by Mark Walden
‘Yeah, it varies between ice cold and skin-blisteringly hot,’ Laura said, ‘sometimes in the course of a single shower.’
‘Hey, welcome to life at H.I.V.E.,’ Shelby said with a grin, ‘where even the bathroom is filled with mystery and danger.’
‘And what was that music that started playing over the tannoy system at three o’clock this morning?’ Lucy asked.
‘I believe it was the “1812 Overture”,’ Wing said matter-of-factly.
‘Everything electronic’s going haywire, and we can’t even blame Ott—’ Shelby said, stopping herself when she saw the look on Laura’s face. ‘Sorry, I forgot, no mentioning the O word.’
The last few months had been hard for them all. After the initial excitement of discovering that Otto was still alive, they had heard precisely nothing concerning the whereabouts of their friend. Most of the time they tried not to think about the fact that he had vanished without trace after the events on board the Dreadnought, but every so often one of them would say something, or something would happen, to suddenly remind them all that he wasn’t there. After a while they’d come to an unspoken agreement not to mention Otto unless they had some actual news. Unfortunately there had been precious little of that.
‘I assume no one’s heard anything new,’ Laura said.
‘Doctor Nero assured me last week that they continue to search,’ Wing said, ‘but there was, unfortunately, nothing else to report.’
‘Why can’t they find him?’ Laura asked sadly. ‘With all the resources G.L.O.V.E. has, they still can’t track him down. They won’t even let us help.’
‘Perhaps it is time we took matters into our own hands,’ Wing said quietly.
They all knew what Wing meant, but since Otto’s disappearance Nero had had the four of them on an extremely short leash. He had guessed that they might try to mount a rescue mission of their own and had made it abundantly clear to them that not only were they all being watched but that any attempt to leave the island would be met with the harshest of penalties. The irony was that the one person they really needed in order to put together a solid plan for any sort of escape attempt was currently AWOL.
‘Guys, you know I’m as keen as anyone to find Otto, but what could we do that G.L.O.V.E. couldn’t?’ Shelby asked with a sigh.
‘There’s got to be something,’ Laura said angrily. ‘Anything’s better than just sitting around here and hoping for the best.’
‘Hey,’ Shelby said, holding her hands up, ‘I’m not suggesting we give up. We just need to come up with a plan that doesn’t require an albino genius to make it work.’
‘This is most troublesome, Professor,’ Dr Nero said, placing the tablet display listing the series of bizarre technical malfunctions that had recently afflicted the school down on the desk in front of him. ‘I would like an explanation.’
‘As would I,’ Professor Pike replied, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘We have been struggling to keep the school’s systems running properly without the assistance of H.I.V.E.mind since the Overlord incident, but I thought that we had managed to iron out most of the problems. Then out of the blue things seem to have gone haywire. My first assumption was that it might be some sort of virus or that one of the pupils might have hacked into the system somehow – our network defences are formidable, but we have too many inventively devious minds within these walls to eliminate the possibility altogether.’
‘I assume that was not the problem,’ Nero said quickly, cutting the Professor off before he could enter into one of his famously long-winded explanations.
‘No, quite the contrary. There is absolutely no evidence whatsoever of any intrusion into our systems,’ the Professor agreed.
‘Could we have been hacked without the intruder leaving any trace?’ Nero asked.
‘No,’ the Professor replied, shaking his head, ‘certainly not from the outside, and though we have some extremely capable hackers within the student body, there is only one pupil who could have done it without leaving any virtual fingerprints, and I think it’s safe to assume that he was not responsible.’
‘Indeed,’ Nero replied. ‘So what is causing these disruptions? I am as much of a fan of Tchaikovsky as the next man, but not at three o’clock in the morning.’
‘Well, I did discover something rather strange during my investigations,’ the Professor said with a frown. ‘Something is diverting large quantities of processing power away from the school’s central computer core. It’s subtle and intermittent, but there seems to be some sort of rogue process chewing up our computational resources. I’ve done everything I can to track down the source, but at the moment I’m drawing a complete blank.’
