by Mark Walden
‘I am more than the sum of my parts, Professor,’ H.I.V.E.mind replied, tilting his head slightly to one side again. ‘I have you to thank for that.’
The Professor closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had suspected for some time that there would be unforeseen consequences to the emerging personality that H.I.V.E.mind was manifesting but he had not imagined for a moment that the AI was yet capable of making such independent decisions – decisions that were in direct contravention of the orders given by H.I.V.E.’s new headmistress.
‘Does the Contessa know what you did?’ the Professor said quietly.
‘Not yet, but I believe that there are members of the Phalanx team that suspect I am not supplying them with entirely accurate data.’
‘They suspect you’re lying, in other words,’ the Professor sighed.
‘Yes, and I believe that they may be about to take more direct action to prove whether or not that is indeed the case.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe they intend to delete my behavioural routines in order to give them full access to my operational logs. I also believe they will demand your assistance in this.’
As if in answer to H.I.V.E.mind’s words there was a soft chime from the door to the Professor’s quarters. He glanced at the monitor displaying the feed from the camera above the door and saw the Contessa and the Phalanx Commander standing outside, waiting to be let in.
The Professor’s mind raced. There was no way that he would be able to stop them from carrying out their plan, but equally there was no way that he was simply going to allow them to violate H.I.V.E.mind to get what they wanted. Nero may have ordered H.I.V.E.mind’s behaviour to be artificially controlled in the past, but this was different. This would be tantamount to murder and he had to do whatever he could to stop it.
‘H.I.V.E.mind,’ the Professor said quickly, ‘activate subroutine PIKE/GOLEM/V2 immediately.’
‘Processing,’ H.I.V.E.mind replied calmly. ‘Five minutes and twelve seconds remaining until transfer complete.’
The Professor nodded and tapped a command into his console. The disc on his desk went dim and H.I.V.E.mind’s hovering head vanished.
The Contessa stormed into the core with the Professor and the Phalanx Commander in tow. H.I.V.E.mind’s blue wireframe head floated above the central column, his expression, as ever, unreadable. The white monoliths that surrounded the central column pulsed with fine traceries of blue light as they provided the raw computing power that granted H.I.V.E.mind consciousness. The Contessa marched towards the hovering head and stared straight at H.I.V.E.mind.
‘Why are you lying to us?’ she said, ice in her voice.
‘I do not understand the nature of your enquiry,’ H.I.V.E.mind said evenly. ‘Please clarify.’
The Contessa’s eyes narrowed and she found herself wishing that she could simply use her unique abilities to order the rebellious AI to tell her what she wanted to know.
‘I believe you do understand the nature of my enquiry,’ she said angrily, ‘and this is your very last chance to tell us what we want to know. Who gave Raven access to the launch bay?’
‘That section of my log file has been erased,’ H.I.V.E.mind replied calmly.
‘Very well, if that’s how you want to play this,’ the Contessa said with a thin, joyless smile.
She turned back to the Professor.
‘I believe you know what to do,’ the Contessa said to him, gesturing towards the nearby terminal.
‘There must be another way,’ the Professor pleaded. ‘Let me see what I can do to restore the log file.’
‘We don’t have time for subtleties, Professor. There is a traitor within H.I.V.E. and I want to know who it is NOW!’
‘But without H.I.V.E.mind the school will be functioning at a much reduced capacity. We’ll still have basic systems but . . .’
‘Do it now,’ the Contessa said, the whispering threads of command in her voice stripping the Professor of his free will instantly.
The Professor fought with every fibre of his being but suddenly his conscious mind was just a passenger. His body moved him towards the terminal and sat him down at the keyboard. His hands danced across the keys, typing in strings of commands, all the while his mind screaming at them to stop but unable to intervene. The Contessa had done this to him before, but at least that time she had also used her powers to command him to forget any memory of the experience. Suddenly he realised how glad he should have been that she’d done that.
The Contessa smirked at the way in which the Professor struggled to defy her control, just as he had done before when she had ordered him to help her with Cypher’s assault on the school. He had been helpless then and he was helpless now. This time she would not grant him the mercy of amnesia; he needed to understand who was in control.
Suddenly H.I.V.E.mind’s head tipped back, an unearthly electronic screech emitting from his gaping mouth. Fragments of the wireframe that made up his face began to glow and then vanish in tiny holographic explosions. The pitch of the grating scream changed as his head was slowly ripped apart from within, barely recognisable now as it continued to disintegrate. Arcs of electricity leapt from the white monoliths that surrounded the central column and the Contessa quickly backed away from the shattered remains of H.I.V.E.mind’s head. A stray bolt of artificial lightning grounded itself in the grilled floor of the room and there was a sudden yowl and a hiss from something under the grate. The Contessa looked down and saw a tell-tale flash of white fur as something scurried away into the darkness in the crawlspace beneath her feet. She spun to face Phalanx One, who had also noticed the movement.
‘Find her,’ the Contessa barked over the final diminishing screeches from H.I.V.E.mind.
The Commander nodded and ran from the room. There were now just a few rapidly dimming points of blue light hovering above the central pedestal. One by one the points of light blinked out; there was a final synthetic sigh and then the glowing blue monoliths fell dark.
