Otto looked around the room they had just entered. The walls of now familiar highly polished black rock were dotted with screens displaying maps and charts. The room was completely dominated, however, by one central feature, a single huge table. The table must have been ten metres long and was made from a dark wood. Inlaid into its centre was a silver fist and globe symbol, just like the sculpture in the entrance cavern. Around the table were two dozen large, high-backed black leather chairs, all of which, with the notable exception of the seat at the far end, were empty.
Seated there, at the head of the table, was a woman in a long black dress and fur coat. Her appearance was as unusual as everything else that Otto had seen so far that day. She had a skeletal face, with thin, almost translucent skin that was stretched tight across her cheekbones. She wore a monocle in her left eye and was holding aloft a long, thin cigarette holder, only lowering it occasionally to tap the smouldering tip into an ashtray on the table in front of her. The most immediately striking thing about this woman though was her hair. It was quite simply enormous, like a huge curved ebony sculpture. This was a hairstyle that would require an architect, not a hairdresser. It was a monument to hairspray, vast, immobile, indestructible. She seemed amused to see them, smiling in a way that suggested she was in on a rather good joke that everyone else in the room was unaware of. As the last of the group entered the room she placed her cigarette holder in the ashtray and addressed them.
‘Please come in, children. Sit anywhere,’ she said, gesturing to the seats around the table. They spread out around the conference table and found themselves seats. Otto quickly chose a chair about halfway down the table and waited while the others found their own places. Wing settled down next to him.
‘So you are this year’s Alphas, are you?’ she said as the last few settled into their seats. She smiled again; the faces around the table all watched her expectantly. ‘My name is Contessa Sinistre, but I am known to everybody here as simply the Contessa, and it is my great pleasure to be the one who will introduce you to your new life at H.I.V.E. We will begin our tour today with a very short film, after which I will take some of your questions. Let us begin.’ The Contessa had an Italian accent – her voice was soothing, almost musical, and some of the group seemed to relax visibly as she spoke.
The lights in the room dimmed and a screen whirred down from the ceiling at the opposite end of the table from the Contessa. Displayed on the screen was the same symbol depicting a fist smashing down upon the globe. The symbol faded away to be replaced with an image of the island they had just flown over with the smouldering, apparently active volcano at its centre. A voiceover began in an American accent.
‘Welcome to The Island, an undisclosed tropical location that plays home to H.I.V.E., the world’s most unique and prestigious educational establishment. Founded in the late 1960s by Dr Nero as a training ground for the leaders of tomorrow, the Higher Institute of Villainous Education has an illustrious history. Now in its fourth decade of operation, the Institute represents a state-of-the-art training facility, fully equipped to better prepare YOU to rule the world of the future.’
The image changed to a cutaway diagram of the interior structure of the island. It was immediately clear to Otto that they had only seen a fraction of the facility as a whole. This diagram, if it was accurate, showed miles of passages and caverns leading off in all directions from the entrance cavern area. This area seemed to be the central hub of the structure, which would make sense if the crater through which they’d flown in was the only way in or out. There certainly didn’t seem to be any other obvious exits displayed on the diagram. H.I.V.E. seemed to Otto to be a strangely appropriate name. The film continued.
‘Dr Nero’s motto has always been “It takes the best to produce the worst”, and so he has made it his goal to assemble the finest teachers and trainers from around the world and provide them with the facilities they need to get the job done.’
The film cut to a fast-paced stream of images showing classrooms, laboratories, firing ranges, a huge tank with several shark fins breaking the surface of the water, rows of computer workstations and finally, Otto noted with pleasure, what looked like a vast and extremely well-stocked library.
‘Life as a student at H.I.V.E. is full of fun and excitement, a place where you’ll make friends that will last for ever.’
Another assortment of video clips began playing. This time they showed students, most of whom seemed to be older than Otto, engaged in a bizarre assortment of activities. They saw two boys fencing, a boy beckoning his friend to look through a microscope, two girls rock climbing together and finally one boy giving another the thumbs-up after firing what could only be described as a laser rifle at an off-screen target. Life at H.I.V.E. may have its attractions after all, Otto thought. Friends, as they say, may come and go, but high-powered laser-beam weapons were for ever.
