Higher Institute of Villainous Education (9 page)

The tiny mechanical spider skittered through the ventilation shafts on its spindly metal legs. Just round this corner, Otto thought to himself as he gently nudged the control stick, steering the device towards its target. The device rounded the corner and descended from the opening in the shaft into a small, dark space, just a couple of feet high. Otto knew that this area was actually directly beneath the stage from which the Prime Minister would be making his speech in approximately five minutes’ time. He rotated the device’s camera, scanning its surroundings carefully, looking for his target. There it was, a few yards away – a bundle of cables dropping through a hole in the floor of the stage into the cramped space below. He manoeuvred the device so that it sat right next to the cables, quickly identifying the one he wanted. He pressed another key on his laptop:

INTERFACE MANDIBLES DEPLOYED
, read the display.

Under the stage a pair of tiny metal pincers slid out from the device. Otto steered the pincers carefully towards the right cable and hit another key, making them clamp down hard on the wire.

INTERFACE ESTABLISHED
, the display reported.

Otto ran a couple of quick diagnostics and was pleased to find that everything was working exactly as planned. OK, that’s the hard part over with, Otto thought to himself, turning towards the television that sat on a table in the corner of his room. He thumbed the remote, turning the television on, and quickly flicked through the channels on offer. He soon found the one he wanted – a journalist talking to camera, while in the background was the stage under which Otto’s device was secretly positioned. Otto sat waiting for a couple of minutes, half listening to the journalist pontificating on the importance of the speech for the Prime Minister. Otto also felt sure the Prime Minister would remember today as a pivotal moment in his career.

The journalist finished speaking just as the Prime Minister took the stage.

‘Showtime,’ Otto said softly to himself, turning back towards his computer.

Otto sat watching as the Prime Minister began his speech, not listening to what he was saying. He found politicians unspeakably boring and this speech was unlikely to be any exception. Let’s give him a couple of minutes to get warmed up, he thought to himself.

He waited for a couple of minutes, the occasional stage-managed applause being the only break from the Prime Minister’s interminable rambling. OK, enough, Otto thought to himself, and hit a key on the laptop. A window popped up, filled with slowly scrolling text. The words displayed were precisely the same as those being spoken by the Prime Minister, as this was a direct feed from his teleprompter. Between the blocks of text were instructions in brackets like (PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE) or (STRONG EMOTION). His finger hovering over the return key, Otto paused for a second, looking at the television.

‘Goodbye, Prime Minister,’ he said softly, bringing his finger down on the key.

It had taken Otto several days to perfect the program that was now running on his computer. Simply put, it transmitted a signal lasting no more than a couple of seconds directly to the angled glass screen of the Prime Minister’s autocue. This wasn’t any ordinary signal, though; it was designed to produce a very specific response. Otto knew that on the teleprompter screen on stage the text of the Prime Minister’s speech had been replaced by a brief burst of white noise. The apparently random pattern of black and white pixels looked like a TV that was receiving no signal. But this was no random burst of static; this was a carefully calculated pattern that had taken Otto some time to perfect. This signal had the unique property of placing whoever viewed it immediately under Otto’s total hypnotic control. He had already tested the program on Mrs McReedy, and after several minutes of her crawling around the floor on all fours barking like a dog he had been satisfied that it would work as intended. Conveniently, modern teleprompters were designed so that if they were viewed by anyone other than the speaker they looked like a clear sheet of angled glass, which meant that the only two people in the world who knew what had happened were Otto and the Prime Minister.

Otto glanced at the television and was pleased to see that the Prime Minister had stopped dead, in the middle of a sentence, and was now staring blankly at the teleprompter. A few of the cabinet ministers seated behind him on the stage looked slightly confused, unsure what had silenced their leader like this. Amusing as it might be just to leave him standing there like a statue for a few minutes, Otto had other plans. He pressed another key on his computer and the hypnotic signal was replaced by more scrolling text. This wasn’t the original speech, though – this was Otto’s version.

