‘I need hardly add,’ the psychologist smiled, ‘that the institute must first meet with your approval, Cadel.’
‘Oh,’ said Cadel, ‘I’m sure it will. As long as they teach computers.’
This remark had been deliberately designed to startle the Piggotts, who raised their heads in unison.
‘Computers!’ Lanna exclaimed.
‘I thought we had an agreement,’ Stuart growled.
But Thaddeus held up his hands.
‘Now let’s all be calm, please.’ His voice caressed their ears. ‘This issue has to be resolved, sooner or later. I think the time has come, Stuart – Lanna – to give credit where credit’s due. You’ve told me that Cadel’s been doing very well. It’s true – he has. And I think he’s come to realise that what he did seven years ago was ill-advised. Isn’t that so, Cadel?’
‘Yes,’ Cadel replied.
‘He’s a lot older now, and he’s not stupid,’ Thaddeus went on. ‘I think we have to accept that he’s proven his ability to behave in a socially responsible manner, and that he ought to be permitted some freedom with regard to computers. Some freedom.’ Surveying the doubtful expressions in front of him, Thaddeus tried to reassure Mr and Mrs Piggott. ‘The computer science program at Axis is well supervised,’ he observed, ‘and the course coordinator is brilliant. Dr Vee. I know him quite well.’
Lanna glanced at her watch. Then she glanced at her husband. Then she patted his knee and said, in a hesitant manner: ‘I don’t see why we couldn’t at least have a look. Stuart? What do you think?’
‘I suppose so,’ muttered Mr Piggott.
‘If you’d like, I could show you around the institute myself,’ Thaddeus offered. ‘What would be a convenient time? I realise you’re very busy –’
‘Next weekend,’ Stuart interjected. ‘We can make it on Saturday.’
‘But my plane leaves at four!’ Lanna cried.
‘Then we’ll start at one. After lunch,’ her husband snapped, and Thaddeus nodded. Heaving himself off the couch, he approached his desk and checked his diary.
Cadel, who was perched on Thaddeus’s typing chair, had to move out of the way.
‘Ye-e-es,’ said Thaddeus, flipping a page. ‘Yes, Saturday should be all right. At one, you say? Fine. No problem.’ He plucked a pen from the inside pocket of his tweedy jacket and scribbled something down. ‘Keep that brochure,’ he instructed Stuart. ‘It gives you the address. You can meet me out front – at the pedestrian gate. We’re talking about the city campus, of course. You won’t be interested in driving all the way to Yarramundi.’
‘Yarramundi?’ Lanna echoed.
‘The Yarramundi campus isn’t very big,’ Thaddeus explained. ‘There’s some agricultural research done out there, a bit of engineering, nothing that Cadel’s going to be interested in. Oh!’ He pulled open one of his drawers and fished around inside. ‘Here’s last year’s course booklet for you, Cadel. Have a look. Even if you’re thinking about a degree in computer science, you have the option to include a more varied range of subjects in your degree. A little bit of Psychology, perhaps – Media Studies – the choice isn’t bad, for such a small institution.’
Cadel accepted the handbook. It had a blue and gold cover. Flicking carelessly through it, he happened upon a photograph of Thaddeus. In the photograph, Thaddeus looked far more benevolent than he did in real life.
Thaddeus was a professor, Cadel noticed. He had a string of psychology degrees after his name.
‘Thank you very much, Dr Roth,’ Lanna declared, rising from the maroon couch. ‘You’ll have to forgive us, but I have an appointment.’
‘Of course,’ Thaddeus replied blandly. ‘Good of you to come.’
‘Are you sure computer studies is the right way to go, for Cadel?’ Stuart inquired. ‘Seems a bit limiting, for such a bright kid.’
Thaddeus spread his hands and cocked his head.
‘Rest assured, Stuart, that your son can do anything he sets his heart on. At the moment, his passion is computers. Later, perhaps, his tastes might evolve. But it’s of no consequence – he’s young enough to change his mind, don’t you agree?’
Once more, Stuart grunted. He struggled to his feet, puffing and blowing, while Cadel quietly slipped the Axis handbook behind a pile of papers on Thaddeus’s desk. He wanted a private word with Thaddeus. And this could only be done if he hurried back to retrieve something when his adoptive parents reached their car.
