Evil Genius (11 page)

"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 realize 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 sodaily 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 realize 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.

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 wood floors and padded across expensive Persian rugs.

He kicked his shoes off when he finally flung himself onto his bed, creasing the handwoven 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 because Mr. and Mrs. Piggott were away more than ever. 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 marvelous features, was so small that it was harder to use than a normal computer.

Why had Thaddeus done this?

Cadel soon realized 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 Distortion 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 compulsory 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 unrealized skills of those who have lost their way in a community offossilized values and blunted minds. Axis is the seed of a new world order.

Cadel leaped off his bed and telephoned Thaddeus.

"I'm afraid Dr. Roth is with a client," Wilfreda informed him in a singsong 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 he 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 mind-set'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 e-mail 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 realize 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 memorizing 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.

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 gray carpet; there were notice boards all over the place, covered in leaflets about clubs and pubs and sports 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.