Council of Evil (6 page)

Jake drew a blank, and shook his head. What could it be? The flying, the force field, and the radioactive blasts had materialized without any conscious effort from Jake, so why hadn't the fourth?

Another set of thunderous steps brought the machine closer, and another blast clipped the edge of the doorway.

“Time is running out, Hunter. I hadn't factored this into my plan. Think quickly.”

The clipped sentences reminded Jake of his math teacher, Mr. Rutledge, who always took great delight in embarrassing him in front of the class by asking him the answers to impossible problems. The world already had enough Mr. Rutledges, and Jake hoped he'd have these powers one day in class so he could use them against the creep.

Jake was so consumed by his vision of extracting revenge on his math teacher that he didn't realize he had caused his fourth power to manifest.

“Jake! Look at your hands!” said Basilisk.

Jake held them up. They appeared to be wet, with a liquid dripping from every pore. A drop landed on Basilisk's arm with a hiss as it burned into his stone skin.

“Acid,” Jake said in surprise.

He quickly moved his hands so as not to burn Basilisk any further, and extended them away from his own body. Jake took a deep breath and jumped back into the corridor.

RoboSoldier was halfway down the passageway, its head twisted toward Jake. Jake stretched his fingers as he held his hands aloft, and twin globs of acid spat from his palms. One globule hit the mechanoid's chest and instantly began chewing the armor away in a cloud of hissing smoke. Jake's second shot struck across the robot's visor—just as he saw it flare with energy.

The acid melted the eye slit on contact—at the precise moment RoboSoldier primed and fired its laser. With no visor opening, the laser blew apart the machine's head from the inside. The headless body staggered a few steps, but with its guidance processors fried it could do nothing else but topple over like a drunk, smashing a dozen floor tiles.

Jake took in his victory openmouthed, then looked at
his hands, which had returned to normal. “Awesome,” he murmured under his breath.

Basilisk strode past him, confident once again. The knot of scientists at the end of the corridor cowered and raised their hands in surrender as their eyes darted from Basilisk to their defeated guardian.

“Now tell me,” rumbled Basilisk, his eyes flaring a malevolent blue, “where is the Core Probe?”

A bespectacled scientist pushed his way defiantly forward. “You'll never have it! It is in the vault, and nobody will supply you with
that
code!”

Basilisk grabbed the man by the neck, and lifted him off his feet. The scientist gurgled and thumped Basilisk's arm. The villain ensured everybody was watching, and then his eyes flared brightly from within the recesses of the hood.

With a cracking noise the scientist's skin took on the same dull sheen as Basilisk's own hands, and his thrashing limbs became rigid. The man was being petrified—turned to stone in front of everyone. Jake jumped at a noise like a balloon bursting, as the scientist suddenly turned to fine dust in Basilisk's hand. The charcoal powder and tiny stone fragments washed over the startled witnesses.

Jake thought about what he'd just seen. That explained the gray ash throughout the complex; the guards had never stood a chance. He felt a chill run through him. This was a level of violence that he'd never
encountered before. When he actually calmed down enough to realize what he was doing, he felt a panic attack coming on, and his thoughts briefly turned to Scuffer and his destructive nature.

“So, who wants to open the vault for me?” Basilisk asked pleasantly, as if he were ordering food in a restaurant.

The terrified scientists all offered. Anything to get out of this predicament alive.

Basilisk had ordered Jake to be rear guard as he selected one of the scientists, a petite Indian woman, to lead the way. Jake frowned but complied; he really didn't like the way Basilisk told him what to do.

Told
, not
asked
.

They entered a huge circular development chamber that was equipped with computers, scopes, and screens for projects unfathomable to Jake. He remained silent and watched over the scientists, who were clearly too scared to show any bravado.

The woman keyed in a code on a small keypad adjacent to a huge circular vault door. Pneumatic rams slammed into place, drawing open the ten-foot-thick bombproof door like a cork being pulled from a wine bottle. Inside the vault stood the Core Probe, supported on a wheeled frame so it could be moved around the lab.

