Chapter 1
Chapter One
Eliana Jaxton stared the protestor down while a cold spring breeze drifted down the streets of Chicago and flipped up her collar so that it tapped her cheek.
Trying to get her attention. The crowd around them jostled, and picket signs swayed above the heads of the gathered throng in front of the museum, a huge white building with columns that looked down on passersby.
“Excuse me!” she called out.
Every day it was the same. Eliana tried to get to work, and these people were in the way.
Right now, a man blocked her path.
“You’re too young.” He shook his head. “You know nothing about what the world was like before.” His dark brows rose, challenging her to argue with him. He wore a gray sweater and jeans under a heavy brown overcoat, his hair gray and his face craggy.
Overhead, the sky hung like a low ceiling, making her want to duck her head and get inside.
Was there any point in arguing back with this guy?
Still the words fell from her lips. “I don’t have to be there to know what happened.
It’s called ‘history class.’” She reached up and touched the edge of her hairline.
Just enough to alleviate the itch, but not enough to dislodge the light-brown wig she wore.
“Hah,” the man said. “History? What they teach you in schools isn’t history, it’s propaganda. Everything on the internet has been curated so it’s only what they want you to know. The internet used to be free! Information was fair game.”
“I didn’t come here to argue.” She pointed at the museum. “I’m late for work.”
“You work there?” He raised his voice to the people around him. “She works there!”
Shoot.
The crowd around them tightened.
Eliana wanted to step back, but there was nowhere to go.
“This place needs to be torn down!”
“It should be burned to the ground!”
“Bring back the Cyber Cold War!”
Eliana frowned. “I’m not part of them, or whatever you guys are. I’m punching a clock. Trying to get paid just like anyone.”
Sort of.
“We’re the truth seekers!” the man yelled over her head, a rallying cry to the people around him. “Free information!”
The crowd yelled, “Free information!”
“Cyber Cold War!”
But the museum had free entry, so the information that was hallowed in those halls—a warning and a wonder—was free.
Their protest didn’t make sense. The only thing that did make sense was the history she knew—the Cyber Cold War she’d learned about in school, the same way she wanted to learn the history inside the museum.
“We’re the ones who will usher in the future. Who will tear down the past and destroy those who threaten our freedom! Free information! Free information!”
With the crowd distracted, she dipped her head and wove between a couple of guys.
She hurried across the street to the stone steps and the columns that flanked the Shrine entrance.
Eliana ducked to the right, down a barren walkway that skirted around the building, where she found a door with a coded entry.
Eliana clicked down the metal keys in order and entered.
Chaos and noise snapped shut, leaving silence in its wake. The kind of quiet that echoed. The difference was as stark as the one between who she was outside these walls and who she had become once she took the job.
Outside of Chicago, she was Eliana Hope Banbury Jaxton, which she’d always thought was far too much name for one person.
Inside the Shrine, she was Hope Adams, a security guard hired six months ago.
Today her boss was going to promote her to head of security—whether the director knew it or not—and Hope Adams would graciously accept the position she’d been vying for since she started here, and she would have what she wanted.
Finally.
Eliana took her timecard out of the slot and lowered it into the wall unit. The unit punched the time on the card. 8:02. She put her card back in its slot.
Carolena rushed in the door, her cheeks flushed. She did a flyby and barely got her card punched before she tossed it back in the direction of the slots.
Eliana caught it. “Go. I’ve got it.”
“I’m late for a meeting with Doctor Birth and Doctor Sanchez.” She barely slowed, hurrying down the hall. “Love you.”
Eliana rolled her eyes and called out, “See you at lunch.”
“If I don’t get fired,” Carolena called back, her heels clicking on the concrete floor.
On one side of the wall was a cork noticeboard covered in flyers for local people hiring out their services. Music lessons, babysitting. The calendar took up one half of the board, listing events at the museum, though it seemed perpetually out of date.
She hung her coat in her locker and clipped the ID badge on the left front pocket of her white Security shirt. Black slacks. Uninspiring black shoes.
In the brief stint she’d done at high school, back in Salt Lake City, Utah, she’d been teased for being so much taller than everyone else—even the boys.
Eventually, though, the taller ones had towered over her.
Now that she’d been five foot ten for years, she’d decided that if she considered height her superpower, then it was. Simple as that.
Being the daughter of Kenna Banbury and Oliver Jaxton was the beginning of an identity, but not all of who she was—or what she could become. Security guard didn’t really fit. “Tall person” didn’t really cover it.
Eliana pushed through the side door into the lobby. The fastest route to the director’s office. She checked her watch. Ten minutes.
As you can see from my record…
Eliana had the whole speech prepared. All the reasons she should be given the promotion to head of security, a position that meant she would have full access to the vault and the answers to her questions. Everything she’d come here looking for.
I know I haven’t been here long, but I’d like to remind you…
No, too pushy.
No doubt you’ll recall the incident with that volunteer. The one I caught stealing and quietly apprehended.
Yeah, that was better.
She checked her watch again and walked faster, pushing through two sets of doors. Entering the code for the employee area. Striding quickly down the hall, then up another flight of stairs tucked in a dark corner.
By the time she reached Director Caughton’s office, she was breathing hard.
I can do this. I am the new head of security.