Five minutes after leaving the house, he abruptly returned. He found Thaddeus waiting for him, sitting on the typist’s chair, the handbook in his lap.
‘I didn’t forget it,’ said Cadel.
‘I know,’ Thaddeus replied.
The book was offered, and accepted. Cadel asked: ‘What is this Axis place? You’ve never mentioned it before.’
‘It’s a college. I told you.’
‘But –’
‘It’s funded by your father, Cadel. Pretty much for your sake.’
‘My sake?’ Cadel blinked. ‘You don’t mean – he created it just for me? To go to?’
‘Not exactly.’ Thaddeus checked his watch. ‘I can’t give you the details now – I haven’t time. But rest assured it will suit you right down to the ground. It was tailor made for you. Tailor made.’
‘Just so that I could get a degree in computer science?’
Thaddeus smiled. He rose from his chair, put his arm around Cadel’s shoulders, and bent his mouth to the boy’s ear. ‘Between you and me,’ he whispered, ‘we at the institute prefer to call it an Infiltration degree.’
Cadel pulled back, startled. He peered up into the psychologist’s face.
Thaddeus was still smiling.
‘If you check that handbook, Cadel, you’ll find a little software chip inside,’ he said. ‘For your computer phone. It will give you a more thorough understanding of what the Axis Institute is all about.’
‘Okay.’
‘Just remember the golden rule,’ Thaddeus concluded. ‘Never take anything at face value.’
On his way home, Cadel pondered this advice as Stuart swore at the traffic. Like his wife, Mr Piggott had a meeting scheduled; he dropped Cadel at the house before whizzing off in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Cadel let himself in. Mrs Ang had been and gone, so the wide, pale rooms were clean and silent. Cadel’s rubber soles squeaked on polished wooden floors, and padded across expensive Persian rugs.
He kicked his shoes off when he finally flung himself onto his bed, creasing the hand-woven cover in a way that would have enraged Mrs Piggott.
Cadel had recently concealed a laptop computer in his hollowed-out world atlas. He had bought the computer with his Partner Post money, and was able to use it quite often now that Mr and Mrs Piggott were away so much. Thaddeus knew about the laptop, of course; yet he had given Cadel a tiny chip of software for the computer phone, which, despite all its marvellous features, was so small that it was harder to use than a normal computer.
Why had Thaddeus done this?
Cadel soon realised why. When he loaded the program he discovered an alternative course handbook for the Axis Institute – and it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d want falling into the hands of your parents. With growing astonishment Cadel discovered the real names of the institute’s schools and departments. It
seemed that the ‘School of Deception’ offered not Computer science, Psychology, Media Studies and Accounting, but Infiltration, Manipulation, Misinformation and Embezzlement. The School of Organic Perversion ran courses on Contagion and Mutation (both genetic and radiation-induced). The School of Destruction covered Explosives, Assassination (including poisoning), Guerrilla Skills and something called ‘Personal Growth’.
When Cadel called up more information on the ‘Infiltration’ department, he was informed that Infiltration – otherwise known as Computer Science – was only a unit in the first year of the Axis ‘World Domination’ degree. As a School of Deception student, Cadel would have to attend certain compul
sory courses as part of his first-year program. These courses would include Basic Lying (or ‘Coping Skills’,) Pure Evil (or ‘Pragmatic Philosophy’), Case Studies I (or ‘Self-Discipline’) and Forgery (or ‘Cultural Appreciation’). He could then choose his electives – like Infiltration, for example.
The philosophy of the Axis Institute, as determined by its founder, Dr Phineas Darkkon, is one of transformation, Cadel learned from the ‘Overview’ option. His goal is to effect the transformation of individuals and society. Dr Darkkon’s purpose in founding the institute was to tap into the unrealised skills of those who have lost their way in a community of fossilised values and blunted minds. Axis is the seed of a new world order.
Cadel leapt off his bed and telephoned Thaddeus.
‘I’m afraid Dr Roth is with a client,’ Wilfreda informed him in a sing-song voice.
‘Tell him it’s urgent,’ Cadel insisted. ‘Tell him we have to talk.’
‘One moment, please.’
Cadel was put on hold. Organ music played in his ear. Then he heard Thaddeus speaking.
‘Hello?’