The Prime Minister seemed to snap out of his trance and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

‘People of Britain, you are surely aware that I and the other members of my cabinet hold you and your families in nothing but the deepest contempt. Ruling over a bunch of drooling morons like you has been a ceaseless burden and, quite frankly, I don’t think that we get enough credit for having to put up with your constant whining.’ The Prime Minister’s expression gave no hint that this new speech was in any way unusual. Behind him, his cabinet sat looking astonished, mouths hanging open in disbelief.

‘The fact of the matter is that we’re not public servants – you’re our servants, you bunch of half-witted oiks, and the sooner you learn your proper place on your knees before us, the better. Let’s face it – none of you have a fraction of the intelligence that we do,’ he indicated the people sitting behind him, ‘and half of you can barely read and write, and with the way the education system’s going that’s not going to change any time soon.’

There was now a general murmur of anger from the audience in the conference centre and a couple of the cabinet members were whispering urgently to one another. The Prime Minister continued, his familiar grin plastered across his face.

‘So my message to you is really quite simple – we don’t care. Never have done, never will do. You might as well shut your mouths and cut the moaning, because we don’t give a monkey’s. All that we care about is power and money; your dull, pathetic little problems are irrelevant.’

The Prime Minister’s grin broadened.

‘Quite frankly, you can take your problems and shove them. Thank you.’

Otto watched as the final instruction that would for ever destroy the Prime Minister’s career in politics scrolled up the window on his computer.

.

(AS LONG AS YOU LIVE, YOU WILL NEVER TELL ANOTHER LIE)

.

The Prime Minister stood there grinning at the audience, clearly believing that he had given the speech of a lifetime, which Otto supposed was true, from a certain point of view. An evil idea suddenly formed in his head. He knew he shouldn’t, but what the hell – when would he ever have another opportunity like this? Grinning, he typed one last command into the window.

.

(MOON THE AUDIENCE)

.

The Prime Minister dutifully turned around, bent over and dropped his trousers. The TV picture quickly changed from a shot of the PM’s pale white bottom to one showing the horrified, open-mouthed expressions of the audience. Otto could no longer suppress a fit of giggles. Now that was an abject lesson in the true use of power.

He watched the television for a couple more minutes, amused by the bewildered reactions of the seasoned political journalists, who were desperately trying to make some kind of sense of what they had just seen. This one was going to run and run. Otto forced himself to turn back to his computer; it was time to cover his tracks. He typed a command into the machine and a window popped up.

.

SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIALISED

.

Beneath the stage the tiny silver spider dissolved into a pool of molten slag, leaving no identifiable trace of Otto’s involvement. That was it – he was home and dry, and without the personal backing of the Prime Minister he doubted very much that the programme of orphanage closures would continue as planned. He felt uncharacteristically pleased with himself and as far as he was concerned he had every reason to. One of the journalists on the television caught his attention.

‘August 29th, a date that will live in political infamy for ever . . .’

Was that the date? Otto had quite lost track of time while he’d been planning all of this. It was his birthday, or, more accurately, the anniversary of his arrival at St Sebastian’s, which was the nearest thing he had to a proper birthday. Well, what better way to celebrate, he thought, toasting the Prime Minister with his can of Coke.

He watched the coverage of the unfolding political chaos for a few more minutes and then started to gather up his stuff and put it into his backpack. There was no reason now to stick around here any longer than he had to. Besides which, knowing Mrs McReedy there’d be a rather large birthday cake waiting for him back in London. The thought made him suddenly hungry.

Otto looked carefully around the room, making sure that he had left no trace of his activities that afternoon. Satisfied that the room was clean of evidence, he opened the door and cried out in surprise. Standing there in the doorway was a woman with short dark hair, dressed completely in black and with a curved scar on one cheek. All of these details, however, were secondary to the fact that she had a very large gun pointed directly at Otto’s chest.

