Evil Genius (14 page)

"Art's our forgery lecturer," he advised Cadel. "Art's very good, but not good enough to feed his hunger for the finer things in life, which is why he makes extra money by doing a bit of teaching for Axis. Carla's our contagion expert. She has a difficult personality, and some of her habits worry people so much that she can't get a job anywhere else. She's interested in the breakdown of dead tissue—she likes to plaster her office with pictures of decomposing corpses. In many ways she's not entirely
stable...
"

"You'll hear about her vial," Thaddeus broke in. "She carries a vial around in her pocket. It's supposed to contain some sort of lethal microorganism that she's been tinkering with. She likes the feeling it gives her, having access to that kind of power."

"So don't push her against a wall, for god's sake," said Dr. Darkkon. "Terry is a professor of our School of Organic Distortion. He has the kind of tastes you can't indulge in a normal university environment."

"He's had some trouble with the RSPCA," Thaddeus added, and Cadel suddenly recalled the red smear on Terry's thumb.

"A lot of our staff are being blackmailed," Dr. Darkkon continued cheerfully. "Deakin's one of them—Barry Deakin. On campus, he calls himself Dr. Deal. There are a few little skeletons in
his
closet, so I've been able to force him to work for us. Plus, he likes all our young female students at the institute. You'll meet Barry—he'll be teaching you law."

"Law?" said Cadel.

"It's part of the introductory program. You can't get around the law unless you know what it is." Dr. Darkkon retched again, halfheartedly. "Who else? Adolf's being blackmailed, too—he teaches guerrilla tactics. People call him the Führer. The other School of Destruction staff tend to be aging mercenaries who don't want to go traveling all over the world to earn their living in swamps and deserts. Luther Lasco's one of them. He was a hired assassin. His specialty is poisoning. He's a professor of the school."

"You won't have much to do with him," Thaddeus told Cadel firmly.

"Or with Tracey Lane," said Dr. Darkkon. "She's a former television newsreader, but she got too old. Can't find another job for the same money we pay her. She teaches misinformation."

"Otherwise known as media studies," Thaddeus supplied.

"Who else will be teaching him, Thad? Max, of course."

"The Maestro. Yes."

"Max teaches pure evil. He's got his own reasons for working at the institute. Philosophical reasons." Dr. Darkkon grinned. "Seems like he's trying to rationalize all the questionable things he's done in his life."

"And Alias, of course, is looking for recognition," Thaddeus murmured, whereupon Dr. Darkkon laughed out loud. He quickly tried to disguise this laugh with a fit of fake coughing. "Alias is our teacher of disguise," he wheezed. "He's as slippery as an eel, but he does like to think his talents are appreciated."

"We're helping to hide him from the CIA," said Thaddeus.

"And that's about all, isn't it, Thad? No one else that Cadel will be dealing with?"

"The staff find Axis enriching," Thaddeus assured Cadel. "The students certainly keep them on their toes, and we believe in
very
strict discipline—as you'll discover. The faculty appreciates our discipline code. Naturally, they all have their own agendas, but nothing we can't deal with."

"Choose your tools," Dr. Darkkon stressed. "That's the secret, Cadel.
Choose your tools wisely.
"

Cadel nodded. He was a little overwhelmed, though he knew it wouldn't take him long to process all this information. Sure enough, he had soon composed in his mind a three-dimensional model of the institute's personnel structure. There were a lot of gaps, but he felt reasonably satisfied with it.

And when the first semester started, he was quickly able to fill many of the larger holes.

Mr. and Mrs. Piggott had agreed with Cadel's decision to enroll at the institute. Stuart wasn't entirely happy with what he had seen, but didn't care enough to make trouble. He conceded, in any case, that Cadel was young enough to make a few mistakes without suffering too much for it. So Cadel was enrolled. His fees were paid. And in early February, just three months before his fourteenth birthday, he arrived at the Axis Institute with a backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to begin his studies.

