AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

5. Knowledge of the Heavens

Part Five: Knowledge of the Heavens

"Welcome back," Rebecca greeted as Desmond sat up. Standing, the rocker stretched, her spine popping all the way down, and smiled as she circled. "Going to get some eats from the cafe in town. Anything?"

"That nice pasta dish I like," Shaun called from his station, not even looking up from his computer. "Thanks!"

"Sure thing," Rebecca said, wandering over. "Pay up for your share."

Shaun actually looked over from his station and scowled horribly. "I'm British. I have no Euros, so thanks in advance."

"Cheapskate." She lightly punched his shoulder and turned. "Anything else?"

"Sausage," Desmond replied. "Some nice Italian sausage, if you can." After all, Ezio always did enjoy a good sausage that Monteriggioni's cooks did well.

"Nothing for me," Lucy said. "I don't want you too long in town. Just make sure we have plenty of supplies."

"On it!"

Desmond stretched as well, and went through routine stretches to keep him limber, especially after being in the Animus so long. He walked over to their small kitchen area and grabbed an apple to munch on after being in the Animus since breakfast.

He walked to Lucy's station and leaned a hip against it. "Any news from outside?" he asked.

"Well, with Rebecca patching in a phone line earlier this week, it's been easier to access things. The Assassins know where we are and what we're doing, but the Templars are still guarding the boarders. We're stuck for now until they move on." Lucy sat back and rubbed her face. "Vidic seems overly busy too."

Desmond frowned. "That can't be good. Doing what?"

"From what I've been able to tell, he's been using all those Animus machines we saw when we were escaping. Every single one of them has an Abstergo operative stuck in it to train."

Desmond could swear his blood ran cold. He'd been training so hard to get an edge and now the Templars were copying the idea? What the hell were they going to do against such trained operatives? And what time period or ancestors were getting the training? Were they going to know sword work or were they going to be expert arms-men? Would they have mercenary training or nobleman training? There were too many options in the vast history of one's ancestry. "Shit. What are they planning?"

"A full on assault," Lucy said flatly, rubbing her face again. "I'm just not sure where. I don't have that kind of access."

Desmond blinked. "How are you even getting access? Weren't you the only Assassin at Abstergo's Animus facility?"

A look passed Lucy's face so fast Desmond wasn't sure what he saw. "Some old passwords work," she said. "And we have an Assassin or two in different Abstergo facilities, but they're not connected at all with the Animus unit and don't dare blow cover trying to get in. I'm doing what I can, but I can't dig very far."

"Don't worry," Desmond reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "We'll make do. Assassins always do." Even Ezio, who had nothing, was rebuilding. Desmond was sure that they could get somewhere too. "So, anything I can do?"

Lucy gave a small smile. "Thanks, Desmond, but not right now."

Desmond shrugged and went over to an empty area of the Sanctuary and started his sit ups and pushups to help build up strength and endurance, since he couldn't just run around with Shaun stubbornly at his station and complaining about anything that made lots of noise or motion. He got into a steady rhythm and let his mind empty. It had been his habit since coming to Monteriggioni, after coming out of the Animus he immediately tried to exercise his brain into not thinking. It was the only thing he could do to try and remove himself from Ezio and remind himself that he was Desmond.

He worked up a good sweat and, three hours later, went down into the mines to wash up and change. He felt refreshed, in a way, and more like himself. He shivered from the cold water, but just shrugged his hoodie on a little tighter as he walked back into the Sanctuary.

"Rebecca back yet?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen area again.

"No," Lucy said. "I'm getting worried. She usually doesn't take so long for a supply run."

Shaun was far more blasé. "This is Rebecca we're talking about, yeah? I'm sure she's fine."

But Desmond knew Shaun was worried, he could see the tension in the Brit's shoulders.

With nothing else to do, Desmond started cooking dinner from what they had.

It wasn't until two hours later that Rebecca came down the steps with several bags of materials. More than they'd originally anticipated for a supply or food run.

"Everything okay?" Desmond asked.

"Just a quick heads up," Rebecca replied, putting down all her bags and shaking out her arms after carrying so much for what must have been a while. "There was a white unmarked van parked across the street from the Villa when I headed out. It was still there when I was coming back so I killed time in town. It's a little too non-descript for my liking and just the right size for surveillance. It was finally gone and I could come back, but we should keep an eye out."

"We're staying underground for the next three days," Lucy ordered, getting up to help with the bags of supplies that were clearly for a few days. "No one goes out at all for any reason. At all. We'll switch to our alternate watch site. It's a bit more hidden and we may not see as much, but we'll see enough."

"Wha-really?" Shaun gaped. "Really? I was looking forward to getting out from under here tomorrow!"

"Tough," Lucy replied airily. "Safety first."

"But that's just not fair!" Shaun groused. "I haven't been out in a week!"

"And I haven't been out at all," Desmond shot back. He, unlike the others, was completely grounded. With Abstergo everywhere and keeping an eye on everything, he was the one person they'd recognize, the one person who had escaped and was wanted back in custody. Lucy might be as recognizable, but she had been a member of Abstergo and could lie her way through something if needs be.

But Shaun kept grousing.

"Shaun just volunteered for latrine duty," Rebecca gleefully announced.

"Agreed," Lucy smiled back.

"What?" Shaun shouted, staring at them aghast. But looking at the two smiling faces of the ladies of the team seemed to deflate him. "Fine," he grumbled.

Desmond debated with himself for a minute, before heading over to Shaun to distract him. "Any theories on that cipher Machiavelli handed me?" Desmond asked. Then corrected himself. "Ezio, I mean?"

Shaun gave a sour shrug. "I can't decode it without the key. It's a one-time disposable pad," he said as if explaining to a child. Desmond ignored the condescending tone.

"What's that?"

"Alright, lesson time for the Baby Assassin," Shaun turned, frowning. "It's a cipher with a unique, disposable key. Imagine if someone used the first letter of every word in the Declaration of Independence to encipher something. Well, without the Declaration, you couldn't decrypt it. This type of code's been used for centuries in various forms..."

"I bet I could run it through the computer?" Rebecca piped up from where she'd finally settled at her station.

Shaun scowled at her. "There are some things even a computer can't do..." he scoffed. "Like love, Rebecca. Like love."

The technician merely shrugged with her usual bright grin.

But Desmond saw the chance to pull Shaun from his foul mood. "So, Shaun, any lions outside the pride?" he asked.

Lucy looked up. "Who was that girl you were dating? Kate?"

Sounds like Shaun might hold proper conversations while Desmond was in the Animus.

"Ah yeah, Kate," Shaun said, leaning back with a smug smile. "Katie, Katie, Katie, kitty-kat-Kate." He smiled. "Charmed the pants right off her, I did."

"Yeah, right," Rebecca laughed. "I know for a fact you two didn't even make it to second base."

Shaun stuttered horribly in confusion before finally forming two solid understandable words. "What, what?"

Rebecca smiled just as smugly as Shaun did. "We had lunch!"

Shaun paled considerably and Desmond was sure he saw sweat starting to gleam on his forehead. "You..." Shaun whispered, "...had lunch... with Kate?"

Rebecca shrugged nonchalantly with a large smile. "Whatever," she said, refocusing on her computer. "I got work to do."

Shaun turned back to his station looking distinctly nervous and shuddered.

Desmond worked really hard not to laugh.

---

Later, when Shaun was up on watch and Lucy was down in the mines to wash up, Desmond walked over to the technician. She was always so perky, Desmond wondered how she could manage it. Always ready with a friendly smile, Rebecca did wonders to smooth whatever Shaun's abrasiveness ruffled and her music, which could be heard despite her headphones, was always a nice distraction from the quiet of everyone working while Desmond had nothing to do.

But how could she maintain that? "Have you ever killed anyone?" he asked, then winced at the non-sequitur.

"Hello to you too," Rebecca replied, still smiling. But she shrugged. "I dated a guy who was an electronics engineer around the time the Assassins first contacted me."

"And?"

"And now I'm single."

Desmond blinked. "Are you kidding?!'

Rebecca scowled at him, her lighter demeanor disappearing. "Of course I'm kidding!" she growled. "You think I would actually joke about someone I actually killed?! Death is only funny when it's not happening in front of you! I should know, and that's all I'm gonna say about it."

Desmond raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry," he said softly.

Rebecca sighed. "Didn't mean to snap," she replied. "This... isn't an easy life. I can usually ignore it, but sometimes... some subjects..."

Desmond looked away. "I get it," he said quietly. "I get it all too well."

There were things he didn't like to talk about. His father, how they didn't get along. He didn't want to think about how he'd inevitably meet him now that he was an Assassin again. His mother...

Desmond shook his head. "Sorry," he said again.

Rebecca just smiled and nodded. She understood.

Lucy came in, pulling damp hair back in a tail and yawning. Desmond decided this was the best way to change subjects. "So Lucy," he said, "you and Rebecca here seem close. When'd you meet?"