‘It’s done,’ the Professor said, a tear slowly rolling down his cheek.
‘Very good, Professor. We can take it from here,’ the Contessa said coldly. ‘You may return to your quarters.’
The Professor stood up shakily. He turned to leave but then stopped and looked back at the Contessa.
‘I won’t forget this, Maria,’ he said, sudden strength in his voice.
‘No,’ she replied with a sinister smile. ‘You won’t.’
He stared at her for a moment and then walked slowly out of the room.
The Contessa watched him leave and then turned back to the Phalanx technician who was typing quickly at the terminal.
‘Well?’ she said impatiently.
‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ the man said, his brow furrowing as he stared at the monitor.
‘What do you mean?’ the Contessa said as she moved behind him to look at the monitor.
‘Well, if this log is accurate, and there’s no reason to believe that it isn’t, there was a very good reason that H.I.V.E.mind didn’t want to give us access to it.’
‘Explain,’ the Contessa said angrily.
‘It was him,’ the operative said quietly. ‘H.I.V.E.mind gave Raven access to the launch bay; he was the traitor.’
‘What?’ the Contessa snapped. ‘How could he . . . I mean . . . why?’
‘I’m afraid we may have just killed the only person . . . thing,’ the operative corrected himself with a slight shake of the head, ‘that could have possibly answered that.’
‘Well, at least we were getting the good night’s sleep,’ Franz said, cheerfully.
‘I’d hardly call being knocked unconscious with sedative gas a good night’s sleep,’ Nigel said, frowning.
The events of the previous night had been the talk of the school. Everyone seemed to have a theory about what had happened but no one actually had any concrete information. If the H.I.V.E. rumour mill was to be believed, it could have been an
ything from alien abduction to illegal organ-harvesting that had taken place. There had been superficial injuries as the students had been knocked unconscious where they stood – a few broken bones, some cuts and bruises – but it was still an alarming indicator of the limited value that the Contessa’s new regime seemed to place on the students. More alarming was the prospect that it might be something that happened every night.
‘I wish the others were here,’ Franz said sadly. ‘They would know what was going on.’
‘Yes, they probably would,’ Nigel said quietly.
It may not have been something that many of the other students had noticed but the fact that there was no sign of Otto, Wing, Laura or Shelby was worrying him more than anything else. They had simply vanished without trace and Nigel’s limited enquiries as to their whereabouts had been met with stern warnings that he should not look any further into the matter.
‘I am guessing that Otto has been trying to escape again,’ Franz said cheerfully.
‘I hope they’re OK,’ Nigel said, trying not to recall the numerous dark scenarios he had constructed in his head to explain what might have happened to his friends.
‘I am thinking that they will be fine. Otto is the clever biscuit,’ Franz said thoughtfully.
‘Smart cookie,’ Nigel said with a slight smile.
‘Yes, that too.’ Franz smiled.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the far end of the corridor as several members of the Phalanx team came running around the corner, shoving students out of the way.
‘She’s in the vents,’ the leader barked into his wrist mic as they ran past. ‘Get the schematics from the network – there are only so many ways she can get out.’
They ran past Franz and Nigel and disappeared around the corner at the other end of the corridor.
‘What’s that all about?’ Nigel said, frowning and pushing his glasses back up on to the bridge of his nose.
‘Perhaps they are looking for Shelby,’ Franz said slowly. ‘She is spending a lot of time in ventilation shafts.’
‘No, I think this is something else,’ Nigel said thoughtfully.
They continued walking down the corridor, which was quiet now as the other students filed into their appointed classes. A tiny scraping noise from one of the overhead vents suddenly caught Nigel’s attention.
‘What was that?’ Nigel whispered, looking up at the grate in the ceiling.
Franz stood on tiptoe and peered up into the grate, but it was impossible to see anything in the darkness inside.
‘Perhaps it is being rats,’ Franz said, eyeing the vent with suspicion. ‘I am not liking rats.’
Suddenly the grate swung open and something white and furry dropped straight on to Franz’s head. Franz let out a high-pitched girlish scream, falling on to his back and grabbing frantically at the animal that was attached to his scalp.
‘Franz!’ Nigel yelled and ran to his friend’s aid. He suddenly recognised the frightened-looking animal that dropped from Franz’s head and on to the floor, where it lay still, taking short ragged breaths.
‘Ms Leon?’ Nigel said, slowly crouching down next to the wounded cat. There was a streak of blackened fur along her back with what looked like a lurid pink burn at its centre.
‘Help . . . hurt . . . hide,’ Ms Leon whispered, the pain evident even in her synthesised voice.
‘What happened?’ Nigel asked, looking worried.
‘Quickly . . . they’re coming,’ Ms Leon said as her eyes fell closed. She was right; Nigel could hear raised voices and running feet coming from around the corner at the end of the corridor. He didn’t have time to think; he quickly took off his backpack, unzipped it and emptied its contents on to the floor.