‘For the next six years this facility will be your home, and, while contact with the outside world is initially forbidden, H.I.V.E. is designed to be the perfect home away from home.’
The screen now displayed images of luxurious living quarters, spacious garden areas and a shot from high overhead of a sparkling swimming pool in the base of a cavern where students could be seen splashing around far below. H.I.V.E. was made to look more like an expensive tropical hotel than a school.
‘At H.I.V.E. we aim to get the very best from each and every student. Failure is not an option in the modern world. Our friendly and professional staff are always there to motivate and assist students, helping you to strive for greater excellence.’
Now there were clips showing guards, in their familiar orange uniforms, helping lost students find their way, happily joining in with games, advising confused-looking students with their work, and finally two guards firing flamethrowers at a large barbecue while smiling children stood around with paper plates. They didn’t look much like the guards Otto had seen up to this point – they looked more like carefully chosen actors or models who were entirely lacking the scars, missing teeth and eye-patches that had seemed to be part of the uniform for the real guards.
‘Life at H.I.V.E. is exciting and challenging, each day bringing fresh experiences that are sure to provide you with the perfect start to a successful lifetime of evil.’
There was a shot of Dr Nero handing a diploma to a student and warmly shaking his hand. The camera continued to pull back, finally revealing the entire entrance cavern filled with people clapping. Then the camera seemed to fly back up through the structure, eventually hovering over the apparently deserted island once again. The voiceover returned.
‘H.I.V.E., the school of tomorrow, today.’
This image slowly faded to the globe and fist logo and the lights came back up in the room.
‘So, children. Now you have seen a sample of what H.I.V.E. has to offer you, do you have any questions?’ The Contessa looked around the table.
‘I have a question.’ It was Wing who had chosen to first break the silence. ‘Why are we forbidden to have any contact with the outside world?’ Otto had wanted to ask the same question but had kept silent, waiting to see what the others would ask first. The Contessa beamed at Wing.
‘Why, my dear boy, surely you can understand the need for strict secrecy with a facility such as this. There have been some unfortunate incidents in the past that have been a direct consequence of regrettable and unnecessary security breaches. The only way we have found to avoid a repeat of such problems is to ensure that nobody can attempt to disclose the location of H.I.V.E., intentionally or otherwise.’
‘So we are prisoners here?’ Wing replied bluntly.
‘Prisoner is such a harsh word.’ The Contessa’s smile seemed to slip slightly. ‘Think of it more as being carefully protected.’ Otto wondered if they were being protected from the world or vice-versa.
‘What of our parents? Will they not wonder where their children have vanished to?’ Wing asked.
‘They are aware of your situation, if not your precise location. You have been brought here with their permission,’ the Contessa explained. Several of those around the table looked shocked at this.
‘Will we be allowed to speak to them?’ Wing enquired.
‘No, as I have already explained, no communication is allowed between students and the outside world. This includes communication with your families.’ The Contessa was clearly starting to get impatient with Wing’s persistent questioning.
‘So how do we know that they are really aware of our situation?’ Wing seemed determined to keep pressing the point.
The Contessa looked Wing straight in the eye. ‘You don’t really need to know that, do you?’ she asked, the tone of her voice changing slightly and, for a second, Otto could have sworn he heard other voices whispering faintly at the edge of his hearing. Wing opened his mouth to speak, but then a confused expression spread across his face as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.
‘No, I do not need to know that, Contessa.’ His voice sounded distant and distracted.
‘Good. Anyone else?’ She looked around the table again. Otto was surprised at Wing’s sudden silence – he looked pale and slightly disorientated. Seeing that no one else appeared to be prepared to speak, Otto took the initiative.
‘Yes, Contessa, I have a question.’
She turned to him and smiled. ‘What would you like to know, Mr . . .’ She paused, waiting for his name.
‘Malpense. Otto Malpense,’ he replied. She gestured for him to continue. ‘Are students ever permitted to leave the island?’ he asked.