Rebecca burst out laughing and Lucy's face turned beet-red.

"Oh, now I have to hear the story."

"Go ahead Lucy," Rebecca smiled. "Or I'll be telling him my version."

Lucy stuttered a moment, caught off guard, before scowling. "High school," she said stiffly.

Desmond blinked. "Really? High school?"

"Yeah," Lucy replied. "It had been decided that I was going to infiltrate Abstergo and that they'd probably get me in college. But colleges and universities keep records on their students and what their grades were in high school. Home-schooling requires a different form and a set of tests. Since no one wanted Abstergo to recognize that I was an Assassin, I went to a public high school."

"And was a complete sourpuss," Rebecca giggled.

"Are you telling this story or am I?" Lucy scowled.

"Oh, it's all you!"

Lucy grimaced, her face getting even redder.

"So I started in high-school with faked records of my previous school," Lucy attempted to shrug nonchalantly. "It was no big deal. I'd met other kids my age before whenever we went into town for supplies."

Rebecca interrupted. "She was a complete disaster! Didn't know anything about the social dos and don'ts! She had a stick up her ass the whole time!"

"Hey!" Lucy retorted, "I did not! I knew how to have fun!"

The technician howled in laughter. "Right! Running up trees! Oh no, I showed her how to really have fun! Snuck the two of us, underage, into clubs, took her around town, showed her what a nightlife was!"

Desmond chuckled, imagining it. "I thought you didn't join the Assassins till later, though, Rebecca."

She shrugged. "Right. Didn't get recruited for a few years, but I think meeting Lucy helped influence me."

Still red-faced, Lucy gave a sincere smile. "I can't take the credit. That was all you. I didn't do a thing."

"Other than insist on a low profile, even once we were flat-out drunk at a club and singing off-key."

They all laughed and talked more about the experiences of their teenage years. Desmond talked about his attempts at a GED and the heavy weight of realizing how much studying he needed to do to pass, Lucy remarked on how different high school was than she'd anticipated but was grateful that she'd gone to prepare herself for college, and Rebecca kept offering embarrassing stories of attempting to lighten up Lucy's more serious demeanor.

They were still laughing when Shaun came in from watch and asked what the hell he had missed.

---

"We only came Before."

"This Apple, this Piece of Eden..."

"Where is the Apple?"

The Apple whispered to him.

Desmond jerked awake and lay there stiffly, taking a deep breath to try and settle his racing heart. He wasn't sure what had woken him. Some corner of his mind tickled with... something. He wasn't sure what. But he sighed, recognizing the sounds around him in the Sanctuary, and just rolled over.

"Hey Lucy," he heard Rebecca say softly. "This is getting harder and harder. I miss my family. I miss my dog. I miss my life. Desmond unintentionally reminded me of that today."

"I know, Rebecca."

"I know what we're doing is important, but I can't help but feel this way. Especially when we're spinning our wheels like we are now."

"We're not spinning our wheels," Lucy said softly. "We're just waiting for directions."

A pause. "I guess all I'm saying is, I need someone to talk to and you're the only person who understands."

Lucy chuckled. "I'm here for you. But don't forget Desmond and Shaun. We're a team."

"... I guess there's Shaun," Rebecca conceded, "but he just makes sarcastic comments. I just don't want that right now."

"Yeah, he tends to insert his foot and leg into his mouth."

Rebecca gave a small giggle. "You think? The big lug can be a sweetheart, but you wouldn't know it under all his bluster. And Desmond... he's been through enough. He doesn't need me dumping on him, he needs a smile."

"You always gave the best smiles," Lucy agreed. "I can't. I want to smile for him, but I can't."

"You always were too serious for that."

"True." Another pause. Then Lucy sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way sometimes. I actually miss high school. I was normal there, with you. But when I do feel how heavy this all is, I try to think about what would become of this world if we weren't fighting this fight. It is hard, Rebecca, and that's why you were chosen. Like me, you can endure."

Sounds of moving. A hug perhaps.

"Resilience doesn't make you invincible," Lucy said softly, a twinge of sorrow in her voice. "No person in this entire world is invincible. But you can endure. And keep picking yourself back up afterwards. And if ever you're worn down, we can talk about whatever like we did tonight."

A small sniffle. "Thanks, Luce."

"No problem. But if you ever mention that night on the strip, you'll be the one on latrine duty."

Rebecca laughed. "Roger that."

They continued to talk of inconsequential things and Desmond sighed. Just under three months till doomsday and everyone was feeling the pressure of just sitting there. Desmond wished he could go through the memories faster, didn't need so much time practicing the free-running in the Animus, didn't need time out of the Animus to build his actual muscles. There had to be some way to hurry, but he just didn't see any.

With a heavy sigh, he tried to go to sleep again.

The following morning Shaun sat them all down for an update on the other teams, talking about Moscow, Osaka and Sao Paolo. Desmond listened and tried to pay attention, but just didn't feel it. He was just too tired.

With a yawn, he stretched his legs back to his sleeping bag by the statue of Altair, looking up to the blank rock that had a haunting face as Shaun droned on. And, in an attempted moment of self-amusement, Desmond slipped into his best Italian accent, which was far too easy after spending two decades as Ezio, and shrugged his shoulders up to his ancient ancestor. "Hey, wassa matta you, Altair?"

Rebecca apparently heard that and shouted at him. "That's judgmental!"

Desmond, surprised and humiliated at being caught, whirled and snapped back without thinking. "That's stupid!"

Lucy stepped between them, furious. "Really? This is what you guys are doing?"

"Oh no," Desmond replied in full sarcasm, hackles raised and digging his heels in, "God forbid I take a break!" Because even if he needed to spend more time in the Animus to catch up for the end of the world, he didn't want to. "I've only spent the past three fucking weeks inside that machine!"

"No, no, you're right," Lucy replied with just as much sarcasm. "Let's all screw around while the world falls to pieces!"

And that stung because he knew what was at stake. "Hey, this isn't easy you know!"

Rebecca scoffed. "Right, like we're all on vacation out here?"

The argument started to degrade from there, but Lucy interceded again, her voice louder than Desmond had ever heard it before.

"Enough!" She took a deep breath. "Look, everyone's under a lot of pressure, but we're the only ones who can stop Abstergo. So we need to keep it together."

Desmond agreed, and it was a reasonable point, but he still couldn't quite stop the bite in his voice. "She's right. We need to be a 'hive mind' here, people."

"Desmond."

Rolling his eyes, Desmond took a step back, acknowledging that he needed to back down.

Shaun, who had been remarkably reticent, stepped forward nervously. "Anybody up for some reconciliatory yoga? Anyone?"

That got a chuckle all around.

"Very funny guys," Lucy said, sitting at her station. "Take a break, Desmond. Wait an hour. But we need to get going on those rifts. We've been ignoring them all week."

"Right."

Desmond took the time to just lie under the light of the grating over the Sanctuary and watch the clouds. He knew it was necessary to get through the memories and find out where Ezio had hid the Apple. Since Ezio had visited Rosa in Fiore and Bartolomeo's barracks, Rebecca had found rifts that Subject Sixteen had somehow left behind. But frankly, Desmond was glad to be not syncing into memories at the moment.

Finally with a sigh, he got into the orange recliner and sank into the Animus. He spawned by the warehouse, unsurprisingly, and started to work his way up to Claudia's brothel. He stuck to the roofs to keep practicing his free-running. As he came across guards on the roofs, he thinned his mouth and practiced using his hidden blade as well.

Once at the Rosa in Fiore, Desmond switched to his Eagle Vision and slowly circled the building before seeing the light on the northern side of the building, in the middle of a blank wall that had no grips. With a sigh, Desmond climbed up where he could and then eased his way over to the rift and let go, grabbing the ledge of the rift as he fell and yanked himself in.

The screen darkened and Desmond listened to the same bland female voice say "Loading," as before.

Cluster 3 appeared and then came some Morse Code.

Missing -.. .- .-. -.- -. . … … .-.. - … - -.. -. ..- – -...

"Just a second," Rebecca said. "That's easy to decode. Let's see, 'DAR KNESS LOSTD NUMB'. So, what, Darkness lost numb? Numbers?"

"Let's just continue," Lucy replied.

An Abstergo file opened, showing several pictures with a title above.

WASHINGTON SITS ABOVE THE GREEN, IN 1944, KEEPING A COOL HEAD. BELOW THE RIGHT 1, IS THE STANDARD BEARING 48. BEHIND, THERE IS A COMPANY WHOSE POWER IS GROWING.

Desmond went about scanning every picture, carefully looking at black and white photos of crowds holding... was that Stalin's photo? Another black and white picture of two men, another huge crowd, a single dollar bill, a color photo of some large building at the base of a mountain.

"How the hell are all these connected?" he asked.

