The Beginning of Silence

Chapter 11

White light, blinding in its simplicity, swirled about him. Desmond could barely make out Altaïr's body as it encased him, blinded as he was by the luminescence. He could only hear the sounds of the Animus as the machine beeped and trilled in the strange blue and white space, and dimly Desmond noticed (more through feel and intuition than sight) that he was in the adult Altaïr's body, missing finger and all.

Suddenly a voice fluttered into his Desmond's ear, whispering above the Animus's sounds like a feminine wind.

"I'm taking you to James, Desmond," Jenifer called amid the machine's bleats. "Find him; calm him. He can't go on as he is; he's too stressed, confused."

"Gotcha," Desmond murmured, unsure if Jenifer could hear him. It seemed she could, however, for as soon as his words died the lights began to blink and undulate around him, like water in the air. They converged on his body, enfolding him into the brightness like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Soon, even the faint outline of Desmond's hands faded completely into white light.

When the lights cleared, Desmond was standing in the Garden.

It was as formless as the first time Desmond had been there, on his first voyage into the Animus and his ancestor's memory. People with no faces (mostly women and men carrying crates) wandered about without mind or purpose, but as soon as Desmond materialized in the center of the space the faceless girls swarmed him, crowding so close he was, for an instant, claustrophobic. They buzzed like bees, but spoke no words. Gently, so as not to hurt them and lose what little synchronization he had (for Desmond could feel, rather than see, his level of synchronization: he was only a quarter synched), Desmond pushed the girls out of the way with his forearm, then took a good look about him.

The buildings in the Garden towered haphazardly into the sky. They were a disjointed mix of rich, poor, and middle district houses that grew out of one another like mutant flowers of different shades, birthed from the same malformed stalk. Gates, topped with wicked looking pike, barred him entry into any place outside the courtyard. Random scaffolding and merchant stalls dotted the sides of the buildings and made passage through the throngs of faceless people difficult.

Desmond blinked, digital eyes watering. As if the architecture of this place—a mix of everything Altaïr had ever seen in his life cobbled together as if by some mad godchild—was confusing enough, images of people and places flashed in the empty air; pictures of the events Altaïr had seen during his stay on earth.

Or...were they?

Desmond squinted at the flashing imagery, they opened those same eyes wide in surprise. Some of the images did not jive with Desmond as Altaïr's memories, as some actually featured Altaïr in them!

In a flare of understanding, Desmond realized that this place—the Phantom Garden, Vidic had called it—must be a reflection of the mind of whoever happened to be there. It had reflected Altaïr when he was alone in it, and now that there were two people, both he and James were having an effect on the place. "Those other images… are James's!" Desmond said in a low voice. It came out not in Desmond's sarcastic tones, but Altaïr's calm and unaffected accent. "James!" Desmond called aloud, spinning in a circle. His eyes darted over the men carrying boxes and the faceless, hairless girls in a vain attempt to find subject 18. The girls swarmed him as he made the noise, still bussing. With an impatience born of an emotion similar to desperation, Desmond shoved them out of the way and began to jog around the perimeter of the Phantom Garden, all the while calling out for his fellow subject.

He stopped himself with difficulty. Desmond's synch meter was dropping, and dropping fast. Though he was in control of himself, the random flashes of memory and disjointed pictures emanating from the unseen James made it seem as though James was not. He needed to get James calm, and quickly. But, first, he had to find him. Desmond had an idea of how to accomplish this, but did not know if it would work. He'd never tried it… at least, never in the Garden. Still, since he had no other options, Desmond took a deep breath and activated his Eagle Vision.

The results were disorienting, to say the least. All of the faceless people would glow in a burst of color, but then that color would fade and be chased by another burst of light. They changed at random, from gold to red to blue to white, in a never-ending, arbitrary, capricious rainbow. Still, amid the flickers and flashes, one beam of color shot high into the pale blue and white sky, unwavering and steady.