‘There are field trips from time to time, and some of the older pupils are given permission to leave the island for short periods if Dr Nero considers it necessary.’ Her tone implied that this was not a welcome line of questioning.
Otto wondered what would constitute a good reason to be given permission to leave the island.
‘Has anyone ever escaped from the island?’ Otto knew that he was probably pushing his luck with a question like that, but he wanted to see the Contessa’s reaction.
‘It’s not escaping, it’s truancy, and we take a dim view of truancy, Mr Malpense, a very dim view indeed,’ the Contessa replied sharply, visibly annoyed.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Otto thought, sensing her irritation.
‘You didn’t answer my question, has anyone –’
‘You should be careful, Mr Malpense,’ she interrupted, cutting him off, ‘people might think you are not keen to stay with us here.’ Again, her eyes narrowed. ‘There’s nothing else you need to know, is there?’
There was – Otto had a hundred questions he wanted to ask – but suddenly it was as if they had all vanished from his head. And there was that faint whispering again. He looked at Wing, who was wearing the faintly confused expression of someone who knew they had forgotten something and was trying very hard to remember exactly what it was.
‘Anyone else?’ The Contessa suddenly seemed slightly less friendly. A girl with long blonde hair on the opposite side of the table raised her hand tentatively. The Contessa nodded at her, and the girl sat up straighter in her chair.
‘Do we have to have awful overalls like those kids in the movie?’ She was American, and from her disapproving tone it was clear that she was not going to be happy if jumpsuits were the extent of her wardrobe for the next six years.
‘All students wear this uniform, yes,’ the Contessa replied. ‘There are variations to indicate year and stream, but otherwise they are identical. You will find that the opportunities for shopping for more fashionable outfits are rather limited in our current location.’
The girl’s face fell and she slumped back in her chair, arms folded.
A pretty red-haired girl with a Scottish accent on the opposite side of the table had a question. ‘What’s a stream? You mentioned it just now.’ Otto seemed to remember wanting to ask the same question himself, but he was still feeling oddly confused after speaking to the Contessa.
‘Well, the school is split into different streams that specialise in the teaching and training of certain disciplines. You, for example, are from the Alpha stream, which specialises in leadership and strategy training. There are three other streams within H.I.V.E. – the Henchman stream, the Technical stream and the Political/Financial stream. Many classes are taught to all streams but there are some that are reserved specifically for students from certain groups. All streams are identified by the colouring of their uniforms – black for you, the Alpha students, blue for the henchmen, white for the technical and grey for the political/financial. I know that this may seem a little complicated now, but rest assured that after a few weeks here it will all be second nature to you.’
Another hand went up, this time belonging to a fat blond-haired boy who seemed to wheeze slightly as he spoke.
‘Will we be eating soon?’ he asked, a slight note of desperation in his voice. ‘I feel that I am becoming weaker.’ He had a strong German accent.
The Contessa beamed a smile at him. ‘You must be Heinrich Argentblum’s son, you remind me very much of him when he was your age.’
The boy’s tiny eyes lit up at this. ‘Ja, I am Franz Argentblum. You are knowing my father?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Indeed. He is a former pupil of H.I.V.E., but he left before we moved the school to its current location. So you are to continue in your father’s line of work, then?’ the Contessa asked.
‘Ja, we are now the largest manufacturer of chocolate in all of Europe.’ He smiled happily.
What he did not realise was that his father was not just a chocolate magnate, but also one of the most powerful criminal masterminds in all of Europe. Franz was clearly going to be kept as far away from the chocolate side of the business as possible. In fact it would probably be best to just keep him as far away from chocolate as possible, full stop.
‘I am sure you will prove to be an excellent student,’ the Contessa replied.
As long as the gym teacher knows CPR, thought Otto.
‘In answer to your question,’ she continued, ‘you will all join the rest of the students for lunch in two hours. Today you will be given your introductory tour and receive your uniforms.’ Judging by the dismayed expression on Franz’s face, two hours might as well be two years.
‘Anyway, enough questions for now. Let’s see if we cannot find you all some more suitable attire.’ The Contessa rose from her chair, her magnificent hair making her seem taller than she actually was. She indicated another door at the back of the room. ‘Please follow me to the Quartermaster, where you shall receive your uniforms.’