‘Very impressive work today, Mr Malpense.’ She had a slight foreign accent. ‘But I’m afraid that playtime is over.’ She raised the gun.

‘I’m unarmed!’ Otto blurted out. ‘You’re a policewoman, you can’t shoot an unarmed child!’ He raised his hands to emphasise his point.

She smiled in a way that made Otto’s blood run cold.

‘Who said I was from the police?’

Otto’s eyes widened in horror.

ZAP!

.

Chapter Seven

Otto awoke with a start. His Blackbox sat on his bedside table emitting an insistent bleeping sound. He picked up the device and flipped it open.

‘Good morning, Mr Malpense,’ said H.I.V.E.mind.

‘Good morning, H.I.V.E.mind. What time is it?’ Otto rubbed his eyes. He felt as if he’d only been asleep for five minutes.

‘It is 7.30 a.m., Mr Malpense. Breakfast will be served in the dining room at 8 a.m. and lessons will commence at 9 a.m. May I be of any further assistance?’ H.I.V.E.mind enquired politely.

‘No, not right now. Thank you, H.I.V.E.mind,’ Otto replied and the Blackbox went dark as H.I.V.E.mind’s glowing face disappeared.

Wing’s Blackbox was sounding the same insistent alarm but it seemed to be having little effect on him. He slept on, his face calm, seemingly unaware of the increasingly loud noise coming from the device. Otto gently shook Wing’s shoulder, trying to rouse him, and was astonished as Wing’s hand shot from beneath the covers, pinning Otto’s wrist in an uncomfortably firm grip. Wing blinked a couple of times and then, seeing that it was Otto, eased his vice-like hold.

‘I’m sorry, Otto; I forgot where I was for a second.’ Wing sat up in his bed. ‘Or rather I had hoped it might all be some kind of bad dream. Unfortunately that does not appear to be the case.’ He looked unhappily around their cramped new quarters.

‘Yes, still here I’m afraid. I’m just going to have a quick shower. Breakfast’s in half an hour.’

Otto and Wing quickly got showered and changed into their uniforms, new ones having been mysteriously delivered directly to their wardrobes during the night, just as Tahir had said they would be. Otto had placed a tiny mark on his uniform with a biro before he had put it away the previous night and now it was gone, meaning that this uniform had either been thoroughly cleaned or even, possibly, completely replaced. He made a mental note to check the wardrobe more thoroughly when they returned to the room.

They soon left their room and found that the atrium of accommodation area seven was filled with activity. What seemed like hundreds of students were making their way to breakfast, chatting and laughing, and Otto scanned the crowd looking for any familiar faces. After a couple of seconds he spotted Laura sitting in an armchair, looking slightly overwhelmed by the commotion all around her.

‘Look, there’s Laura.’ Otto pointed her out to Wing. ‘Come on, let’s go and say good morning.’

Laura gave the two boys a broad smile as they approached.

‘Good night’s sleep?’ she enquired, still smiling.

‘For Wing, certainly,’ Otto replied, ‘though possibly not anyone within a hundred yards of him. If whales snore, that’s what it sounds like.’

Wing smiled guiltily. ‘I did warn you.’

‘It’s a sign of a good healthy set of lungs, at least that’s what my dad always used to tell me,’ Laura said, chuckling, ‘though I think there were a few nights where my mum was not far from taking a kitchen knife and checking to see if his were as healthy as he claimed, if you know what I mean.’

Otto nodded in agreement. ‘I wonder if you snore after you get hit with a sleeper?’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Wing replied.

The three of them sat watching as the other students who lived in this accommodation area continued to mill around the atrium. A few were already heading off to the dining hall, obviously keen to avoid the inevitable queues.

‘So, who are you sharing with?’ Otto asked Laura.