Of the photo of the two men, one revealed a name. "Harry Dexter White. Remember this name." and the man next to him had a quote. "I find myself more and more relying for a solution of our problems on the invisible hand which I tried to eject from economic thinking twenty years ago. - John Maynard Keynes."

"And these people are?" Desmond asked.

"Just a second, you know I don't do modern history," Shaun grumbled. "Ah, here we are. John Maynard Keynes, British economist, so he must have had a leg up on any American..."

"Biased," Rebecca muttered.

"And he was good friends with Alan Turing, of computer science fame. His influence spread across to America, even after his death, and he believed that demand determined the level of economic activity. Too little demand led to unemployment. Those beliefs are now followed all over the world, so yes Rebecca, he had a leg up to any other economist of his time."

"And Harry Dexter White?" Lucy asked, stopping the inevitable argument.

"American economist," Shaun replied. "Not really much to his name. Was just a player in the Bretton Woods conference that led to the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Died in '48."

" '48?" Desmond asked, glancing up to the red forty-eight in the title. "I doubt that's a coincidence."

One of the large pictures of crowds showed French. "Le Chiffre indéchiffrable."

"Oh!" Shaun said. "That's a famous cipher! It's a beginner that many first think indecipherable, but is incredibly easy to crack. Just need a set of letters and it's easy to do the rest."

Still scanning the photos, Desmond came across several sets of jumbled letters. Shaun started grumbling about needing something that he wasn't getting, but Rebecca commented about putting the series through the computer since it was simple algebra to crack it without the key.

But Desmond did find some interesting quotes.

"How can I adopt a creed which, preferring mud to the fish, exalts the boorish proletariat above the bourgeois and the intelligentsia who, with whatever faults, are the quality in life and surely carry the seeds of all human advancement?" was in one of the photos of a large crowd and Desmond felt vaguely insulted by it. It was putting down the average Joe and exulting those who were "bourgeois" or super smart. Seriously? Couldn't an average Joe's pragmatism be just as good as a genius's inspiration? The quote just smacked of the Templar need to hold a few above the rest and it grated on Desmond's nerves.

"Owing to pressure from below, the pressure of the masses, the bourgeoise may sometimes concede certain partial reforms while remaining on the basis of the existing social-economic system." And this, Desmond understood as well. It was giving small concessions to maintain the status-quo, which seemed to be going on in governments all across the world. It was why American politicians didn't talk about getting money out of politics, because money was what helped elect politicians. Though it didn't always matter, the election between Mitt Romney and President Obama was showing just how disgusting the amount of money in politics was. Mitt Romney got money from a small group of close friends, while Barack Obama, trying to keep up, had to raise money from his grassroots following with only a few rich donors who didn't have the money of Romney's friends. Desmond was worried about the election and hoped it just wasn't a buying of democracy. Both sides were spending so much money that was better spent on other things. But neither side would ever suggest pulling money out of politics because they needed so much. Status quo maintained, and any reforms would be minor and not change the big picture. Hell, American economics and how banks ran things needed massive sweeping reforms, but nothing was happening.

Desmond shook his head, focusing again on the task at hand.

It was a quote in the color photo, however, that sent a chill down Desmond's spine.

"It would all be done in secret, the Assassins would never know until it was too late."

"Ah! There's our decoded ciphers," Shaun said. "And take that Rebecca. I'm faster than your computers."

"That's just because of how much processing power I need for the Animus," Rebecca laughed back.

"Shaun?" Lucy interrupted. "The gobbledygook?"

"Ah, right. 'Debt ridden countries are the new frontier.' That sounds so friendly, doesn't it? 'Jekyll Island Club duck hunt more paper money and a central bank'-"

"Oh," Lucy said. "That's the forming of the Federal Reserve. Abstergo made sure it's operatives understood that a lot of our power came from things set up decades ago." Then she gasped. "That's why I know that picture! It's a picture of the Mt. Washington hotel. And there was a famous meeting there, the Bretton Woods conference that led to the making of the International Monetary Fund. That's what Harry Dexter White was involved with."

"IMF," Shaun said. "That's the key for the cipher..."

"This is starting to freak me out."

"Well, the final quote, 'One of them he provided the necessary pressure'."

"All these rifts seem to be about banking," Desmond commented. "Just what is Sixteen getting at?" Still scanning the photos, Desmond's blood ran cold as he found Abstergo's symbol in the flags over the Mt. Washington hotel. "Shit," he whispered. "That means that the Templars are behind all the banking of the past hundred years..."

"Not necessarily," Rebecca said. "But it looks like they did try and shape policy."

Desmond selected the flag and found another wheel lock puzzle, though different from the ones he'd solved to get the truth of Adam and Eve. But the red box he'd scanned the Abstergo flag in had numbers lined up with symbols, so he used that to line up the wheel lock for every position and input the code necessary to continue.

"Loading..."

Another Abstergo file opened.

July 22, 1944

Fellows, rulers, welcome.

I deliver this speech to you as, several floors below us, a silent revolution begins.

Ranny Olds and Henry Ford. As many of you know, these founders gave us the assembly line, the device we have used to control both (those indoctrinated into the worship of our money (?) ) capitalists and workers (slaves?) alike. But I dream of a future in which such ugly chains will no longer be necessary. In 1910, our founders designed the Plan, it falls to us to see it through.

But, what of the Communists, who intend to spread the bread so thin that everyone will starve? It is our duty to (neutralize?) save them and their followers. We must ensure that they continue to eat, to reproduce, to be productive members of society. That is our burden, to shepherd those beneath us through life, and we must embrace it, even if (force is required?) they themselves do not.

H. and S. brought on the turmoil and fear necessary, now we must strike fast to ensure development continues in the proper direction. We will appear to concede ground to the workers, remember the successful ruse of the Rockefeller's dimes, but soon there will be no ground that we do not own.

In 1937 we founded this Company, this enterprise, with a purpose. The time to nurture it to fruition is upon us.

"Well isn't this a fun letter," Desmond muttered.

"So Ranny Olds, founder of Oldsmobile, was another Templar," Shaun muttered. "And he and good friend Henry Ford set up the assembly line to create a set up for what they want. What Plan, though?"

"Well we already know Ford had a POE that made his workers think his pay cuts were raises before sending it to Hitler," Rebecca thought. "So H and S must be Hitler and Stalin. But damn, they'd planned all this from 1910? Over a hundred years ago?"

"And 1937 was when Abstergo was founded," Lucy said softly. "God, how much have they planned and done that we've been blind to? Rebecca, forward this. Maybe some of our researchers can dig deeper into this."

"It's Abstergo," Desmond whispered. "Sixteen is showing us how Abstergo got so powerful."

There was a moment of quiet before Desmond continued the puzzle and reached a quarantine zone and selected the two items to finally leave the rift.

"Oh this is so fun," Desmond growled. "My brain's going to explode by the time this is all done, isn't it?"

"Oh, you have a brain? I wasn't aware of that." Shaun said, a smile clear in his voice.

Desmond chose not to respond and headed east to the barracks. It was a long walk, and Desmond whistled. The horse that came wasn't the fastest he'd ever been on, but the construct was considerably tamer than some of the horses he'd ridden in real life.

Arriving, he circled Bartolomeo's buildings three times before growling in frustration.

"Maybe the outer walls?" Lucy suggested. So Desmond climbed the walls and walked around in Eagle Vision.

Ah, there it was. And like with the Rosa in Fiore, Desmond carefully dropped, praying he'd grab the rift before landing on the ground far below. He did and pulled himself in.

Cluster 4.

"Loading..."

A set of pictures arrived, the clue reading: "These intelligent workers have no self-control."

"Oh this is easy," Rebecca said with a grin. "I can pick them out. Computers and robots, baby. And look! A science-fiction robot straight out of the fifties! And old-school computers with bulbs that needed replacing! Or de-bugging if a moth got caught," the technician laughed. "Admiral Grace Hopper, pioneer of debugging!"

Desmond selected the pictures and moved to the next screen.

Or rather, he attempted to.

"Loading..."

Words started to appear one letter at a time, while the blank female computer voice skipped and stuttered the word "Scanning..." several times.

Apples oranges pears cucumbers radishes carrots spinach dates wood juniper steel aluminum water rain shanty village town city country spring summer fall winter to walk to sing to dance to play to eat to smile to cry to laugh to kill to see to know death regret love

"Anyone else feel deja-vu?" Desmond asked.

"Yeah," Lucy said quietly. "It's like the last few puzzles from last time with Sixteen. It's... confused. Fractured."

"Nuts?"

"You won't end up like this Desmond. I promise."

"Loading..."

A photo appeared with what looked like World War I heavy helmets on European soldiers over a box holding some sort of old gizmo. It soon dissolved into a wheel picture that Desmond easily maneuvered his way around, revealing more quotes of some kind.

"It is possible to invent a single machine which can be used to compute any computable sequence."

"I'm not interested in developing a powerful brain. All I'm after is just a mediocre brain."