Shimmering blue for ally, and for friend.

Desmond set off towards the light at a walk, then picked up the pace and jogged when he felt the synch meter slip even further towards total desynchronization. He had to dodge the jar carriers and the murmuring women with no faces, and found the going hard thanks to the increasing image flashes.

"Hang on, James," Desmond hissed in Altaïr's voice as he shoved a girl aside. "I'm coming!"

Desmond could only hope he would make it in time.

He nearly passed right by him. It was only through unprecedented luck that Desmond spotted James crouched beneath a scaffold, holding his head in his hands and moaning.

"James," Desmond whispered as his synch meter plummeted. He dropped to his knees and crawled under the low wooden structure. "James, I'm here!" He reached out a hand and touched the younger man on the shoulder, but subject 18 flinched and batted Desmond away. James let out a low moan, and Desmond grit his teeth together in frustration.

"Who is he?" James asked. "Who is he who is he who is he who…" The litany continued hurriedly, and Desmond reached out again. He took James's wrist in his hand, and when he tried to tug away Desmond held on tight. Though James protested, Desmond pulled him out from under the scaffolding and into the courtyard proper.

He made James stand, too, and kept his hands firm on subject 18's shoulders. "James," Desmond said in the firmest voice possible. "James, it's me, it's Desmond, I met you right before you came here. Do you remember me?"

James finally looked up; he had been staring at the floor the all the while, muttering under his breath. It was the first time Desmond had gotten a good look at his fellow captive, and his breath caught in his throat.

Malik.

James was Malik, missing arm and all.

It was odd to see Malik's face so strained; pinched. He was not crying, but the look of utter desperation in his eyes was more heart-wrenching than anything Desmond could image tears capable of expressing. Desmond had never seen the man this way, except for once, and that was when Kadar had died. The sense of confused loss pervading the man's features now was so complete it made his eyes all but blank, save for their maddened fervor. Their black depths seemed bottomless as they glistened in the Garden's half-light.

"Jesus," Desmond whispered as James dropped his head again. "He's got it worse than I ever did." Desmond released one of James's shoulders, grit his teeth, and, with his now free hand, struck his new friend across the face. He was rewarded by silence and a look from James: he had stopped muttering and was staring at Desmond, blank eyes border lining on shocked.

Shock factor, Desmond thought smugly. Works every time. "Listen to me, James," Desmond growled, leaving his triumph behind him. They weren't out of the woods just yet. "I know it feels like you're two people, but you're not. You are James, and only James. Say it with me: I am James."

"I am…" James trailed off, so Desmond hit him again, harder.

"Say it!" he barked. "I am James!"

"I… am… James," James whispered. And then, more strongly: "I am James." He stood up straighter, and Desmond nearly whooped aloud when he felt the synch meter raise a peg. "I am James."

"Good," Desmond said. "Good. Now say it again."

"I am James." Suddenly James blinked, shook his head, and put his fingers to his temple. Desmond let go of him. "I am… Ooh, wow, but my head aches."

"It would," Desmond remarked dryly, feeling the synch meter rise even higher. "You were two people for a minute there."

"Two…" James looked up at Desmond, then looked around and swore. "Where the fu—"

"Yeah, that's what I said the first time."

"Where are we?" James looked a bit sheepish, and the expression did not sit well on Malik's proud features. "And who are you again?"

Desmond's eyebrow twitched. "Desmond." When James looked at him vacantly, Desmond added: "The guy sitting on the Animus when you first walked in. The one with the big mouth. Remember?"

James nodded. "Oh. Right. You look a bit different."

Desmond shrugged. "So do you, buddy."