‘Surely it should be easy to trace?’ Nero asked.
‘Normally, yes, but whatever is causing the drain almost seems to be actively concealing itself,’ the Professor replied. ‘It is most puzzling.’
‘Keep working on it, please, Professor,’ Nero said. ‘So far this has been an inconvenience, but I fear that it’s only a matter of time before one of these incidents causes serious harm to a student or a member of staff.’
‘Of course.’ The Professor nodded.
Nero turned back to the tablet display on his desk as the Professor left his office. He closed the list of reports of the school’s technical gremlins and opened the file containing updates on the ongoing search for Otto Malpense. There was a frustrating lack of concrete information, and much of what they had discovered was little more than rumour and hearsay. All the indications seemed to be that H.O.P.E., the Hostile Operative Prosecution Executive, were likely to be holding him somewhere, but there was, unfortunately, a gulf between knowing that and finding precisely where he was being held. Nero could not help but worry about what might befall Otto at the hands of Sebastian Trent, the commanding officer of H.O.P.E. and thorn in G.L.O.V.E.’s and Nero’s side for far too long. The only consolation was that Raven was on Trent’s trail and if there was anyone who could track him down, it was her. He closed the file with a small sigh and placed it on his desk just as his communications console started to bleep insistently.
‘Yes, what is it?’ Nero said sharply.
‘I have an urgent communication from Diabolus Darkdoom,’ came the voice on the other end.
‘Put him through,’ Nero said, and a slim video screen slid up out of his desk, which lit up first with the G.L.O.V.E. symbol of a fist smashing down on a cracked globe and then with the face of Diabolus Darkdoom, head of G.L.O.V.E.’s ruling council and one of the few men in the world who Nero considered a friend.
‘Diabolus,’ Nero said, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘I’m afraid that an extremely urgent situation has arisen,’ Darkdoom replied with a frown. ‘I’ve called an emergency meeting of the ruling council and I need you to attend.’
‘I thought that you had decided against the council meeting in the flesh any more,’ Nero said, feeling a sudden prickling sensation of unease.
‘True, but in this case it would be best if we all had a face-to-face meeting. Can you get to the Australian facility within the next twenty-four hours?’
‘Of course,’ Nero replied.
‘Good. I will see you there,’ Darkdoom said. ‘And Max, you’d better bring Natalya.’
‘Raven is on assignment at the moment,’ Nero said. ‘You know how she hates to be interrupted when she’s working. Are you sure we need her to be there?’
‘Quite sure,’ Darkdoom said quietly.
‘Very well, I shall pick her up on the way,’ Nero said. He could already imagine what Raven’s reaction would be to being taken off-mission without any explanation, but he knew that Diabolus would not insist if it was not entirely necessary.
‘Good, I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Darkdoom said. ‘And Max, watch your back.’
The screen went black. There was no doubt about it, something was seriously wrong.
.
Chapter Two
‘His perf
ormance was acceptable?’ Sebastian Trent asked, staring through the toughened glass.
‘Yes,’ the assassin called Ghost replied, her expression unreadable through the white faceplate of her helmet. ‘He did not show any hesitation.’
On the other side of the window Otto lay on a bed surrounded by medical monitoring equipment. There were several jet black tubes attached to his neck and torso, and his pale skin was covered in a fine tracery of black lines.
‘Is his body still showing signs of rejecting the Animus fluid?’ Drake asked the elderly man in a white coat who was examining a terminal on the other side of the room.
‘No,’ the man replied, ‘it appears that the fluid is now fully integrated with his nervous system. The small measure of resistance that he exhibited during the early stages of the process has ceased. I very much doubt that anything of the child’s original personality remains.’
‘Nevertheless, I would like to continue with the programming, Doctor Creed,’ Drake said. ‘The boy is too dangerous to take any chances.’