‘Shelby,’ she said, sounding rather exasperated. ‘She’s still up in the room, getting ready. I was only allowed to use the bathroom for five minutes because half an hour is apparently barely enough time for her to get ready properly. At least that’s what she’s told me about twenty times since she woke up.’

Otto laughed. ‘Just wait till she finds out that H.I.V.E. doesn’t have a beauty salon, then there’ll be hell to pay.’

Wing had spotted something over Otto’s shoulder. ‘Look, there’s Nigel and Franz.’

Otto knew that the two boys had been assigned a room together and he wondered how their first night sharing had gone. Both of them were still wearing the same looks of bemused nervousness that they seemed to have had all day yesterday. Eventually, the German boy looked over towards where Otto, Wing and Laura were sitting and waved to them, nudging Nigel and pointing over in their direction. Otto waved back, gesturing for the two boys to join them.

‘I hope you are all having a nice sleep?’ Franz ventured as he and Nigel sat down.

‘Yes, fine thanks. You?’ Laura replied.

‘Ja, I am being able to sleep, despite my great hunger.’ Franz gave them a serious look, obviously keen to stress the great hardship he was enduring. ‘Have any of you seen a snack machine?’

Nigel sighed. ‘Franz, we’re going to breakfast in ten minutes, what do you need a snack machine for?’

‘To be building up my energy levels for a long day of lessons, of course.’ Franz gave Nigel a slap on the back that, judging by Nigel’s pained expression, was a little overenthusiastic. ‘And you will be needing building up too, my friend. Do not worry, Franz will turn you into a real man.’ Otto noted the slightly frightened look on Nigel’s face and guessed that he was less than keen to be the first person to try the Argentblum Diet.

‘Anyway, why have vending machines when none of us have any money?’ Otto asked. The apparent lack of any form of currency on H.I.V.E. was something that Otto had actually given a lot of thought. He had finally reached the conclusion that if money truly was the root of all evil it might just be adding fuel to the fire to introduce the concept to H.I.V.E.

‘Ja, I have been thinking this too but I am hoping that the machines will be free of charge. That would be seeming sensible, ja?’

Otto doubted very much that the words ‘free snack food vending machines’ and ‘sensible’ should ever be used in the same sentence where Franz was concerned.

‘Well, I’m afraid I didn’t see any yesterday on the tour, and there don’t seem to be any around here, so we may have to do without crisps and chocolate,’ Laura observed.

‘Truly this is a place of evil.’ Franz looked dejected.

Otto checked the time on his Blackbox. ‘Come on, breakfast starts soon. We’d better get going.’

The five of them headed towards the exit and were just about to leave the atrium when they heard a shout behind them. It was Shelby.

‘Hey, wait for me you guys!’ she shouted, hurrying to catch up with them. Clearly she had managed to make good use of the limited time that she’d had to get ready. She somehow looked more awake than the rest of them, not a single hair out of place. Otto also couldn’t help but notice that Laura looked less than delighted at Shelby’s arrival, and he wondered if there had already been some kind of argument between them.

‘Come on, Shelby, you’re going to make us late,’ Laura said impatiently.

‘It’s not my fault that they don’t give you enough time to get ready in the morning; I had to completely skip my aura cleansing.’ Shelby looked genuinely indignant at this outrageous state of affairs.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll manage somehow.’ Laura replied sharply.

Yes, thought Otto as they all headed towards the exit, definitely some tension there.

They arrived five minutes early for their first lesson, Villainy Studies, and were now sitting at their desks, waiting for the arrival of Dr Nero. Otto was keen to see what this first lesson would be like. It would, at least, afford him the opportunity to study Dr Nero a little more closely, which he was sure would prove useful. It was Sun Tzu who had taught him that the key to victory was to know your enemy, and he intended to learn all he could about the mysterious Doctor.

Wing sat next to him, flicking through the pages of the textbook that they would need for this lesson,
Elementary Evil
.

