Database: Diary of Joel Eastman (2)

In the back of a clattering van, dragging its way up the mountainside. Been on the road for two days now, two vans between the six of us.

Long journeys get me thinking of Dad. We took a lot of long journeys, he and I. Dilapidated trains that got delayed for weeks. Months out in the wilderness at some remote dig site, with only the bare essentials. They say there's nothing left to explore, but the people who say that have never been more than half a day from safety. The whole world got crisscrossed by roads and routes, but there's so much space in between. Dad showed me how to move between the lines. I always liked it there.

It's been hard, knowing he's gone. Hard to keep it together sometimes. Those souks in Marrakech reminded me of the markets in Greece and Afghanistan. As a boy, I'd watch him haggle with someone when he didn't even have the language, and come away with the bargain. Sure, he could be rough, but he was always kind to me. A giant in my eyes, even when I got to be taller.

Now I've met his people, it all makes sense. No wonder he fell in with this crowd. He always hated what Abstergo did to history. They made it too easy, he said. Why would anyone bother doing the hard work of reading a book when you could jump into someone's memories and see history for yourself? But the real reason he kept on doing it the old way—excavating old ruins, digging through the clay with his hands—is that memory is unreliable. Especially when it's someone else's memory. And Abstergo controls all the memories.

One thing he drilled into me, right from day one. History is a point of view. If you only get one point of view, you're not really learning anything.

I followed him everywhere as a boy. I thought I was done with that, after he started getting more radical than I was comfortable with. I suppose I just wanted to step out of his shadow. Yet here I am, on my way to kidnap some scientist, all for the sake of Dad's cause.

Who was I fooling? I was always my father's son. I should have just joined him when he asked. Maybe then he wouldn't be dead. Or at least I'd have had a few more years with him.

I miss you, Dad. And I'm bloody scared.