"More computer stuff. Did Sixteen know I'd be here?" Rebecca chuckled.

"Loading..."

An audio file appeared, a selector jumping around until a small segment was selected. It was labeled as Abstergo Phone Records, June 1954. From there Desmond needed to meld a white sine wave to match a blue sine wave, based on limited options to click. It only took a moment to find the right manipulations, which unlocked the recorded phone call.

"V. It's N. I need Turing done today."

"Aren't we jumping the gun? You've already had him arrested and sedated."

"He still refuses to follow the directive. He's actually trying to invent one of those infernal things, instead of merely faking it for the newspapers. If he succeeds... you know what the mass unemployment generated by his robots will mean? Idle hands. We need to do this for the good of the people."

"What about Keynes? He trusted Turing."

"It's the greater good we're talking about here, V. Plus, a childless worker sends a bad message. We can't have them all stop reproducing."

"Fine. It's your call."

"I want it done like we did Harry Dexter White when he tried to warn the Soviets."

"All right."

"Be poetic about it, maybe something from the Bible. Turing was always theatrical."

They were all silent for a moment, trying to absorb what that phone call meant.

"So, Turing, like Alan Turing?" Desmond asked.

"Abstergo had him killed, from the sounds of things," Rebecca said. "Turing was like the father of computer science. But he was gay, and that was illegal in the U.K. He was thrown in jail and was injected with female hormones as opposed to going to prison. Nice system you have back home, Shaun."

"We can't always be perfect," the historian grumbled back.

"History says it was suicide," Rebecca continued. "Guess not after all this."

"And from this, we know Harry Dexter White, who seems to have been a Templar, was killed as well," Lucy said. "And his friend Keynes was probably a Templar as well. They really did create modern banking."

"But who is V.?" Desmond asked. "Or N.? And all this rhetoric is like people are cattle to perpetuate the status-quo. We need to breed like farm animals to produce more workers. It all reaches back to their basic philosophy that only a few need to guide the rest of us like we're all sheep."

And that just pissed him off.

Still, he selected to continue, and was again in a quarantined zone. This time the buttons he needed seemed to be part of a picture, but Desmond couldn't see enough of it to tell what it was other than a black-and-white of men at a bus station or something. He couldn't say for sure. And once he'd selected them, he was back out of the barracks, looking up to the blue sky.

"These puzzles are freakier than the last set," he muttered.

---

Ezio sat across from Francesco Vecellio at the warehouse. Machiavelli had quickly disappeared, claiming needs to check in with the Papal Court to avert the catastrophe of Ezio not killing the Borgia. Ezio growled at his friend's retreat, but took Vecellio to the warehouse over the rooftops, to make sure that the apprentice had some skill.

Of course, despite his bad shoulder, Ezio still beat him across the rooftops.

But now Ezio needed to figure out what to do with Vecellio. Ezio had almost no money for himself, let alone to house another Assassin, and without his arm, there wasn't much training he could do. Through their conversations, Ezio learned that Vecellio was wise, certainly, but there was a distinct temper that was only barely under control. The boy would need another five years before he brought it fully to hand, and Ezio did not see how he had those five years to spare. He had so many other things to do, after all.

It was the following day, when Dante arrived to check Ezio's wound, that serendipity arrived.

"Ah, another protector, Maestro?" Dante had asked upon seeing Vecellio and his grey hood.

"Indeed," Ezio replied. "But my funding right now is minimal and I'm not sure where to have him stay while I figure out how to get another bed here."

Dante shrugged. "He can stay with me. "Renovations have started, but so has business. Apparently there hasn't been a good doctor on the island for years. Most have to traipse off to the Trastevere or go deep into central Roma."

"I could never ask such a thing," Ezio replied.

"Think nothing of it, Maestro. He'll be working," Dante assured him. "I think one of the renovators has been helping himself to my medicines and Ser Vecellio can help discourage him."

Ezio chuckled. Vecellio didn't say anything about his new accommodations, instead saying he'd go for a walk and disappeared to give Ezio the privacy he needed with his doctor.

"Maestro?" Dante asked. "How much can I trust you?"

"With anything," Ezio replied promptly.

"If I asked you to limit moving your shoulder, would you?"

Chuckling, Ezio shook his head. "I doubt it. I find my line of work is too unpredictable to guarantee such things."

Dante said nothing for a while, then sighed. "Very well. I think you can unbind your arm at night when you sleep. But not during the day. I'm trusting you Maestro, to know to not cut off your bindings during the day."

"I will do my best."

"I'll pray your best doesn't include something stupid."

Over the next two weeks, other Assassin apprentices started to arrive from around Italy, including a stoic Cipriano Enu, an African well versed in many languages, and Tessa Varzi, a strong-willed woman well versed in poisons. With Vecellio's perfectionist tendencies and quick temper, it made for an interesting mix, though Ezio was running out of ways to provide for them. Some simply went to local businesses and offered one of their talents for small wages, like Enu translating for scriveners. Others, like Varzi pick-pocketed to great effect, though Ezio was more hesitant to use that money once he learned that one of the younger Assassins picked the pocket of one of the people Ezio was helping around town.

But it provided enough to get food and Ezio's finances were no longer so thin and, to a degree, it showed Ezio their various skills.

With a half-dozen young Assassins at various places in their training, however, Ezio needed more. He didn't have the money to start investing in local business and getting the one-percent tax he wanted, his apprentices didn't make enough for that, and Claudia's contributions weren't that large since her business was still frowning. So he had to get creative.

One night, atop the warehouse and looking out across Roma, inspiration struck. Off in the distance, on the west bank of the Tevere, was a Borgia tower. And when Ezio saw it, he smiled.

The next morning, he was sending out Vecellio to scout the area around the Borgia tower for hiding places and escape routes, Varzi to observe patrols and routines, and Enu to check supplies and estimate what was held in the tower. Those three were the best of the apprentices he had, and he was going to test their skills.

They observed for a week, and were unnoticed. To their surprise and Ezio's amusement, however, none of them had noticed him as he'd observed and oversaw them.

So he gathered the three one night around the fire on a chilly April night. Ezio's collection of other apprentices had been sent out to help citizens in the area, so that the people would start to recognize them as well as they recognized him.

"Now," Ezio said, "tell me what you have learned."

It turned out they were quite observant indeed. Enu estimated that the Borgia tower had a strongbox of florins somewhere, along with treasures harvested from the local citizens under their yoke. There was also a tendency to gather black powder and, from what Enu had observed, they didn't store it in the main base, but from what he could deduce, it was likely in the tower itself, so that random thieves couldn't grab it. Varzi, who only barely knew how to read and write, could sketch out a detailed map of the area, the patrols of not only the guards within the tower, but also on the streets in the surrounding area. She pointed out when each patrol got started by the bells from the Vatican, which echoed even that far south over the city buzz because of the open river, and listed how many were usually in each patrol. Vecellio pointed out many useful and possible routes. The area around the tower had many ancient Roman buildings in various states of disrepair that allowed for many hiding spots with partial walls, to say nothing of the crowds bustling from one spot to the next. There were also some stables with useful haystacks.

Good. They all had at least the basics.

"Now I want you three to plan how to rob the tower and blow up their explosives."

Varzi choked, Enu gaped, and Vecellio stared.

Ezio merely smiled.

It was a long night after that. Each tended to plan to their own strengths. Varzi wanted to poison their food supply so that they could sneak in and handle things. Until Ezio pointed out that if they learned the food was poisoned the Borgia would have no problem giving it to the people. Enu, who was incredible with his oddly curved bow, wanted to pick them all off from a distance, then sneak in over the rooftops. Until Ezio pointed out that any guards atop the tower wouldn't be able to be picked off. Vecellio, though, had the most viable plan. He suggested using the street patrols to get disguises of Borgia guards to sneak in, and then kill everyone in sight, using the confusion of who was the enemy to get further and further along. Ezio pointed out that once they started slaughtering Borgia, then they'd be covered in blood. It would be obvious who was doing the killing.

"And don't forget," Ezio said softly. "The Borgia guards are also part of the people we protect."

"What?" was the general response.

Ezio leaned back. "Yes, Borgia guards are often of a type of person who is unpleasant. But it is also steady work, especially now when the Borgia crush anyone who is not with them. The rank and file may not all be our enemies; some might be desperate. Machiavelli also has some informants among the common guards. There is no doubt that advancement under the Borgia will be the cruel ones. But to dismiss all Borgia guards as just evil is a simplification of what a human being is. We are Assassins. We kill because we have to. Not because we want to."

Ezio stood. "The three of you, take today to hammer out a proper plan. One without so much bloodshed. You'll be carrying it out tomorrow night."

That day, Ezio spent with his other apprentices. Showing them the finer points of pickpocketing and how that skill could transfer to a stealthy kill. He also wandered around the outer reaches of the people who knew him, and offered more assistance in simple chores that helped an overworked business owner. People Ezio didn't even know recognized him and offered happy greetings, and friendly smiles.