He had been told to report to lecture-room one for his introductory session. It was a drizzly day. Running through the front gate, shielding himself from the rain with his course handbook, he realized with a start that the institute's parking lot was three-quarters full; even on such a wet morning, there were people scurrying about like ants. Getting into the seminary building was quite a challenge, but Cadel was well prepared. He had all the necessary cards and keys and had been given detailed instructions about the correct sequence in which they should be used. The process could take up to three minutes, or even longer if you made a mistake.

Upon entering, Cadel encountered a loose crowd of people (most of them quite young) who were waiting to pass through the security scanner just inside the front door. A few were talking, but most slouched against the walls, silent and watchful. Cadel joined them. Patiently, he allowed his person and his luggage to be scanned for guns, explosives, and electronic listening devices. Then he headed for lecture-room one, which he had already inspected with Thaddeus. The door was closed. He tried the handle, without success.

Locked,
he thought.

"Who are
you?
" a voice demanded.

Cadel turned. The young man standing beside him was of medium height, but well-muscled, with a thick neck and close-cut fair hair. His complexion was reddish, as if he had spent too much time in the sun. He had a burn scar on one hand.

"Who
are you?
" this person repeated, looming over Cadel in a threatening manner. "Get the hell out. You shouldn't be here."

"Yes I should," Cadel replied.

"
Piss off, ankle-biter!
"

"I'm enrolled," said Cadel, standing his ground. His gaze swept the faces of a converging crowd, but not one of them looked concerned. They were either bored, amused, or impatient. "My name is Cadel Darkkon, and I'm enrolled in the School of Deception."

A hush fell. All eyes turned toward him. At last a pale, slim, wild-eyed young man with lots of curly black hair and a straggling goatee broke the silence.

"
Darkkon?" he.
said. "As in
Phineas
Darkkon?"

"That's right," Cadel rejoined. Thaddeus had enrolled him as Cadel Darkkon for his own protection. "Normally," Thaddeus had remarked, "the son of a university's founder would have a lot of trouble with the rest of the student body, but this won't happen in your case. Everyone's familiar with Dr. Darkkon's reputation."

Surrounded by these dead-eyed, gum-chewing, oddly dressed undergraduates, Cadel decided that Thaddeus had been right. He
did
need protection.

"Phineas Darkkon is my father," he added, to ensure that he was not misunderstood. The red-faced bully immediately edged away.

"You're kidding," said one of the two blond girls hovering near him. They were clearly identical twins: Both were tanned, pretty, and dressed in skimpy clothes, with their golden hair twisted up into matching ponytails. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"The guy who started this place? You're his
son?
"

"Yes."

Both girls rolled their eyes at each other. Then the one who hadn't yet spoken said, in a bright voice, "We're Gemini. I'm Jem, and this is Ni."

"Pleased to meet you, Cadel," said Ni.

"I guess you're really smart, huh? Like your dad. I guess that's why you're here so young."

They wriggled forward, all gleaming teeth and smooth brown skin. They smelled nice. Shyly, Cadel shook their manicured hands.

"Hi," he mumbled.

"You're cute," Jem trilled. "He's cute, isn't he, Ni?"

"He sure is." Ni ruffled Cadel's curls. "He's prettier than
you
are."

"Oh!" Jem gave her sister a playful slap. "You bitch!"

"It's nice to see we're not the only good-looking ones around here."

"What are you studying, sweetie?"

Jem was addressing Cadel. He was slightly confused; these two bouncy, beautiful girls, with their shiny lipstick and piercing voices, weren't what he had expected. Thaddeus had given him a quick description of every student in the first-year intake. Jemima and Niobe, Cadel recalled, were a pair of troublemakers with ESP potential. Since the age of nine, they had been robbing stores by means of a scam that they had refined and perfected. Just before closing time, they would choose a shop with only one attendant—preferably male. Jem would go in and plead to use the toilet. Ni, who was identically dressed, would then wait until the attendant wasn't looking, sneak into the shop, thank him for allowing her to empty her bladder, and depart again, very noisily. When the attendant had left and the shop was locked up, Jem (who had been hiding) would emerge and take what she wanted before rejoining her twin.

Mostly this method worked, though sometimes it didn't. The girls were caught several times without suffering any serious consequences because of their youth. Finally, Thaddeus, as a qualified psychologist specializing in troubled teenagers, was asked to review their case.