‘Have you read any of this?’ Wing asked, looking slightly worried.

‘No,’ Otto lied. He had in fact read the entire book the previous evening. It had only taken him a couple of minutes but he didn’t want anyone to know about his sponge-like ability to absorb information yet. ‘Anything interesting?’ he enquired.

‘I’m not sure interesting is the right word,’ Wing replied, ‘more like astonishing and slightly frightening. I am keen to see what light Dr Nero can throw on the subject.’ He frowned.

Otto knew what Wing meant. The book seemed to suggest that evil was a job like any other and not a philosophical concept at all. It offered page after page of advice and practical examples of how the reader could improve their evil performance, helping them climb the career ladder of wickedness more quickly. Otto suspected that there couldn’t be many other books in the world with chapter titles like ‘Eliminating the Opposition’, ‘No Pain, No Reign’ and ‘Diabolical Performance Analysis’.

Suddenly the classroom door opened and the room fell silent as Dr Nero walked in and made his way over to the desk at the front of the room.

‘Good morning, students. I hope that you have all settled into your new quarters without any problems.’ Nero moved around the desk and slowly scanned the faces of the nervous-looking students. ‘You all know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know all of yours yet so if I make any mistakes please bear with me.

‘The name of this class is Villainy Studies, and it is in these lessons that you will learn to embrace your true potential, to unlock the true villain that lurks inside each and every one of you. It is, however, important to make one thing very clear from the start. I am not interested in training you to be common criminals – six months in any typical prison would achieve that. Instead I will teach you to aspire to loftier goals, to push yourself further than you might previously have thought you could go. H.I.V.E. does not train bank robbers, burglars, car thieves, or muggers. In short, we will not teach you to be petty crooks. Nor do we advocate mindless violence – except of course in the Henchman stream – a true villain should not have to dirty their hands with such things. You won’t blackmail individuals, you’ll blackmail governments. You won’t rob banks, you’ll take them over. You won’t kidnap people, you’ll steal aircraft carriers.

‘Now I know what at least some of you will be thinking. Isn’t this evil? Isn’t this wrong? Well, let me answer that for you.’ Nero paused, as if trying to spot those in the room who might harbour these doubts.

‘Evil,’ he continued, ‘is a woefully misunderstood concept. Most ordinary people would define evil using words like “bad” or “wrong”, but it is my intention to show you that its real meaning is much deeper and more complex than that. These might be the definitions that ordinary people choose, but you are not like them – you are extraordinary, and as such you do not need to live your lives within the suffocating restraints of their moral codes. You are all capable of evil – everyone is – but the real challenge before you now is to understand that evil does not mean wrong. Evil must have purpose, a determination to get what you want by any means necessary, strength in the face of adversity, intelligence in a world ruled by stupidity. You are the leaders of tomorrow, men and women who can, and will, change the face of this planet for ever.’

Thermonuclear weapons could change the face of the planet for ever, Otto thought; it didn’t mean to say that they should be viewed as role models for the ambitious go-getter.

Nero continued, ‘I’m sure that there must have been times when you have read books or watched films and found yourself secretly wishing for the villain to win. Why? Isn’t that against the rules by which our society lives? Why should you feel this way? It’s simple really; the villain is the true hero of these tales, not the wellintentioned moron who somehow foils their diabolical scheme. The villain gets all the best lines, has the best costumes, has unlimited power and wealth – why on earth would anyone NOT want to be the villain? But you see, that’s the real problem. If the masses realised how much more fun life would be if they could all wear the black costume, where would that leave us? What would become of society if people understood that in the real world the hero rarely wins against overwhelming odds and that the villain always has the last laugh? The world would be locked in a perpetual state of anarchy, in all likelihood. So it is important that such an education only be given to those who deserve it, those who have the intelligence and strength of character to understand the power that they wield. Let the masses have their fantasy heroes, and meanwhile the best of what the world has to offer will be yours for the taking.’