The plan Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu had laid out when he returned was much better thought out and far more viable. It also involved more distraction and misdirection than outright slaughter, much to Ezio's relief. He helped them with some of the finer details. Things he'd learned over the years that they weren't experienced enough to look for, but it was as planned as could be. From there, it was a question on if they could adapt when things went wrong.

A cart from Salvatore was arranged to be in a back alley for the loot, and Ezio stood in the shadows of a hollowed out second story to observe, his arm unbound, just in case. Vecellio ambushed a small patrol, making good use of his double hidden blades, while Varzi backed him up and her use of the spear was quite good. Watching, Ezio filed away that Vecellio was still getting used to double hidden blades and needed more training with them, and that while Varzi was good with the spear, she used up too much energy. One of Bartolomeo's men could likely help her improve.

The guards were stripped and Varzi and Vecellio slipped on the uniforms. Elsewhere, Enu was working a crowd, paying off heralds to talk about the atrocities of the Borgia. The citizens, some of whom were inebriated, started to get angry and there was a lot of shouting starting. And upset.

With almost perfect timing, Vecellio and Varzi ran into the Borgia compound, talking about a riot starting. That was Ezio's cue to shoot his hidden gun into the sky, which let Enu know it was time to start warning the crowd.

Borgia guards emptied the compound and Vecellio and Varzi helped themselves to the plunder left behind, specifically the strongbox and various expensive looking trinkets. The Borgia arrived at the crowd, that was already angry and frustrated, but more scared of the Borgia. They started screaming and running, Enu helping any that struggled or straggled and keeping casualties to bumps and bruises.

Once Ezio had observed that the Borgia were getting ready to start herding those they'd captured back to their tower, Ezio shot a crossbow bolt to the wagon. It was the signal for Varzi to take the cart and escape while Vecellio climbed the tower and set off the powder. The explosion lit up the night sky, resounding for miles as he dove down to an awaiting haystack. The Borgia ran forward, confused and nervous, which made things perfect for Enu to release all the captured citizens and let them slip silently into the night.

Ezio smiled.

---

Matteo and Romeo were waiting for them at the warehouse, ready to go over the loot and add it to the accounts. The other apprentices, who had been out and about among the people in the area, were able to identify some of the valuables that could be returned, and in the dark night, Ezio sent them off with the cart to deliver the stolen items. The rest which couldn't be identified was set aside to silently sell off.

Once Ezio had a good sense of the totals, he started budgeting. The warehouse was going to need builders he could trust to set it up for multiple rooms, possible small-scale training courses, and such. So he set aside money for that. As his Assassin's improved, they'd need armor and better weapons, once he could find a good and trustworthy blacksmith, so he started to set aside for that as well.

Ezio also listed several local businesses that he wanted to invest in as favors. Salvatore, who'd been complaining about how he couldn't use stalls at the end of the stable due to a leaky roof was going to get some money to repair it. An apothecary Dante used needed the owner and his family to sleep in the store after the Borgia had broken down the door to prevent thieves from stealing, so Ezio would send money there to repair the door. Other businesses were going to get the funds for the repairs they needed. All in exchange for a small one-percent tax. This also injected money into the local economy. Builders were going to start to get work, and their money could go to their own needs, like clothes, or food, or trade. And those people the builders bought from would now have money to repair things as well. The one-percent taxes would give Ezio the money he needed to outfit his assassins and, once he had more businesses, he'd be able to invest in more shops to help inject more money into the economy. It was cyclic and would help everyone.

All in all, a very profitable evening.

Ezio spent the next day catching up on sleep and then went to the businesses he'd mentioned and started broaching the idea of his investing in their problems if he could just get a tiny one-percent tax of their earnings. Most, who were taxed so heavily by the Borgia, were grateful for the help and that Ezio asked for so little. Some didn't want to pay any more taxes at all under any circumstances. Ezio still gave them the help, but on a smaller scale because he did need that tiny tax for his finances. Yet he refused to leave these people in the lurch. The Borgia had trounced them enough. Ezio wasn't going to do the same simply because some were stingy after such harsh treatment.

But word of what Ezio was doing started to spread. Those willing for the tax in exchange for some sort of aide started to try and find him. Though no one knew where Ezio stayed, he made sure he was easy to find during the day when he was helping people with simple chores.

Things were going well indeed.

Naturally, that was when Machiavelli and his sour and dour mood descended one day in the middle of May.

Ezio set out a light lunch that an old local housewife liked to deliver once she heard that he had no idea how to cook and such a strapping young thing shouldn't be left to starve, dearie, you're too thin as it is!

Machiavelli ate with neat precision, not discussing anything until he was done. Ezio was used to this and let him, enjoying his own meal and thinking of sending one of the apprentices to the old housewife to see if she needed any help with anything.

"So," Machiavelli started, "how is your arm?"

Ezio lifted the limb. "Stiff, sore, and weak," he replied. "After five months of not using it, I need to build it back up and restore flexibility. Dante has been thinking of exercises to help make the work go faster, but I've been working on it on my own."

The Florentine diplomat nodded. "When do you think you can finally go after the Borgia?"

Ezio shrugged. "I don't know. These new guns, most doctors have never had to treat someone wounded by them before. Most die before they can even see a doctor. No one knows the limits of what this will do. It wasn't a small hole like an arrow or crossbow bolt would make. It was large, difficult to sew, you don't want to hear all the words Dante has for his opinions of guns."

Machiavelli scowled harshly over his wine.

"Besides," the Florentine Assassin said, "Cesare has long since left Il Vaticano. When he returns, we will deal with him."

Nothing was said for a moment, then Machiavelli raised a brow. "And how are your friends 'the people'?"

"Healing," was all Ezio would say. He didn't want to enter into yet another debate.

"Hmm, then would you adopt another stray from Monteriggioni?"

Ezio smiled. "Of course."

"Good. Because a woman found me at my apartment and refuses to leave me alone."

Ezio couldn't hold back a chuckle. The tight-laced Machiavelli likely wouldn't care for someone making a scene at his home. "Send her to Isola Tiberina. I'll take care of her."

Machiavelli scowled in his usual dour manner. "Meaning you'll have another conquest?"

Ezio chuckled.

The woman, it turned out, was Arianna, the sister of Doriano, the tailor of Monteriggioni. She was the inspiration of the duo, often doing the designs, while Doriano was the pragmatic one who could apply her fanciful ideas to something feasible and selling it. Upon seeing Ezio standing on the bridge to the island, she burst into tears and came running forward, her worn threadbare skirts hitched up to give her more speed before she collapsed before him, crying out, "Maestro! Maestro! We all thought you were dead! Oh, Maestro!"

Ezio felt the pain of the loss of Monteriggioni stab at his heart, but he put it aside and helped her up. He led the hysterical tailor to Dante, who gave her a calming drink of some kind. Ezio stayed for an hour or so until Dante bustled him out, saying that he was going to keep her sedated for a few hours and to come back later.

When Ezio returned, Arianna was much less hysterical. She gave a watery smile up at him. "I'm sorry for such drastic behavior, Maestro," she said. "I've been wandering Italia since the fall of our home and to see you again... Everyone thought you were dead. Those who didn't think you were killed when the canon struck the Villa thought you'd died after you were shot."

Ezio nodded somberly, remembering the pain as that bullet had exploded through his shoulder just as another bullet exploded from Mario's head, sending his ear and bits of skull and brain flying. "It was not easy," Ezio replied. "The good Doctor here has been looking after me."

Dante scoffed. "Someone has to. You don't look after yourself, Maestro," he grumbled.

Ezio let that slide and instead knelt before the sad woman. "You have suffered great hardship," he said, holding her hands in his. "How can I help you?"

Arianna burst into tears again, though not hysteria. "Your kindness truly knows no bounds, Maestro," she sobbed. "My only wish is to return to that little shop and make clothes, but I can't, not anymore."

The Florentine Assassin nodded. She had always been with her brother, and her brother had owned the shop because, while not unheard of, it was very difficult for a woman to open and run a business. For Arianna to come here alone meant that Doriano was likely dead.

Ezio squeezed her hands. "You've suffered a great deal," he said quietly. "We will find a way to help you."

Arianna's tears just came stronger and she was barely able to sob her thanks before Ezio said he'd see the doctor and Dante gave her another calming drink.

In the office, Dante sighed. "Her illness is not one that I can cure," he said sadly.

Ezio blinked. "But you gave her that medicine."

Dante pulled off his mask and rubbed at his face. "It's an addictive medicine. It won't help her in the long-run. She's not hurt in the body, but the mind, and I can't heal that. The best I can offer is a nunnery. The calm and sedate pace of life there will help her heal, if she can."

Thinking of his mother Maria, and how it had taken her years to come out of the recesses of her mind after Ezio's father and brothers had been hung, Ezio smiled. "I think she'll heal," he said softly. Arianna hadn't lost her words yet. The question was just to find a nunnery that wasn't completely under the Borgia's thumb in Rome.

