battlefield, glanced down at her forearm. The needle, a sliver of silver less than an inch long, was burrowed into her vein and taped down. Worse yet, she could already see the crimson rush of her own blood being sucked up the tube and pulled into the machine beside her chair, could feel that grotesque draining sensation. That, more than anything, made her want to puke. She forced herself to look, to confront her fear.
“Make a fist,” Molton instructed. Nasim pictured his smug head in her palm and crushed it. The blood began to flow more smoothly. “There you go.”
He moved around her chair and began fiddling with the machine. As the flow of her blood stopped and the centrifuge spun up, Molton attached a second bag to the machine, one marked 307-E.K/F016. It was a cocktail comprised of various elements, saline and synthetic plasma and immunosuppressants. Mostly it was a delivery vehicle, a Trojan horse for the only element that truly mattered.
After the centrifuge had finished separating the constituents of her own blood, the contents of 307-E.K./F016 were pumped into the reservoir. Blue mixed with crimson, and the machine spun up again, combining the two serums into a violet slush. This was then pumped back into her body, along with the unpleasant chill and the metallic taste/smell of the saline. Nasim rested her head back and waited for it to finish.
“It’s good to have you back,” Molton said conversationally. “Things were getting a bit hairy around the office.”
She glanced up at him. He was examining his wristband, monitoring the process. “Really? You couldn’t keep it together for a week in my absence?”
“Oh, I was fine. But there were rumors. Watercooler talk, and not of the pleasant variety.”
“Enlighten me.”
Molton looked up from his wristband, and Nasim detected a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. He’d been speaking without thinking and now he was regretting it. He returned his attention to his wristband. “Nothing one wants to give credence to.”
“Certainly not.”
Damn. Nasim could guess at the nature of those rumors, even if Molton didn’t want to share. The death of Martin Kingston, the loss of all his research, bringing the Ark project to a complete standstill, bringing in Estelle -- an outsider, regardless of pedigree -- only for Nasim to fly off to Ethiopia without so much as an explanation. It was bound to engender an atmosphere of unease and paranoia. Whispers. She needed to be more careful in the future, lest those whispers stray towards the truth.
As if following her train of thought Molton asked, “How was your trip?”
Nasim sighed. “You know very well how it went.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Really? Did you miss the blazing beam of light shooting out of Mount Sinai that’s been on the news day and night?”
“No,” Molton replied patiently. “I would simply rather defer to you before turning to secondary sources.”
“Terrible, Molton. The trip was terrible. We lost the Remnant and a hell of a lot more in the process.”
He glanced down at the centrifuge. The reservoir was nearly empty. “Not a complete loss, though.”
“No.” No, it hadn’t been a total failure. She had still been able to salvage something from it. Estelle, Booker, Rick, Kai -- they had made up their minds before leaving the vault. She had seen it clearly in their faces. All four of them would turn up at Le Louvre tomorrow morning, and thank God for that. She didn’t like to think about what might happen if they were left on their own out in the world. Rick and Estelle, in particular. They were arguably the most important assets to Pharos now, and if anything happened to them -- if they died or, even worse, fell into the wrong hands --
The machine emitted a soft chime. “Done,” Molton announced. He reached down to remove the needle and clean the wound with rubbing alcohol. Nasim barely noticed his ministrations, still distracted by the unpleasant prospect of loose ends and fresh complications.
“You know the drill,” Molton said as she stood, rolled down her sleeve and donned her jacket once more. “Any dizzi
ness, nausea, delirium, strange visions --”
“Let you know right away. Thank you, Molton.”
“My pleasure.”
“I can almost believe that.”
Nasim left his lab, rubbing her bandaged arm idly as she made her way directly to the section of the Library where the Experimental labs were housed, following the red stripe on the floor without needing to see it. She was given a wide berth in the corridors. Her presence wasn’t out of the ordinary, and most of the Pharos employees felt at relative ease around her. Recent events had changed that: Sinai, and the rumors that had sprouted like fungus in her absence.
Booker was right, she thought absently. You can’t give people over to their own fears and suspicions. I’ll need to tell them something, even if it’s a lie. Something to keep them calm.
She had never been fond of the manipulation that her job demanded, but Nasim also knew she’d be a fool to discard it completely. You didn’t throw out a tool just because it was loud and unwieldy. Every tool had its time and place, and it was the duty of a good leader to recognize the optimal situation in which to deploy it. Now was the time for small adjustments, silent maneuverings, carefully-played rolls. Anything else risked causing the situation to boil over, and she had come too far to let that happen.
Experimental was kept separate from the rest of the Library, between two solid steel doors and three meters of bedrock. Nasim did her due diligence and passed through quarantine just like every other lab tech would. Had she decided to pull rank and skip the ten-minute wait, they probably would have let her through, and she would have promptly fired them for it. Better for everyone that she be seen doing the thing properly.
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