As they moved towards the exit. Otto was finally starting to think clearly again. He had never felt such an unusual sensation of confusion – almost like amnesia – and it was not a feeling that he had any desire to experience again. Wing stood up slowly next to him, rubbing his temples.
‘A most unpleasant sensation.’ Wing looked unsettled for the first time since the two of them had met. ‘I feel almost as if I have just woken from a deep sleep.’
‘It’s obviously not a good idea to ask too many of the wrong kinds of questions around here,’ Otto replied. He had little doubt that he and Wing had both been the victims of the same sudden loss of memory, and he was sure that the Contessa was responsible. He just didn’t know how she had done it. ‘Perhaps we should just keep our eyes open and our mouths shut for now. We don’t want someone deciding to press our mental reset buttons again.’ He glanced over towards the exit and noticed that the Contessa was watching both of them carefully. Smiling, she walked towards them as the rest of the group assembled by the doors.
‘Come along, you two. We haven’t got all day. You both look rather confused. Is all of this a little overwhelming for you?’
Otto looked her straight in the eye. ‘Yes,’ he said smiling. ‘You seem to have taken the words right out of my mouth, Contessa.’
The Contessa looked hard at Otto, eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Oh, I can do much worse than that, Mr Malpense, believe me.’ They stood staring at each other for a couple of seconds before the smile magically reappeared on her face and she turned back to the rest of the group. ‘Come along, children. As usual at H.I.V.E. we have much to do and not enough time.’ And with that she opened the doors and swept out of the room.
Wing watched her leave and turned to Otto. ‘My father once told me that only the foolish man pulls on the tiger’s tail as it dangles from the tree.’ It was the first time that Otto had seen him smile.
Otto grinned at Wing. ‘True, but how else do you find out if it’s a tiger at all?’
They walked out on to a wide catwalk that curved off into the distance around the walls of another enormous floodlit cavern. Far below them, the cavern floor was covered by an octagonal-glass-panelled dome which appeared to be filled with hundreds of rows of different plants and trees. Above them, an ancient formation of huge stalactites hung from the cavern ceiling like an upside-down forest, glittering in the floodlights.
‘H.I.V.E. is an almost entirely self-sufficient facility,’ the Contessa explained, gesturing to the strange structure below. ‘The Hydroponics facility you can see here is used to grow many different kinds of plants, some of which are used to satisfy our own food requirements and some of which have different, more . . . exotic properties.’
She moved off along the catwalk, the group in tow. Otto realised that there must be hundreds, if not thousands, of people on the island, and surely not all of their food supplies could be produced here. Which meant that there must be some way of secretly ferrying large shipments of supplies to the island, even if they hadn’t seen it yet.
The Contessa continued along the catwalk, her heels clicking on the metal, the group dutifully following along behind her.
‘I wonder how it was possible to build such a facility without attracting the attention of others?’ Wing asked, looking around the interior of the cavern. ‘Such construction would surely require many hundreds of workers. How could such a project be kept secret?’
‘Perhaps they never left the island when construction was complete,’ Otto replied.
Wing raised an eyebrow. ‘A true job for life.’
‘Or a life for a job,’ Otto countered. He wouldn’t be at all surprised, given the emphasis on total secrecy, if H.I.V.E. offered an ‘aggressive’ retirement package for lower level employees. Here, being fired was probably a term that was taken a little too literally.
They turned into a corridor that branched off from the catwalk, burrowing into the rock. They were descending now and it was not long before they came out into another smaller cave that seemed to serve as a junction with corridors leading from it in all directions. As they moved towards the centre of the cave a bizarre sound blared out, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
MWAH, MWAAAAH, MWAH!!!!
It sounded like three notes being played on a trumpet, very loudly.
And then all hell broke loose.
Children started to stream out of the corridors, chattering and laughing. They all wore the colour-coded jumpsuits that the Contessa had talked about but that was the only thing uniform about them. Dr Nero had said that the students came from all over the world, and he was not exaggerating. Every skin tone, hairstyle, shape and size seemed to be represented in the crowd, and the range of different accents that Otto could make out was staggering. The snatches of conversation that he could overhear were not particularly normal either.