It turned out that it wasn't that hard. Since it was priests, bishops, and cardinals that had all the power and nuns had no way of real promotion the way priests did, the Borgia didn't interfere much. Similarly, nuns often dealt directly with the poor with their ministries, making them incredibly accepting. Ezio smiled as he and Vecellio escorted Arianna to the nunnery. She would be fine. Ezio just needed to find a tailor who was willing to have a woman be the creative drive.

Another item on his long list of things to do.

And an item he would be very glad to do.

---

Ezio took Machiavelli's concerns to heart – insufferable as the man was – and after Arianna was safely taken care of he began loitering around the Campidoglio, observing the senators and trying to judge who would be worthy of approaching. The Florentine diplomat had his own league of spies, but Ezio wanted a few of his own, and not everything happened in the Vatican. Assaulting the Borgia would have to be a many-pronged attack, and Ezio wanted as many prongs as possible.

On top of everything else, of course.

Sighing, he watched the senators mill back and forth, and half listening to the herald speaking in the sunny square below the palazzo.

"The world itself is unchanging, and we must change to understand it. Its secrets will only be revealed through a careful study of the truth; but we have been taught, incorrectly, theories by great men who were limited by archaic tools and beliefs. We live in a time of progress. Art, medicine, and philosophy; everyday new breakthroughs are made. But when we look to the sky, we do not question, we remain in the past. It is time to remand our schooling, to explore the world as it truly is. My colleagues and I have set up workshops throughout Roma, please visit us. We have much to share. Anyone who wishes to be enlightened, step forward: I have much to share. A new world awaits you. The truth comes to those who seek it out."

Ezio finally turned his head, watching the accented man as he continued his speech. Who was he to speak of truth and questioning archaic beliefs? To see the world as it truly was? That sounded hauntingly familiar, the rhetoric of the great Altair, the Codex now burned to ash in Monteriggioni. He turned to someone else in the crowd.

"Who is this man?" he asked softly.

"He comes from Prussia. I hear he studies at Il Vaticano, but his words are unlike any that issue from that place."

Indeed! Pope Alexander had made it abundantly clear in their previous confrontation that all he cared about was collecting power; and power meant – more often than not – knowledge. It was not much of a stretch to think that the old man kept more secrets than the Vault locked away in the Vatican; so how had such an intellect, a scholar, able to be permitted to speak such... such... heretical thoughts?

"Some may tell you to be content with Ptolemy's explanation of the heavens. His mathematical contortions of the spheres dancing around the Earth. But why are such complicated numbers required? Perhaps, to disguise a myriad of contradictions? You must question bad logic. It is why we live, to ask questions."

A scientist? An alchemist? A mathematician? Ezio frowned, trying to get a read on this man even as a part of him respected the words he was uttering. To question, to learn, to understand, it was the principal by which he had become an assassin, had become what he was. It was his desire to learn why his family had been betrayed and killed that had led him down this path. To hear it come from the lips of another man, to see it be enacted in something as far afield as science and astronomy, it made Ezio smile. A man after his own heart, it seemed.

That was when he saw the guards.

"Kill him quickly. The Master wants all scholars silenced by nightfall."

… Of course the old man wouldn't let such forward thinking be allowed.

Ezio frowned. If the Borgia were involved, then so was he.

This was it, then.

This was his opening salvo to the Borgia, his announcement that he was still alive and was going to get in the way of everything they had planned. It was not what he had imagined in his lists and his plans, but he was not going to let such a golden opportunity pass. The master assassin discretely drew his sword, rolling his good and bad shoulders both, testing the scaring and the muscles. He was far from his best form, but with a deep breath he pushed it aside. His sword arm was still good, after all.

It was a squad of four, normally stationed at crossroads or steps; one was wearing a helmet with a crescent of hair, but the others wore no armor to speak of. Angling to the front of the crowd, Ezio's sharp eyes saw the speaker stutter to a stop as the aggressive men shoved the people away.

"What is the meaning of this?" the scholar demanded.

The response was the man in a helmet to lift a mace menacingly over his head. The scholar blinked in utter confusion, just standing there and not even running, as the weapon swung down. Ezio intercepted, blocking the strike and angling it away with a flourish before spinning on his heel and getting access to the leader's back, extending his hidden blade and shoving into the mans' kidney, firing his hidden gun and sparing no thought to the splatter of blood and the resounding echo over the square. His shoulder throbbed but little else. Good. The crowd was watching the fight with bloodthirsty glee, cheering and jeering and shouting profanities and making bets.

Two guards drew swords while the third hung back. Ezio let the pair circle him, allowed them to try and gauge him, assess him. When the first stepped forward for a strike, however, Ezio easily countered, knocking the blade away like it was a toothpick and jumping slightly into the air to angle his sword deep into the chest, above the collarbone for a quick stab that he then twisted before yanking it out. This was followed up with a tight spin around to the third guard, blocking a skilled strike and exchanging blows back and forth. Ezio smirked at the talent, knowing it would goad the other man before ducking under a swing and slashing his sword deep into the other man's back, centrifugal force adding strength to the blow. Blood sprayed everywhere, and with three dead at his feet as he stepped menacingly towards the fourth, the crowd finally realized it was a decidedly bad idea to be watching the one-sided massacre.

"I'm not involved! I didn't see anything!"

"Why does this always happen to me?"

"Please, God, spare me!"

The fourth saw his allies at Ezio's feet and staggered back, utterly terrified, and turned to run. Ezio reloaded his gun and took careful aim, cursing the crowds getting in his line of sight, before the guard disappeared down the great steps. "Merda," he cursed quietly.

He cleaned his beloved sword of Altair on his red sash before turning to the scholar, pale and trying to even his breathing.

"Who... Who are you that defends without cause?"

"One who believes in freedom:" Ezio said by way of introduction. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

Still clutching his heart, Ezio saw recognition begin to fill the scholar's eyes. "Ezio..." he muttered, blinking. Courtesy finally settled on his shoulders, however, and he quickly returned the etiquette. "They call me Niccolò Copernico," he said with a polite bow. "I have heard your name spoken at the Borgia court. All thought you dead, and I posited you were little more than a phantom, but now I have proof that you truly exist."

Ezio frowned. He had not expected this clearly marked man to actually have access to the Borgia court. Oh, to study there was one thing, but actually participate with the pope? "Il Vaticano welcomes you, yet you are under attack by its guards?"

"You think me one of them?" he asked, gesturing to the guards and who had sent them. The false indignation did not last long, however, and he sighed. "Truthfully, you would be right. Yesterday, I was a Templar."

Yesterday? "And today?"

Copernico frowned, trying to explain: "The Templars wanted me to keep the findings of my experiments hidden, and that I cannot do. Such wondrous discoveries I've made! The thought of locking them away-"

Ezio interrupted, sensing a passionate harangue coming. "The Borgia hunt for you and your friends," he said, hoping the urgency would cut through the lecture.

Copernico's eyes doubled in size. "My fellow scholars? The logic of such a purge escapes me."

A distant shout, from the base of the steps, drifted up to the square. "Find Copernico!"

The scholar's eyes widened and his face paled again. "But we will discuss reasoning later...!" he said quickly.

Ezio took a moment to think, first. A Templar! Every fiber of his being screamed to kill the man on the spot, to make him pay for forsaking humanity and seeking to dominate the world; a Templar! That meant he was Borgia's man, was involved with the siege at Monteriggioni, the deaths of Mario and Ulderico, the capture of Caterina Sforza. What other sins had he committed? And yet... and yet... the Spaniard had sent men to kill him, lending credence to his story, and it seemed contradictory to see a Templar telling people to question bad logic, to ask questions.

… No. He couldn't think in terms of Templar or not; this man had been attacked, and now Ezio had to protect him. Assassins fight for the people, even the Templars themselves.

Nodding, Ezio said, "Follow me."

East lead to the countryside, where there were fewer guards. West was deeper in the city, with more guards but also more crowds to disappear in. He dithered briefly, before sighing and grabbing Copernico, going west. If they could get to the island... "Keep your head down," he muttered, easing them down the hill and into the first crowd he could find and immediately flirting with a woman with two children. They followed her to a market, and then to her house where Ezio bid her a fond farewell before ducking down an alley and joining another crowd in the opposing square, talking amiably while drawing well water and handing it to Copernico. Whenever he saw the city guards he wrapped an arm around his charge to ask him a question, blatantly getting in his face to block it from the patrols. Copernico watched with some fascination, but the latent fear of his imminent death prevented him from replying, and Ezio rolled with it, laughing boisterously and commenting that being so soft spoken was why he had no luck with the ladies. That made the other man flush a bright red as Ezio demonstrated how to charm a woman, nodding to a courtesan and tossing her some coin. Soon half a dozen women were surrounding the two men, humming and giggling and moaning and touching.

