He took a look around. “What is this place?”
The Ancients constructed this chamber soon after their arrival in the New World, after they determined that New York City, and not Boston, would be the port city serving as the headquarters for the human economy. This was a safe, secure, and sanctified retreat in which they could meditate for long periods of time. Many great and lasting decisions about how best to shepherd your race were made in this room.
“So this was all a ruse,” said Eph. “The illusion of freedom. They shaped the planet through us, pushing us toward developing fossil fuels, toward nuclear energy. The whole greenhouse gas thing. Whatever suited them. Preparing for the eventuality of their takeover, their move to the surface. This was going to happen regardless.”
But not like this. You must understand, there are good shepherds, who care for their flock, and there are bad shepherds. There are ways in which the dignity of the livestock can be preserved.
“Even if it’s all a lie.”
All belief systems are elaborate fabrications, if logic is followed out to the end.
“Good Christ,” muttered Eph under his breath—but the room was like a whispering chamber. Everyone heard him and looked his way. “A dictator is a dictator, benign or not. Whether it pets you or bleeds you.”
Did you honestly believe you were absolutely free to begin with?
“I did,” said Eph. “And even if it was all a fraud, I still prefer an economy based on metal-backed currency than one based on human blood.”
Make no mistake, all currency is blood.
“I would rather live in a dream world of light than a real world of darkness.”
Your perspective continues to be that of one who has lost something. But this has always been their world.
“Was always their world,” said Fet, correcting the Born. “Turned out they were even bigger suckers than we were.”
Mr. Quinlan was patient with Fet under the circumstances.
They were subverted from within. They were aware of the threat but believed they could contain it. It is easier to overlook dissension within your own ranks.
Mr. Quinlan briefly looked at Eph before moving on.
For the Master, it is best to consider the whole of recorded human history as a series of test runs. A set of experiments carried out over time, in preparation for the final masterstroke. The Master was there during the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. He learned from the French Revolution, the Napoleonic wars. He nested in the concentration camps. He lived among you like a deviant sociologist, learning everything he could from and about you, in order to engineer your collapse. Patterns over time. The Master learned to align himself with influential power brokers, such as Eldritch Palmer, and corrupt them. He devised a formula for the mathematics of power. The perfect balance of vampires, cattle, and wardens.
The others digested this. Fet said, “So your kind, the Ancients, has fallen. Our kind has also. The question is, what can we do about it?”
Mr. Quinlan crossed to an altar of sorts, a granite table upon which were set six circular wooden receptacles, each one not much bigger than a can of soda. Each receptacle glowed faintly in the lens of Eph’s night-vision device, as though containing a source of light or heat.
These. We must carry these back with us. I have spent most of the past two years arranging passage and traveling to and from the Old World in order to collect the remains of all the Ancients. Here I have preserved them in white oak, in accordance with the lore.
Nora said, “You have been around the world? To Europe, the Far East?”
Mr. Quinlan nodded.
“Is it … is it the same there? All over?”
Essentially. The more developed the region, the better the existing infrastructure, the more efficient the transition.
Eph moved closer to the six wooden crematory urns. He said, “What are you preserving them for?”
The lore told me what to do. It did not tell me to what end.
Eph looked around to see if anyone else questioned this. “So you traveled all around the world sweeping up their ashes at great danger to yourself, and you had no interest in why or what for?”
Mr. Quinlan looked at Eph with those red eyes.
Until now.
Eph wanted to press him more on the explanation of the ashes but held his tongue. He did not know the extent of the vampire’s psychic reach, and he was worried about being read and found to be questioning the entire endeavor. For he was still wrestling with the temptation of the Master’s offer. Eph felt like a spy there, allowing Mr. Quinlan to reveal this secret location to him. Eph did not want to know any more than he already did. He was afraid that he was capable of betraying them all. Of trading them and the world for his boy and paying for the transaction with his soul. He grew sweaty and fidgety just thinking about it.