‘. . . why we need to learn lockpicking when we have plastic explosives . . .’
‘. . . and he says “Plutonium?” and we all started laughing . . .’
‘. . . a sub-orbital trajectory should be sufficient . . .’
‘. . . push him in the tank myself one day . . .’
‘. . . and he said my laugh wasn’t evil enough, so I said . . .’
Otto’s bewildered group could do nothing but huddle together in the centre of the junction, a tiny stunned island, as the H.I.V.E. pupils swept around them like a river.
Wide-eyed and without uniforms, they attracted the interest of some of the passing students. Some just pointed, nudging their friends and laughing, some smiled and a couple even waved as they passed. However, most of the passing throng seemed oblivious to their presence and soon, just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. In less than a minute silence had returned. The Contessa turned to address the group.
‘As you can see, punctuality is something that is taken seriously at H.I.V.E. There is no room for tardiness. Besides, you would not want to be caught by the hall monitors without a pass.’ As if on cue, a troop of guards marched through the cave, eyeing the group with suspicion.
A shaky voice piped up from the back of the group from a small, nervous-looking bald boy with thick glasses.
‘Why do the guards have guns?’ he asked timidly.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t worry.’ The Contessa gave him a reassuring smile. ‘They are here for your protection – you have nothing to fear from them.’ She paused. ‘As long as you don’t break school rules, of course. Besides, they aren’t normal sidearms. Observe . . .’
She turned to the passing squad of guards.
‘You there.’ She pointed to the guard at the head of the group, who stopped, bringing the rest of the squad to a halt. ‘Give me your weapon.’
Otto noticed that the guard suddenly looked very nervous. He marched over to the Contessa, opening his holster, and passed her what looked like a very large pistol, with an unusually fat barrel.
‘Thank you.’ The Contessa smiled at the guard. ‘You may go and draw another weapon from the stores at the end of your patrol.’
The guard, who was clearly relieved at this dismissal, turned and marched smartly back towards his squad. Without warning, the Contessa raised the gun, pointed it at the back of the retreating guard and pulled the trigger. Simultaneously there was a flash, a zapping sound and a small shockwave that seemed to distort the air, hitting the guard square in the back. He fell to the ground like a puppet that had had its strings cut, completely limp. Several of the children gave startled cries and Otto noticed the other guards edging nervously away from their fallen comrade.
‘This is a phased stun pulse weapon or, as the guards prefer to call them, a sleeper. It fires an energy pulse that causes no lasting physical harm to the target but renders them instantly and completely unconscious for up to eight hours. This technology was developed recently by H.I.V.E.’s own scientists in order to replace the rather outdated tranquilliser dart guns which the guards used to carry. The sleeper is much more reliable, and I am told that the only adverse side effect is a rather nasty headache. They are even designed so they cannot be fired by someone who does not have clearance to do so. So you see, you have nothing to be afraid of.’
Oh no, thought Otto, just squads of hired goons wandering around with experimental energy weapons. Nothing to be afraid of at all. He noticed Wing eyeing the weapon warily, frowning slightly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Otto whispered.
‘I encountered men carrying those weapons shortly before I was brought here. You do not wish to be shot with one, believe me.’ Wing’s frown deepened.
‘I think I already have been,’ Otto replied. ‘At least that zapping sound is the last thing I remember before waking up on the helicopter.’ The splitting headache he’d had when he’d woken up also seemed to support this theory.
The Contessa gestured casually to the crumpled figure of the unconscious guard.
‘Take him back to his quarters, and when he wakes be sure to thank him on my behalf for providing such an effective demonstration.’ Two guards stepped forward, picked up their fallen squad-mate and, supporting him between them, chased after the rest of their squad, who were marching out of the cave rather more quickly than they had marched into it.
‘Now, we really must hurry to the Quartermaster and get you all dressed more appropriately. Come along.’ The Contessa set off along one of the corridors with the group in pursuit.