When she couldn’t come up with anything else, she knocked. Up in the corner of the wall, the camera whirred as it turned toward her. She looked at it and waited.
From inside the office she heard a faint, feminine, “Come in.”
Eliana expected to find Sylvia Caughton alone.
Instead, an older man sat across from the director.
He was in front of the mahogany desk wearing a suit, the jacket over the back of his chair.
A full gray beard on his face. Sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
He looked like the older patriarch of a crime family.
Eliana shifted back. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were already in a meeting.”
“Close the door, Hope.” Sylvia waved with a pen. “Ms. Adams, this is Anthony Williamson.”
“Tony.” The guy stood, causing at least one bone to crack. “Hope, is it?” Something flickered in his expression.
Eliana looked at Sylvia.
The director’s smile softened. “I’ve read him in on your…situation.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” Eliana admitted.
Anthony—Tony—waved her to a seat, and they both settled into the two chairs in front of the desk. “I’ll say, I was surprised to find out that none other than the child of Kenna Banbury was working here.”
“There’s nothing special about me.” Eliana squirmed in her chair. “I took this job so I could find out about my history. Learn more about where I came from.”
Tony nodded slowly.
“Mr. Williamson will be our new head of security, beginning today. I’m sure you two need to get acquainted, so there will be some time today for you to do that. Perhaps over lunch. However, I have an assignment for you, Ms. Adams.”
Hold up.
Tony, as he’d introduced himself, studied her. “Lunch sounds good. I need some help getting the lay of the land. This place has a lot of floors.”
“I’m sorry.” Eliana turned to the director. “Did you say he’s the new head of security?”
“Given his prior experience, Mr. Williamson is the right fit for the position.” Sylvia looked at Eliana over the rims of her reading glasses. “The vault can’t be overseen by just anyone. It needs to be someone with history.”
As if Eliana didn’t have that? Or it was her history that was entirely the problem.
These people had offered her the job—why do that and deny her advancement? It was like showing her an envelope with answers and not allowing her to open it.
Sylvia didn’t seem bothered by any of it, she just sat there with that placid expression on her face.
“Whatever you’re thinking, best not to say it, Ms. Adams. We don’t need any insinuation that Dominatus operatives are still out there.
Or that there’s some conspiracy to restart things.
” The director shuffled papers on her desk.
“We’re having enough issues with those protestors you decided to tangle with outside. ”
Eliana resisted the urge to glance at the window that overlooked the street out front. “I didn’t—”
Tony cut her off. “I’ll need a uniform, Director.”
“Among other things.” Eliana indicated her security badge.
Sylvia glanced up at Tony. “I’ll have the desk attendant take you to Personnel to do the paperwork.”
“And the assignment you have for me?” Eliana asked.
The director nodded. “Doctor Splitfield never clocked out last night. I need you to locate him if he’s here and have him correct this oversight.”
Eliana was pretty sure Personnel could figure that out when they made Tony’s security badge. Still the chance to walk around the museum would help burn off the disappointment and frustration. “No problem. I’ll find Doctor Splitfield.” She headed for the door.
Tony said, “I would like to have that lunch, Ms. Adams.”
She turned back and noticed a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm she hadn’t seen before. A bear etched into his skin.
She figured he could tell some interesting stories. “Meet me in the cafeteria at one.”
He nodded.
“Director.” Eliana nodded to her boss. Or her boss’s boss. Whatever.
It was fine.
She let the door swing shut behind her. So much for having access to the vault. Instead of her, it would be Tony Williamson’s job. She would never see the logbooks, electronic records, or anything else Dominatus created that had been deemed too dangerous for public view.
She kept to the employee wing of the museum, moving through back halls where a century or two of records were kept. Meticulous accounts of cutting-edge—and morally questionable—research projects, or master plans constructed by all manner of madmen looking to take over the world.
Just like the AI crisis, it had been about controlling people. Telling a version of the truth and passing it off as honesty. Meanwhile, the deception shaped reality into something of their making.
As far as she could tell, Dominatus had been as insidious as the artificial intelligence that wormed its way into every device in the world, and AI had been the primary weapon in the Cyber Cold War that followed.
Until world governments fought back, the internet was siloed by geography, and access became controlled.
AI programs were shuttered or deleted entirely, ushering in a new era where a lot of people opted to live without the internet.
The door to Doctor Splitfield’s office was closed but not locked. She turned the gold-brushed knob and eased it open slowly. Some of the older scientists didn’t like being disturbed when they were in the middle of an in-depth research study.
She looked around. Whatever Splitfield’s area of expertise was, it looked to be something in the field of reptiles. Maybe paleontology.
“Shrine Security!” she called out. “Doctor Splitfield, are you in here?”
She heard no answer and shut the door behind her.
Splitfield’s office was bigger than her whole apartment.
Rows of bookshelves taller than she was gave the far end a library-like appearance.
No science lab here. His field involved books and diagrams. He appeared to be restoring a figure drawing depicting a human female reproductive system from more than a hundred years ago, now badly worn by time and the environment.
She wandered between stacks toward a wooden table and two chairs at the far end of the room, upon which a tray had been set.
Tea for two.
Doctor Splitfield’s hands had been nailed to the table, and his mouth hung open. Blood ran from the corner of his lips, and she was pretty sure he had no tongue.
That was the day Eliana Hope Banbury Jaxton saw her first dead body.