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.