"Ladies," he said finally, eyes on a patrol of guards armed with lances and full armor, their helmets swinging this way and that as if they were looking for something. "Do you see those intriguing gentlemen over there?"

One girl clutched his arm to her ample bosom. "I doubt they're as strong as you, Messere, or as hard."

Ezio offered a charming grin. "Ah, but I must at last go home to my wife before she becomes a harpy of old, and my cousin here is sadly immune to your charms. Perhaps those men over there will meet your needs. At the very least," he added, pressing more money into her hand, "you can give them something to think about."

"Of course, Messere," she said, getting her girls and drifting away to the patrol. They started dancing, and Ezio gave himself a moment to appreciate the lithe curves before yanking Copernico away and down an alley.

Back in territory he was known in, he started glancing to the roofs to see if any of his apprentices were still practicing. He could find no one even with his eagle to help. Brats, but he would have to discipline them later. He had a Templar to attend to. God, what if the man was a plant, meant to bait Ezio into helping him and then backstabbing him later? His thoughts started circling in dark places, and he tried to shake it away. Breaking necks, slow strangulations, final gambits, exploding bone, death throws... He frowned, wondering why he was plummeting into such a bad mood, but he knew the answer even before he finished the thought.

He was taking a risk, leading Copernico here. He was taking a risk when he wasn't ready to take a risk, and he was too old now to do something so rashly; his experience was battling with his desire to follow the Creed, and he may well be paying for his decisions.

Machiavelli would love this.

That thought soured his mood even further, but at last they crossed the Ponte Cisto and Ezio lead his charge to the warehouse.

"You will be safe here," he said, ushering the Prussian in.

"What of the other scholars?" Copernico asked, shifting his weight in nervous energy. "You say they are going to be killed."

"And you say you were a Templar until only yesterday," Ezio countered. "How do I know I can trust you?"

The Prussian frowned, considering the question. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "How do you know anything? Knowledge gathering is a dangerous enterprise. Every act of learning is a risk, every lesson taught is painful. The very act is terrifying simply because of the possibility of shaking the very foundation on which the world rests. How frightening was it when that man Corombo set sail to the edge of the world? How shocking was it to learn there was an entire New World to explore? To learn that the earth is round cut us right to the core, and there are so many out there that don't want another such discovery. Easier to stay in place learning nothing, than to risk in order to truly know. Ignorance is so much simpler, so much more comfortable. You ask me how you can trust me? I do not know, but the learning must begin somewhere."

The man's logic was so like Altair's that Ezio gave pause. "All right. Enlighten me."

"I need to talk to my colleagues. We had set up workshops to share what we had discovered about the stars above us. They must be informed of the threat to their safety. Rest assured, they are not Templars as I am—was. And after today I certainly have no intention of inducting them."

Yes, betrayal like that would cause such a reaction. Nodding, Ezio gave the Prussian parchment and quill while he went deeper into the warehouse.

Vecellio and Varzi were watching from the shadows.

"You brought a Templar here?"

"Are we to torture him? See what he knows?"

"Kill him?"

"Is he a test?"

Ezio ignored their questions. "Get everyone here," he said simply, and in a quarter of a hour all six apprentices were assembled.

"We have a guest here," Ezio said, emphasizing the word with a cold glare at Vecellio and Varzi. "The Templars have betrayed him and tried to kill him; and now they plan to kill his fellow scholars. Even now he is writing letters to his friends, and I want you, all of you, to deliver them before nightfall."

"Nightfall!"

"I'm not that fast..."

"But he's a Templar!"

"What if we fail...?"

"If you fail," Ezio said in cold tones, his rich baritone echoing off the stone walls, "Then innocent men will die. Is that what you want?"

The question made everyone shift uncomfortably, remembering personal losses or painful experiences.

"Bene," Ezio said. "Get ready." Going back to Copernico, he collected the messages and got lists of locations and vague descriptions of the men his apprentices were to look for. He divvied up the deliveries quickly based on distance, and sent them all out. He watched them disappear into the shadows, noting with clinical pride the improvement of skill. All that was left now was to wait.

"Auditore!"

Or not.

Ezio turned. "Machiavelli," he said politely, bowing his head.

The diplomat stormed into the warehouse, his dour face red with anger before his small eyes locked on the Prussian scholar. Machiavelli went from red to purple on seeing him, and Ezio watched as he took a deep breath before managing a strained, "We must talk on the roof."

"Yes," Ezio agreed, "We must."

That was all the reprieve he had before Machiavelli got right to speaking his mind.

"I have been a patient man, Ezio," he said, pacing back and forth, hands gripped tightly behind his back. "I saw how injured you were after the attack, I realized how long it would take to let you heal, and I waited. God knows I waited, but now I find you've been pulling the wool over my eyes! I know you don't want to go against the Borgia, I would be hesitant too, after such a blow, but now, now you slaughter city guards in front of witnesses at Campidoglio of all places and for what? To save some worthless scientist? What about the Borgia? Have you turned coward?!"

Ezio felt his entire body bristle at the assault on his character but he held himself in check.

"If you've the energy to announce your presence so loudly then surely, surely, you've energy enough to kill those damnable devils that are at the seat of Roma! Ezio, what are you doing?"

"I am following the Creed, Machiavelli," Ezio hissed, taking a menacing step forward. "You don't have to agree with it, you don't have to like it, but you have to respect it. I have told you over and over that killing the Borgia will be utterly meaningless if it is for the wrong reasons. I chased that old man for twenty years, and when the time came I nearly lost my life because I was fighting for myself, for my family, for my revenge. The only reason I won that day was because I let all of that go."

"But you didn't win!" Machiavelli countered, his voice raised before he caught himself. "Not a week later and Monteriggioni fell to dust and you were nearly killed. Explain to me how any part of that is a victory?"

"The victory is that I learned!" Ezio shouted, his voice echoing off the river. "Look at us, Machiavelli: Assassins kill Templars, Templars kill Assassins, the cycle goes on and on and on, and if we let it the hatred will boil to the point where we all forget what this is about! What's the point of being an Assassin if we let men like Copernico be slaughtered because he dares to question bad logic? You won't even let logic enter the equation; you're too focused on the end to think that the means justify it!"

"We're Assassins, Ezio, just what kind of means to you think we have?"

"But we can't let our work defile us, Machiavelli, it's why we have the tenets to begin with."

"This is not some idealistic principality, Ezio, this is the real world!"

"I know!"

"Then start living in it!"

"I am!" Ezio shouted over the man. For a beat the two men glared at each other, and then they took a deep breath.

"Merda," Ezio cursed, rubbing his forehead to stave off a headache and praying their raised voices didn't travel too far in the wind. "Look," he said slowly, suddenly tired. "I was scouting the Palazzo Senatorio to assess the senators and see what went on there. Copernico, he was lecturing when the Borgia tried to kill him. I can't let innocent men be harmed, it goes against the Creed. I know," he said when he saw the Florentine diplomat start to protest, "You can debate it being foolish and reckless, but I saw it as an opportunity. Think of it as an opening salvo to the papacy; the Spaniard seems to think I'm still dead, and the failure to kill that scholar will make him wonder, question, doubt. The lack of further retaliation will make him even further confused, and it give me time to train the apprentices and earn enough money that I can do more things. God knows a man can do little enough with no florins to his name. I wasn't going to let a chance like that slip through my fingers."

"That... is a good plan," Machiavelli said slowly. "You are right, it will buy you time."

"I'm still not ready," Ezio said, touching his shoulder. "You should see me climb; I don't have the strength yet, the endurance. I need all the time we can muster."

"... Very well. I'll go along with this. But you are still an idiota for bringing that man here."

Ezio snorted. "Whatever you say, Machiavelli."

The diplomat went inside, but Ezio did not follow, deciding instead to give the pair of them space after (yet another) heated argument. It wasn't that he didn't see Machiavelli's point, but Ezio just couldn't bring himself to have such a dismal view of the world and not try to change it. He saw the poverty, the disease, the destitution and degenerates – he was part of it in many ways, but it was because he saw those things that he wanted to do something, anything, to make it better. If the Assassins couldn't help shape the world, couldn't help the world see that nothing was true and everything was permitted, then what was the point of being an Assassin? How could man realize the ideal if there was no one there to set an example? This was why men like the Borgia and the Templars were always so successful; they left men to their chaotic search and took the reins in the meantime to enjoy the power they had over those that were so unenlightened. Templars stepped over people, Ezio wanted to work with them.

He looked north, staring at the Castel Sant'Angelo, his thoughts very loud in his head.

---

One at a time, his apprentices came back, out of breath, to report their successes. Of the five deliveries, one proved to be too late, delivering the letter just before a crossbow bolt had taken the scholar down. Enu said nothing, his dark face stoic, but Ezio saw the pain of the failure and put a hand on his shoulder. It was midnight before everyone returned, and when Ezio finally reentered the warehouse, he saw Machiavelli had again disappeared. He sighed.