‘Thaddeus?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Is this serious?’ Cadel exclaimed. ‘I mean, is this some kind of joke?’
A brief silence followed.
‘If you’re referring to the information I gave you,’ Thaddeus said at last, coldly, ‘of course it’s not a joke.’
‘But . . .’ Cadel didn’t know how to express himself. ‘The Axis Institute . . .’
‘Your father’s pride and joy.’
‘Is it like a . . . a . . .’ Still Cadel couldn’t find the right words, and sensed impatience on the other end of the line. ‘Like a University of Evil?’ he finally squeaked. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘I can’t say anything at the moment. I’m with someone.’
‘But I don’t understand. What’s the point? I mean, explosives? I thought my father didn’t like bombs!’
‘All will be explained.’
‘I’m a hacker!’ Cadel protested. ‘I don’t poison people! I don’t blow them up!’
‘Of course not. You don’t have to.’
‘But –’ ‘Listen.’ Thaddeus spoke firmly. ‘Listen to me. Remember what I said? About taking things at face value? That applies to words as much as anything else, do you remember?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Calm down. Think about it. Think about what your father’s told you. Think about his philosophy. And I’ll speak to you again tomorrow, all right?’
Cadel hesitated.
‘All right, dear boy?’
Cadel sighed. ‘I guess so,’ he muttered. ‘It just seems so weird.’
‘It won’t,’ Thaddeus assured him. ‘Not when you understand. You have to free up your thinking a bit. That’s all. Your mindset’s got too rigid, dealing with the sorts of people you have to deal with. Your father knows what he’s doing. He’s not a fool.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Trust me.’
‘You always told me not to trust anyone,’ Cadel retorted, and Thaddeus laughed his gentle laugh.
‘You’ll be fine. Just fine,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, you’ll always land on your feet.’ And he hung up.
Cadel sat for a while, staring out the window. He could see a hedge, and part of a wall. After about fifteen minutes he rose, pulled out his laptop, and wrote an email to Kay-Lee McDougall.
In it, he talked of how Eiran had written approximately four thousand digits of pi on his bathroom wall, as something ‘interesting to look at while I’m taking a dump’. He joked about trying to predict the pairing of his students using Fermat’s two-square theorem. He discussed Kay-Lee’s previous message about harmonic numbers, and her own relationship with music.
Then he wrote: The word ‘harmonic’ is a funny one, isn’t it? Applied to numbers. Of course I realise it’s derived from the Pythagorean tradition, but ‘harmonic’ seems to imply that they’re good numbers, in an odd sort of way.
Do you ever think about bad and good, when you’re thinking about numbers?
Kay-Lee replied the same evening, some time between five and six-thirty. She wrote that, while of course pi was the transcendental number, she personally preferred the Euler-Mascheroni number, y. She pointed out that Fermat’s two-square theorem would only work if the students to whom Eiran referred wore boring clothes. (Ha ha.) She talked about memorising number sequences (like pi, for instance) by turning the digits into musical notes.
Finally, she said: There are no ‘good’ numbers. How could there be? Even when they don’t compute, it’s not their fault – it’s yours. A number is a number, and they all have their different natures. Some are complex, some infinite, some coefficient, some rational. You can’t judge them for being what they are.
That’s what I like about numbers, anyway. They’re Beyond Good and Evil. You don’t have to think like that all the time.
Of course, there’s the order of the so-called ‘Monster simple group’, but he doesn’t look so monstrous to me. Not even for a number that occurs naturally in an undeletable theorem. After all, he’s not going to eat anyone. Not like infinitary calculus.
Speaking of which, has that student of yours – the one who never changes his jeans – submitted his calculations, yet? Or has he come up with yet another fantastic excuse?
Cadel thought about this message for a long, long time.
ELEVEN
The Axis Institute was housed in an old seminary, where young men had once learned to be priests. Dr Roth told Cadel this as they walked, with Lanna and Stuart, through the institute’s large front gate. The gate was made of wrought iron. On either side of it stretched a high brick wall that looked much newer than the gothic seminary’s pointed windows, slate roof and sooty, snarling gargoyles. Inside, the seminary was a curious mixture of old and new. The vaulted ceilings were high, the windows were of stained glass, the doors were thick and scarred and made of dark wood. But on the creaking floors lay industrial-strength grey carpet; there were noticeboards all over the place, covered in leaflets about clubs and pubs and sporting events; and every room and corridor was fitted with state-of-the-art security, extinguisher and electrical systems, together with some kind of video surveillance network that Cadel spotted, but couldn’t quite understand.
