The Beginning of Silence

Chapter 05

The world was blue, and mist. White numerals and symbols glowed in the haze; concentric circles and geometric figures danced in the blue oblivion. White clouds of electricity faded in and out of sight. But that was all there was: there was no wind, no warmth, no cold, no sound. Nothing but the blue luminescence and the flickering lightning that cast no shadow.

At first, Desmond could feel nothing (not that there was anything to feel). There was a ground beneath his feet, but it was everywhere—and nowhere. Or was it just an illusion? Whatever it was, it supported the legs he couldn't feel, and that was all that mattered.

"Okay, Desmond," said a voice. It was familiar. Jenifer? "I've begun the synchronization with the Ancestor. You're hearing should be operational, as should your vocal capabilities. Can you hear me?"

The voice cleared Desmond's head. He still didn't have a body, but that was normal. He never felt like he had a body in his first moments within the Animus. He found that he could speak despite his lack of a mouth. "What happened to the automated lady? Lucy couldn't talk to me last time I was in here."

"Oh, that's just another one of the updates made over the past month or so. Handy, isn't it? Now, I'm going to put you in the Ancestor's form, but it will be up to you to become completely synched. I'm loading an environment as we speak."

There was a flash and the sound of something electronic crackling, and then buildings materialized out of the fog. People wandered out of the blue haze, faceless and stumbling, and suddenly Desmond could feel.

He held up a hand experimentally. Altaïr's hand was smaller than he remembered, and the fingers less calloused. No muscle, either, or at least very little of it.

Oh, yeah, Desmond thought. I'm a kid. Right.

"Try interacting with your environment, Desmond," Jenifer instructed. "I'm told you've done this before and don't require the tutorial session, but I'd still prefer you to take the time to become oriented. Things are different than they were last time you used the Animus."

Desmond nodded and set off at a walk for the nearest structure: a middle-class building with a cupola atop it and a merchant's stall in front. The faceless people—the ones the tutorial program produced—were gathered around, and one seemed to be an artificial rendering of a Templar. His (Its?) helmet glimmered in the blue haze.

Desmond—upon finding when he neared the figure that he was depressingly short—stood on tiptoe and studied his reflection in the helmet's polished face. There were Altaïr's dark eyes, though framed by a less lean countenance, and there was his strong nose. His hair was the same old dark, but longer. All in all, he looked like an eleven year old.

The people at the stall didn't pay him much mind. So maybe there was a reward for being a kid, after all: permanent anonymity. Desmond, in Altaïr's child-body, backed off and spied a way up the side of the nearest building: by grabbing a stone jutting out of the side of the house, he would be able to lever himself up to a window, and from there to a beam and onto the roof. He wiped the sweat off his hands and onto his pants—trousers of coarse weave and unassuming color—hunkered down, and leapt for the rock.

He missed.

Desmond yelped as he landed sharply on his butt, "What the hell?"

"Like I said," mused Jenifer, "things are different now. You're smaller—adjust for it. Just remember that the child Altaïr doesn't possess the same reflexes as the adult Altaïr. You might not be able to keep your balance in this state as well as you might think."

But Desmond wasn't listening. He had jumped for the rock again, and had managed to grab it. Only this time, however, it wasn't his height that failed him: it was his strength. His arms weren't as strong as he remembered, and he fell to the blue ground-not-ground once more.

"You're strength isn't as developed, either," Jenifer remarked.

Desmond growled and stood. "I got that part." He took another flying leap, this time after studying the wall. He let his momentum drive him upward: from peg to window to beam without slowing down. Only, when he got to the beam, he realized just how much difference the balance thing actually made in his climbing abilities. He fell, and lost synchronization completely. Jenifer had to reboot him.

Eventually, after playing around in the fake world with his new body, he realized that he could hardly climb, but guards paid him little mind when he finally managed to scale something out of the ordinary. His strength sucked and his reflexes were beyond poor, but remaining anonymous was as easy as pie—by an ironic twist of fate, it was getting noticed that was difficult. He tried to get the guards' attention on purpose a few times, mainly by getting purposefully caught while pick pocketing, but found that when they did catch up to him all they did was cuff him on the ear, reprieve him of his prize, and send him sprawling on his way. Different, to say the very least. Falling from great heights was his biggest problem. Desmond just couldn't get used to not being able to get to anything, like he used to. The freedom denied him was excruciating: he didn't know what he had until it left him.

"I think I'm ready for the real thing," he said after enough practice. "Load me, Jen."

"Jenifer," the technician corrected. "I'm Jenifer, not Jen."

"Fine, fine, keep your shirt on: load me, Jenifer."

"Right. Now, remember: it will feel like you're controlling Altaïr, but in reality you're just along for the ride. Try to observe things from a futuristic point of view, and keep an eye out for potential candidates of the Piece's relocater. Don't lose yourself in there."

"Roger that," said Desmond impatiently. "Now load me up!"

"Downloading memory," said Jenifer, and the blue gave way to brilliant color.