James looked down at his robes (they were black, trimmed in red and white; those of a Bureau leader), then noticed his missing limb. "My arm's gone," he said, voice shaking anew. "Oh, God, my arm's gone, where is it, why is it not—"

Desmond could see another breakdown coming, so with speed more befitting a striking cobra he grabbed James's face in both hands and forced him to look at him. "That is not your body," Desmond said firmly, feeling thoroughly like a fruitcake for holding subject 18 this way. "You are in the Animus… or, rather, your mind is. You are reliving the memories of you ancestor Malik." Quickly, so as to hold James's slippery attention, he told him everything about the genetic memory, the past, the Animus; everything. "You're safe here," Desmond concluded, and let go of James when he felt the synch meter being to rise again. "I know it feels weird, know that it feels like you're two different people at the same time, but the fact of the matter is you can't give in. You gotta remember who you are at all times, or you'll lose yourself to the memories, like you did earlier." As James grew calmer and calmer, Desmond could feel the synch meter going up and up. It eventually settled at full. "You feel calm now, right?"

"Yeah," James said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Desmond. "Just as long as you're all right."

This Garden place was definitely odd. Desmond could feel the presence of Altaïr pushing at the corners of his mind—as if any moment it would flow over Desmond and drown him in another's thoughts—but was held barely at bay by Desmond's active psyche. This was the most 'Desmond' Desmond had ever been while inside the Animus and Altaïr's memories.

"Do you think you understand everything?" Desmond asked James, who nodded. Desmond then asked: "And you won't break down again?"

James's eyes flashed. "What does it matter to you?"

Desmond blinked. So, he and James were more alike than he'd first thought. It seems Desmond wasn't the only one with trust issues. "Frankly, your ass is my ass when we're both in the Animus. If you can't figure out how to survive then I'll probably die… and vice versa." Desmond laughed at the alarmed look James shot him at this. "When two people are put in the same memory strand, they're… well, I guess they're parasitic." Desmond's nose wrinkled. "No, that's not the right word. I need the word that mean both sides benefit from the other—"

James immediately supplied: "Symbiotic."

"Right. That. Anyway, we're symbiotic: you get hurt, I lose synchronization. I get hurt, you lose synchronization. Make sense?"

"What's synchronization?"

Desmond put a hand to his face and moaned. "Dammit, Jenifer, do I have to explain everything to this guy?" He wasn't expecting an answer, so both he and James jumped when a voice actually gave Desmond a response

"Oh, no, I'll take over from here," Jenifer said. "Sorry. I'll pull you into the tutorial level now."

"That the Asian lady?" James said out of the corner of his mouth. "The one that put me on that machine thing?"

"Her name's Jenifer," Desmond answered. "She runs the Animus while we're inside. Makes sure we don't die or anything nasty like that."

James 'oh-ed.' "I guess I owe her a 'thank you,' then."

"Don't bother. It's just her job. She's more like a glorified jailer than anything."

"So I suppose that makes us sci-fi Shawshank inmates, then?"

Desmond's mouth quirked. This James kid was funny, what with his Stephen King references and all. "Something like that."

"Okay, hold on tight, guys!" Jenifer said. "I'm pulling you to the tutorial!"

"Whoa!" James exclaimed as white mist immediately began swirl thick about his feet. "What the hell?"

Desmond laughed. "Disorienting, but harmless. We're being loaded somewhere else."

James's face was all but invisible in the swirling light, though Desmond could still see the expression etched onto Malik's features. It was equal parts wonder, apprehension, and fear. Still, despite the fear, the synch bar stayed steady and full. "I'm tingling, like the way my foot feels when it falls asleep, only it's all over my body. Is that normal?"

Desmond blinked. "I dunno. I don't feel that way. Just sort of clammy and not-all-there, like my mind's drifting off… maybe…"

He lost his train of thought just as James fully disappeared into the light and mist. It bothered Desmond that James would leave without saying goodbye, but soon even that thought faded right alongside with his steadily vanishing body…

AUTHOR'S UPDATE

Next chapter has Desi (as I find myself calling him now) and James in the tutorial, learning the finer workings of the double-synch. After that, it's back to Masyaf, where we learn more about their past together. Stay tuned!