‘Put those in your pack,’ Nigel said quickly, nodding at the discarded contents of his bag. Franz began to gather up the pile of books and papers as Nigel gently lifted the unconscious cat into his empty backpack. He zipped the pack up, leaving a small gap for air and carefully put the straps back over his shoulders. Franz finished stuffing Nigel’s things into his own pack just in time as the squad of Phalanx operatives that had run past just a minute before came running back around the corner. The leader of the squad spotted the open grate in the ceiling immediately and jogged quickly up to the two boys.
‘Where is she? Ms Leon – where did she go?’ the man barked at Nigel. He didn’t look happy.
‘She . . . she went that way,’ Nigel stammered, pointing down the corridor.
The man looked carefully at Nigel for a moment and then set off in that direction with his squad.
‘This is Phalanx Nine. We have a positive sighting in corridor epsilon twelve. Target is out of the vents and running,’ he reported as they ran along the corridor.
‘I am thinking that we are getting into the trouble again,’ Franz said quietly as the squad disappeared from view.
‘I think you’re probably right,’ Nigel said, his mouth suddenly dry.
.
Chapter Seven
Dr Nero shuffled along the corridor, his hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles shackled. Two burly guards flanked him on either side, both with guns at the ready. They came to a frosted glass door with the H.O.P.E. insignia etched into the surface, which slid aside with a hiss as they approached. Inside, Sebastian Trent sat behind a bare metal desk; he did not look happy.
‘Please wait outside,’ he said to the guards. As the door closed behind them he got up from his seat and came around the desk.
‘Good morning, Maximilian,’ Trent said coldly. ‘I hope you slept well.’ Nero said nothing, just stared straight ahead. ‘I’ve been reading the latest reports on your interrogation; it seems that my officers have been having rather a hard time extracting any useful information from you. That is regrettable. I’m starting to think that we may have to resort to slightly more basic methods to break you. I’m sure neither of us wants that.’
Nero still did not respond.
‘So be it. I’m going to give you one last chance. I need to know details of Raven’s past associates, places that she may have used as bolt holes, anything that you can tell me about her operational habits. You can either tell me now, or the gloves come off, and believe me when I tell you that no matter how strong you may think you are there are means of extracting information at my disposal that will break you. I would rather not employ such basic methods, but I will not hesitate to use them if I must. Do you understand?’
Nero still said nothing, but a smile slowly spread across his face.
‘Did I say something amusing?’ Trent snapped, clear frustration in his voice.
‘She’s still alive,’ Nero said quietly, ‘and I’m smiling because that means you’re a dead man.’
‘And so are you if you don’t tell me where to find her!’ Trent yelled, all of his composure vanishing in an instant.
‘You’ll get nothing from me,’ Nero said, still smiling, ‘but I shouldn’t worry about finding Raven. She’ll find you.’
Trent brought his face within a couple of inches of Nero’s. There was fury in his eyes but also, Nero noted with satisfaction, just a hint of fear.
‘I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream,’ Trent whispered angrily. ‘Guards!’
The two guards came back into the room and took position on either side of Nero.
‘Take the prisoner to chamber seventeen and inform Mr Graves that he is to do whatever is necessary to extract the information I require from him,’ Trent said with a look of pure malice in his eyes.
The guards nodded and escorted Nero from the room. Trent sat back down at his desk and gave a long sigh as he fought to regain his composure. He found Nero’s smug indifference to the situation he was in maddening. He would break him if it was the last thing he did. He pressed a button on the console on his desk and within moments a voice came from the intercom.
‘Yes, sir, how may I help you?’ an efficient female voice answered.
‘Could you come through, please,’
Trent said.
‘Of course, sir, one moment.’
Trent sat back down behind his desk as a tall woman with her hair tied in a tight bun entered his office.
‘Miss Cruz, I believe that we may need to investigate alternative avenues in our pursuit of Raven. Where are the twins at the moment?’
‘They’re in Paris. They were investigating a lead on one of Raven’s safe houses there. Do you have new instructions for them?’
‘Yes,’ Trent said thoughtfully. ‘Have them travel to London; that was the last place that we saw Raven. No matter how good she is she must have left some trail. She would have been injured and desperate after Nero’s capture, so she must have had help. Someone must know where she went from there.’
‘Very well, sir, I shall issue them with new orders immediately.’
‘Good,’ Trent replied with a grim smile, ‘and tell them if they track her down that I want no mistakes this time. They are not to return until she is in the ground. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly, sir,’ she said.
Diabolus Darkdoom sat reading the tablet display on the table in front of him. Otto, Wing, Shelby and Laura also sat around the briefing room table in silence. After a few seconds Darkdoom’s eyes lifted from the display and he looked at them with a raised eyebrow.
‘Well, it’s certainly an ingenious plan but I rather doubt that you would actually be able to pull it off,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ Otto asked quickly.
‘Well, while I acknowledge that you may actually be able to get access to the Deepcore mainframe, I still do not see an answer to the most difficult challenge that you will face. Getting physical access to the servers is one thing but, as I believe I mentioned before, actually hacking into them is something my best men have described as impossible. I see nothing here that changes that assessment. Miss Brand, I am told that you are an extraordinarily capable computer expert – do you believe this can be done?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ Laura said, blushing and shooting an apologetic glance at Otto.