He made no mention of this network to his adoptive parents. They were already suspicious about the Axis Institute.
‘In this building,’ Thaddeus explained, ‘you’ll find the library, the seminar rooms, the staff offices, and the microbiology labs. The residential wing is connected to it, and is where some of our students live. There’s a separate block where you’ll find the canteen and the sporting facilities. We call the canteen our “refectory”,’ he added.
‘I’d like to see that,’ said Lanna, who was getting restless. (She didn’t want to miss her plane.)
‘Well, perhaps we’ll start there,’ Thaddeus politely offered. ‘It’s a brand new building.’ He ushered them through a couple of doors and out into the sunshine again. Across a bright green lawn lay a carefully planned car park, and beyond the car park lay ‘C’ block. It looked exactly like a gigantic, screwed-up piece of aluminium foil caught on the teeth of a monumental white comb.
‘Very modern,’ said Stuart doubtfully.
‘Extraordinary, isn’t it?’ Thaddeus beamed. ‘A brilliant piece of engineering.’ He headed off along a covered breezeway, narrowly avoiding a person who was scurrying towards the seminary building with his head down. Cadel could see nobody else except a gardener mowing the lawn.
‘Not much action during the Christmas break,’ Thaddeus remarked. He pushed open a door which, though it may have looked like crumpled foil, seemed very heavy indeed – and fitted with a remarkable series of locks, Cadel noticed. Immediately inside it was a security scanner (‘An unhappy necessity, in these troubled times,’ Thaddeus lamented), past which they were forced to proceed one at a time. Beyond the scanner, Cadel was amazed to find himse
lf on a walkway suspended above a large expanse of polished wooden floor. Someone below him was bouncing a basketball; this person wore a skin-tight, body-length black leotard, with flames emblazoned on it. The noise of pounding feet echoed off the ceiling.
‘Our basketball courts,’ Thaddeus observed. ‘Yoga classes are also held here, together with several martial arts courses – tae kwon do, and so forth. The gymnasium is to your right, as you can see. We have some remarkable gymnasts. There’s also an archery club, a shooting club, boxing . . .’
‘What about football?’ Stuart wanted to know. ‘Soccer? Rugby?’
‘Unfortunately, our football teams have yet to materialise. This way, please.’
Thaddeus walked on through a couple of glass doors and into a corridor. Cadel noticed several things about this corridor: it smelled of food, its carpet bore a large, circular burn-mark at about the halfway point, and it resounded with the distant noise of clanking crockery.
He saw why when they reached the door at its end, and entered a spacious café, all tiles and laminex. The colour scheme was chiefly black and red, with touches of white. Behind glass, Cadel saw stainless-steel tubs full of steaming shepherd’s pie, grey peas floating sluggishly in hot water, pale fillets of fish, battered objects in a gluey plum sauce. There was an array of limp sandwiches wrapped in cellophane, a selection of sticky muffins and slices, a fridge full of cold drinks.
The women behind the counter were forbidding, their faces set in a permanent expression of brooding discontent.
‘Well!’ said Mrs Piggott brightly. Thaddeus fingered his chin.
‘This is the canteen section,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s also a kitchen where you can order more expensive food – the menu’s right here.’ He plucked it from a box near the cash register. ‘Salads, you see. A noodle soup. Focaccia. The faculty tend to use the kitchen service. Ah.’ Someone had caught his eye. ‘Let me introduce you to a member of our staff.’
It was now half past one, and the tables were mostly occupied. Cadel spotted a few clusters of people, but the majority of the diners seemed to be sitting alone. There was a huge, hulking figure with greasy dark hair and a face like a mouldy potato; another pasty young man staring fixedly at a girl in camouflage colours; a bald youth swathed in an ankle-length blue cloak. Thaddeus ushered his guests over to a couple of people who looked fairly normal by comparison. ‘This is Carla, who teaches microbiology,’ he said, ‘and this is my friend Art, who runs a course on the finer things in life. You’ll notice his rather splendid English wardrobe.’
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