Copernico was asleep in a chair, a fire going in the single hearth of the warehouse. Ezio left the man to his dreams and went to bed himself. The next morning he gave the news.

"All letters are delivered. All but one man was able to retreat to safety. I'm sorry, but Gino is dead."

The Prussian closed his eyes, absorbing the loss slowly, before nodding his head. Eyes dark, he looked to Ezio with intense purpose. "While you were gone, I determined the most likely source of these strange attacks: the Master of the Sacred Palace."

"Who is that?"

"A Dominican appointed by the Pope who ensures that Roman religious philosophy remains pure." Copernico made a face. "He never liked my studies to begin with, now that I have crossed the Templars he clearly retaliated."

Ezio nodded. "Where can I find him?"

"Cardinals typically congregate by the Ponte Sant'Angelo. Follow one of them. The Master likes to greet each one. Perhaps you will hear more conclusive evidence. All I can offer is supposition."

A scholar through and through. Ezio nodded, grabbing Vecellio and taking him along as they left the island and made their way north. The master Assassin was determined to be prepared this time, and the young man needed practice with his tailing. It was midmorning by the time they reached the Ponte Sant'Angelo, the bridge connecting Rome to the Vatican. Originally built in 134, it had been exactly fifty years since the bridge had buckled under the weight of pilgrims, killing dozens. Rebuilt and stronger, massive flags hung from poles, papal colors filling the air. Cardinals passed back and forth on business, their rich red and white robes like great targets on their backs.

"How to we know who to follow, Maestro?" Vecellio asked.

Ezio closed his eyes, asking his eagle to help, and scanned the crowds. He saw the flicker of gold; one cardinal had just crossed the bridge. "Him," he said pointing. "He is walking fast, like he's in a hurry, and he's shifting his eyes back and forth, making certain he is not followed. A man such as that is up to no good."

Vecellio whistled from their spot on the roofs. "You have good eyes, Maestro."

The two split up to tail the cardinal; Vecellio with the more difficult route on the street and Ezio on the roofs to give his shoulder a workout. The cardinal was hurried in his steps, and prone to looking behind, giving the apprentice quite the challenge, but Ezio noted he took to the task well, finally using crowds and corners to his advantage, looking natural. Ezio himself was unseen, even by the guards on the roofs. They walked for almost an hour, taking a circuitous route before Ezio, darting ahead to try and predict the cardinal's movements, saw a particularly nasty squad of guards – including a highly trained captain and a heavily armored brute – waiting in a small square. That could only mean trouble, and the master Assassin stretched out on his belly on the roof, leaning forward to give his utmost attention, easily spotting Vecellio conversing with a doctor nearby to eavesdrop as well.

The cardinal spoke with the captain at some length before a priest approached. "Master," he said.

"Giuliano. Any news of Copernico and the others?"

"Nothing," the priest said humbly.

The cardinal scoffed. "Those fools, inundating the people with their theories. We can barely contain the populace as it is, the last thing we need is them doubting our very doctrine. I have dispatched my best guards to deal with them. I trust they will make quick work of it."

The two departed.

Signaling the apprentice, Ezio cursed, starting to make his way back to Tiberina. "We must stop them," he said.

"Maestro, why are Templars planning to kill one of their own?"

And so Ezio spent the entire way back explaining Copernico, as well as Templar philosophy in general and why they were about to do what they were doing. When they returned, Ezio sent another apprentice to see if he could find a good bolthole, a place for Copernico to hide that wasn't the warehouse. After that, he approached the Prussian scholar.

"You were right," he said simply. "The Master of the Sacred Palace intends to kill you."

The scholar gulped, the weight of the words settling over him; and for a long moment he sat in deep contemplation, before he shook his head. "I will not let his bullying stop my research. Tonight there is an eclipse. I intend to chronicle it."

Ezio balked. "But the Master hunts for you."

Copernico shook his head. "Better to die enlightened, than to live in ignorance."

So like Altair...

"His end will come much sooner than yours," Ezio assured. A glance brought three apprentices to his side, and he made plans to protect the scholar that night.

And so it was that three days before he turned forty-one, Ezio stood on the highest hill in Rome. Two apprentices had been sent to deal the Master of the Sacred Palace a swift death, Ezio nervous for the youngsters but putting his faith in them. Copernico had two assistants with him, and a whole host of instruments that were utterly foreign to the master assassin. The sun set in a glorious sky, Copernico marveling as the stars began to appear and the moon to climb to its heights. The view became brighter as the city lights began to extinguish, and Ezio shifted on his feet, his eagle making his eyes sharp enough to see through the black shadows. All four apprentices looked upon him with envy.

They circled the perimeter of the hill, a discrete distance from the scholars so as to not distract them, the master assassin reminding his apprentices to mind their ears; the aqueduct would obscure the approaching guards.

Near midnight, instinct more than anything else made Ezio look down the road, and he saw the faintest glint of the moonlight on a spear. With a sharp whistle he called the other four before the master assassin himself extended his hidden blade and leapt from the ancient Roman column he had been using to keep watch. He plummeted down, gravity pulling him close like a lover, and soon he was upon the lancer, blade sinking seep into the soft tissues of the neck even as he angled his body to make the guard cushion his fall. It was a perfect silent kill, though its prowess went unnoticed as his apprentices engaged in a much louder scuffle, maces and swords clashing against lances and axes. Ezio darted between the individual fights, stabbing from behind or cutting a throat, all while keeping his eyes on Copernico and making sure none bothered him. How the Prussian concentrated through the noise was anyone's guess.

The fight was not as one-sided as Ezio had hoped; one apprentice took a devastating slash to a thigh, and Varzi was hard pressed to hold her own. It was another thing on his list of things to teach, but when all was said and done, they were all alive and the guards were all dead. He looked at the dozen bodies, face dark, as he offered a soft "Requiescat in pace," to the bodies before nodding to the apprentices to take care of them.

Moving back up the hill to check on Copernico, he saw the scholar smiling in the bright moonlight.

"Is the world not marvelous?" he asked, voice bright and wondrous even as he took copious notes on what he saw.

Ezio thought of the bodies being dragged away, the senseless slaughter. "Some of it," he said darkly.

The Prussian scoffed. "You should not be so emotional. You will find it all makes more sense that way."

"... Perhaps."

The red moon began to disappear, the eclipse starting.

"Cesare thinks himself the center of it all, but he circles the periphery with the rest of us," Copernico said, eyes locked on the sky. "... Did you know that the sun is most likely the midpoint of the universe, not the Earth? I see the movements of the moon and stars, and yet I can only observe. So much is unknown to me. This age of reason is but the beginning of an end I will never see. Someday we will be able to influence this world, to exploit the power of the human will to harness light and perhaps even travel into the heavens!"

Ezio blinked. Use light to fly like a bird?

… Even Altair, through his study of the Apple, never saw such a thing in his visions. This man was not the great master assassin after all.

He was just mad.

But... Altair had learned that the earth was round long before Corombo had discovered it. Perhaps...

"But I am getting ahead of myself," the Prussian said, sighing at the moon faded even further, "first we must see the sun spinning at the center."

He nodded. "I believe what you say is possible."

At last Copernico looked away from the moon, pausing in his taking of notes. "You should not accept my word," he said in earnest. "Not until I have proof. Soon."

He nodded again.

"Buona notte, Ezio, and thank you."

"Buona notte."

---

Author's Notes: Yeah. So. Desmond has finally figured out what Sixteen is trying to tell them, we shoe-horned the "Wassa matta you, Altair?" (which, to us, was such a RANDOM thing in the game...) he has another weird dream. Lots of ground covered for him.

And he hasn't evens started going nuts... :P More on that in later chapters.

Ezio, perennially, is more interesting. Once of the great things about the AC games is the political and philosophical commentary that runs around - most notably in AC1 and AC3 (well, for us they stick out the most). There is a level of sophistication and nuance to it that always makes us perk when we hear it, and the Copernico memories were no different. To listen to a scholar - who was a former Templar no less - extol the the principals of reason was a treat, and however mindless the letter deliveries are, that moment when Copernico justifies Ezio trusting him is a favorite. So of course we expounded on it to the extreme :)

Logistics are still haunting Ezio, he now has six other mouths to feed. Three of them are named right off the bat for the Project Legacy people, and Ezio hasn't even started recruiting novices. Over the course of the fic, there will be a lot of names thrown around, some of them first names and some of them last names, to try and keep it all straight. More on that later.

And oh. There might have been this little fight with Machiavelli. And they usually get along so well... :P The fight sort of explains itself though, it's the ultimate division in their philosophies: Machiavelli is a big picture man while Ezio is a person of the now. They will likely never get along, poor things. At least they knew to take a breath and back up. Don't worry, the conflict will resolve. Eventually.

Next chapter: Federica. That's sure to go well.