He found them fascinating, simply because they seemed to have mysterious powers of communication.

"It's the sort of instinct that can't be coincidental," Thaddeus had explained to Cadel. "I ran some tests. There was an extra level of EEG slow waves, and several other features, not all of them neurological. Your father and I thought that the twins might respond well to training."

Cadel had expected a pair of mystic-looking figures wearing Celtic symbols and hippy clothes. He had expected gypsy earrings and haunted eyes and whispering voices. He hadn't expected a couple of blond bombshells in tank tops.

"I'm studying computers," he said. "Computers and embezzlement."

"Oooooh," Jem crooned. "I knew he was clever. We're doing—what are we doing, Ni?"

"Channeling. A lot of channeling. Mind-power stuff."

"You mean you're pyrogenic?" the bully exclaimed, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red as the two girls turned their heads, in perfect unison, to look at him.

"Say what?" Jem drawled.

"
I'm
pyrogenic. I do channeling, too. I'm in your channeling class." The bully adopted a slight swagger. "You can call me the Bludgeon." The twins glanced at each other, then burst into a fit of giggles.

"The
Bludger?
" Jem squeaked.

"The
Bludgeon,
not the Bludger. A force to be reckoned with." The bully sounded cross. "It's time to leave your old name behind. Your old self. This is a
metamorphosis.
"

"You mean we afta change our names?" a worried voice suddenly piped up. It came from the transmission filter of a young man in a full-length, airtight suit attached to a tangle of breathing apparatus—a suit like those commonly worn by technicians dealing with hazardous materials. "/ didn't change me name," he fretted, his voice muffled and distorted by the clear plastic mask he wore. "Were we supposed to?"

"No, we weren't," replied the pale, curly-haired young man. "My name is Abraham Coggins and it's
staying
Abraham Coggins. At least until I have a police record."

"Are you pyrogenic?" the Bludgeon inquired.

"No. I'm a microbiology student."

"Then butt out."

Cadel looked at Abraham Coggins with interest. According to Thaddeus, Abraham was a graduate of medicine who was paying money to attend the Axis Institute because he was obsessed with the idea of creating a race of vampires. He had a theory about how it might be done, and Terry had agreed to work with him.

"But—but do we really
want
vampires?" Cadel had stammered on being informed of this fact, whereupon Thaddeus had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We're not going to get vampires," he'd said. "It's all a mad dream. But the extra money will be useful. Most of our students are on scholarships—Dr. Darkkon pretty much pays their way. It's good to have a few fee-paying students to ease the load."

So that's Abraham Coggins,
Cadel thought,
and if this bully here is pyrogenic, he must be Clive Slaughter.
Clive had been identified, by scouts of Dr. Darkkon, as someone with pyrogenic powers. He had the classic profile of an accidental arsonist, though he came from a comfortable family background. Dr. Darkkon wished to help him isolate and refine his powers, until he could be transformed into something resembling the superheroes in a Marvel comic. It was a long shot, Dr. Darkkon had said, but it was worth a try.

Cadel realized that if the bully was Clive, and the curly-haired guy was Abraham, then the youth in the protective suit must be Gazo Kovacs. Gazo was an interesting case. He had lived on the streets for most of his life, largely because he suffered from a unique condition. When stressed, he exuded an appalling stench—the kind that could fell a man at ten paces. Even at a greater distance, it could make people dizzy. For this reason he had been shunned and had led a very lonely life until discovered by Dr. Darkkon's agents. Cadel's father was interested in Gazo. He felt that Gazo might have a special, supergenetic power. He wanted to explore this possibility and had flown the friendless youth all the way from England for that purpose.

Gazo was boarding at the institute. He had to wear an airtight suit for the protection of other people. It was important that there should be no accidents at moments of high stress—during exams, for instance. Only when Gazo was alone, in his single-bed room, was he allowed to remove his suffocating outer garments and move about freely.

According to Thaddeus, Gazo regarded this restriction as a small price to pay for food, lodgings, and friendly encouragement.

"He's not very bright," Thaddeus had admitted to Cadel, "but he might be worth the money. We'll see."