‘Of course,’ Creed said with a small nod, ‘though I suspect that it will not be necessary for very much longer. The obedience routines that are running within the Animus fluid are quite powerful. In his weakened mental state, he would have little chance of being able to subvert them.’
Trent smiled slightly as he thought about the opportunity that the boy represented. Every other human test subject that had been exposed to the fluid had died a horrible, agonising death. Certainly, at first there had been some resistance to the procedure, but over time the boy had become more and more compliant and now he was Trent’s to command as he wished. Animus was the world’s first organic supercomputer, self-replicating and invasive, capable of taking control of any digital system where it was implanted. It seemed that Otto Malpense’s unique abilities, while granting him the uncanny ability to control electronic systems, also made him a particularly suitable host for the Animus. The boy’s performance over the course of his recent assignments had been living proof of that. Malpense was now quite simply the most valuable weapon in H.O.P.E.’s already considerable arsenal.
‘I want him prepped for deployment immediately,’ Trent said, turning to Creed. ‘There will be no room for mistakes on his next mission.’
‘It’s risky to keep putting him in the field,’ Creed replied, frowning. ‘Just because he has exhibited no ill effects yet does not mean that we should overstretch him. His body is still being placed under extraordinary strain for a child his age.’
‘Your concern is noted,’ Trent said. ‘Get him ready.’
Trent turned and left the observation room with Ghost.
‘Is everything else ready for the next attack?’ Trent asked as the pair of them walked along the spartan concrete corridor.
‘Yes, we have a confirmed target location, thanks to the data that Malpense was able to retrieve from Madame Mortis’s network,’ Ghost replied. ‘The strike team is ready and everything is proceeding according to plan.’
‘Very good,’ Trent said. ‘I shall inform the rest of the Disciples of our status. This may be our best opportunity to deliver a final crushing blow to G.L.O.V.E. We can afford no mistakes. We may not get another chance.’
‘Understood,’ Ghost said with a small nod. ‘Don’t worry – by the time I’m finished, G.L.O.V.E. will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.’
The security guard at the reception desk looked up as the woman walked through the glass doors, leaving behind the sweltering heat of the midday sun for the air-conditioned cool of the lobby. She was dressed in the traditional black burka, only her blue eyes visible behind the veil that covered her face.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ the woman said in Arabic as she approached the desk. ‘Are these the offices of Nazim Khan?’
‘Yes,’ the guard replied dismissively, barely looking up at the woman. ‘But he is receiving no visitors. You have no business here, woman.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ the woman replied in English. A look of surprise flickered across the guard’s face for an instant and he turned towards the woman just as she produced a long katana from beneath her robe, its edge crackling with a field of dark purple energy. She brought the tip of the humming blade to within a millimetre of the man’s Adam’s apple and pulled off her headdress. The pale face that was revealed was strikingly beautiful, the only blemish a curved scar that ran down one cheek.
‘Toss the gun,’ Raven said, ‘slowly.’
The guard silently complied, lifting the pistol from the holster on his hip with his fingertips and skimming it several metres across the floor.
‘I’m only going to ask this once,’ Raven said calmly. ‘Where’s Khan?’
‘In his office, on the top floor,’ the guard replied nervously, ‘but it won’t do you any good. Did you really think you could just walk in here like this? There are a dozen more guards already on their way here.’ His eyes flicked towards one of several security cameras that covered the building’s lobby.
‘I do hope so,’ Raven said with a vicious smile. ‘It’s so much easier that way.’ She thumbed a concealed switch on the hilt of her sword and the hum from the blade dropped slightly in pitch as the variable force field that ran along its edge transformed from a mono-molecular cutting edge to a blunt striking face. She knocked the side of the guard’s neck with the blade and he slumped back in his chair unconscious. Then she unclipped the security pass from his uniform shirt pocket and slipped out of the loose black burka, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath she wore a tight black leather bodysuit and tactical harness with numerous weapons and other pieces of equipment attached. She slid the katana into one of the pair of crossed scabbards on her back and glanced across the lobby at the elevators, breaking into a run as she heard the soft chime indicating the arrival of a carriage. When she was just ten metres away the doors began to open to reveal four guards in body armour, all carrying assault rifles. Raven accelerated and leaped into the carriage, hitting the first two guards at full speed.
The doors slid closed again just a few seconds later, silencing the guards’ screams.
‘She is here!’ Nazim Khan screeched into his phone.
‘Calm down,’ the voice on the other end urged. ‘Who is there?’
‘The Russian,’ Khan said more quietly. ‘Nero’s assassin.’
‘I see,’ the voice replied. ‘Then I fear that there is little we can do to help you.’
‘What?’ Khan yelled in disbelief. ‘You promised me no one would know of the work that I did for you. You swore that the Disciples would protect me!’
‘Goodbye, Mr Khan.’ The voice spoke calmly and the line went dead. Khan cursed in Arabic and threw the phone across the room in rage. He ran to his desk and pulled open a drawer, digging through its contents until he retrieved a large automatic pistol. He popped out the magazine and checked it was fully loaded before snapping it back into place. Suddenly from the next room he heard startled cries, a short burst of gunfire and then nothing. He levelled his pistol at the double doors leading into his office and took a long deep breath, trying in vain to slow the beat of his heart. It felt as if it was about to hammer its way out of his chest. The doors swung open and his head of security walked slowly into the room, his hands raised. Raven stood directly behind the terrified-looking man, one of her swords pressed against his neck.
‘Drop the gun or he dies,’ Raven said calmly.
‘I do not think so,’ Khan replied, and squeezed the trigger. Raven dived to one side as the bullet struck the guard in the chest, passing through him and buzzing through the air where she had been standing a split second before. The guard dropped to his knees, a look of startled betrayal on his face, before tipping forward and hitting the floor face first.
Raven leapt up, raised one arm and fired the grappler unit mounted on her wrist as Khan swung the smoking muzzle of the gun towards her. The silver bolt shot from the grappler, trailing mono-filament cable, and struck Khan’s gun
hand, making him howl in pain. Raven yanked on the line as Khan’s finger reflexively tightened on the trigger. The shot went wild, shattering the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room as the gun fell from Khan’s wounded hand. Raven closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and kicked the gun away across the floor as Khan threw a desperate, clumsy punch at her. She caught his fist in her own hand and twisted it viciously, kicking at his kneecap and dropping him to the floor in a whimpering heap.
‘Please,’ Khan moaned pitifully, ‘I’ll give you anything . . . anything!’
‘All I want is information,’ Raven said, looking down at him with an expression that would freeze the blood. ‘Where’s Trent?’
‘I do not know,’ Khan said quickly. ‘Please, you have to believe me.’
‘I really don’t,’ Raven said coldly, lowering the tip of her sword towards him. ‘So tell me, are you right- or left-handed?’
‘I . . . I just designed the facility,’ Khan stammered, his eyes wide with fear.
‘What facility?’ Raven yelled, stepping on his right wrist.
‘A camouflaged structure,’ Khan wailed desperately, ‘but I was never told exactly where it was to be constructed. I swear to you, that’s all I know.’
‘The plans – do you have copies?’ Raven asked.
‘Yes, I was supposed to destroy them after I had delivered the originals, but I kept one set of schematics and other documents relating to the project. They’re on my computer,’ Khan said, nodding towards the laptop on his desk.
‘Show me,’ Raven said, stepping away from him and allowing him to stand. Khan got slowly to his feet, limped around the desk and sat down in his chair. He began to tap quickly at the keyboard, but after only a second or two he gasped in surprise, his eyes widening as blood began to pour from his nose. He gave a final strangled grunt and then slumped forward on to the desk, his head hitting the polished wooden surface with a thud.