At first glance, the device resembled a ten-foot-tall thimble, with the curved underside pointing down. But on closer inspection the curve was a giant glasslike bowl with an array of lasers behind it, all pointing at the convex surface. The exterior surface of the probe was covered in heat-resistant matte-black tiles, with a dozen caterpillar tracks running the length of the machine to give it traction beneath the earth.

Basilisk ordered the scientists to wheel the probe out of the vault and toward a set of loading doors on the far side of the lab. The petite woman rested her hand on another keypad mounted on the loading doors, but hesitated as though debating whether she should open it. All Basilisk had to do was stand behind her; his shadow was enough to prompt her into entering the code.

Outside, Basilisk's SkyKar was hovering over a circular helicopter landing pad. On Basilisk's orders the scientists attached the Core Probe to a harness dangling from the vehicle's underbelly.

“A job well done, Hunter,” said Basilisk. “Do you want to deal with the witnesses, or should I?”

Jake wondered how many people Basilisk had killed to get this device. Was it worth all the carnage? Jake would gladly step into a fair fight and cause untold damage—but he drew the line at killing. Was that what it took to be successful? He looked at the frightened group and nodded.

“I'll sort it out.”

Basilisk grunted his approval and soared up to the cockpit of the SkyKar. Jake swallowed hard and turned to face the prisoners, and he hoped his nervousness didn't show.

“All of you, get in the lab. NOW,” he bellowed in his most threatening voice. The scientists shuffled back through the loading-bay doors. He followed the group into the lab and closed the doors behind him, giving a quick nod to Basilisk, who was watching intently from the SkyKar.

Jake turned to the pale faces. The warm seep of the radiation pulsed through him, powered by his fear rather than anger.

The scientists' lives were in his hands.

The return journey was a little slower due to the additional weight of the Core Probe slung beneath the SkyKar.

Jake was too wrapped up in his thoughts to acknowledge Basilisk's occasional compliment about Jake's villainy. He tried to shake the thoughts from his mind that people had just died. The fighting was a lot of fun, but completely beyond the realms of normality, which had made it seem like a game. Yet people had lost their lives. The more Jake thought about the last twenty-four hours, the more confused he felt. He wanted some answers. Halfway through the flight he couldn't bottle up the questions any longer.

“Who are you? In the real world, I mean. Or what are you? And why did you give me these powers?” A hundred other thoughts rattled through his mind, but he knew there was no time for them now.

Basilisk gave a low chuckle. “Only now do you ask? Incredible. You have flown, battled a robotic soldier, and fired radiation blasts from your hands, and not once did you question your abilities.”

Jake thought about that. Of course the “how and why” had been floating through his mind, but the sheer thrill of his adventure had pushed them aside.

“As I said before, Hunter: this is all in your blood. I've been watching you for some time, and what you have done is something you find very natural, I wager.”

Jake felt uncomfortable that Basilisk may have been spying on him. Had he been following Jake to see if he had what it took to be a criminal? Was this some kind of test? But he had to admit that wielding the powers took little effort, as though he had been able to do it his whole life.

Basilisk continued, talking over Jake's thoughts. “As to who I am, isn't it obvious?”

“Sure, you're a guy who likes dressing up and has a Web site that gives me superpowers. Even I know that's not normal.”

“The costume or the powers? I am what the authorities like to call a supervillain.”

Jake was expecting that answer, but it still felt odd to hear it and he tried to suppress a grin. “Like in the movies? Threatening to conquer the world?”

“Exactly. Where do you think they get those ideas? It's been happening throughout history. Real life is the best form of inspiration. A film producer once modeled his main villain after me.”

Jake frowned. “What was the film?”

“Let's just say there was no sequel,” Basilisk replied ominously. “There used to be many of us, each with separate plans for domination, blackmail, destruction, and revenge. Each of us who remains still wants power in some shape or form.”

“That must get complicated. Don't you ever end up crossing paths or having the same ideas?”

Basilisk grunted. Jake had a feeling he'd touched a nerve. It was several seconds before Basilisk continued. “Our numbers are thinning, and we saw that by banding together we could recruit others to our way of life. We tried a variety of recruitment methods, but they failed to work. We moved to cyberspace and tried to recruit that way, but our techniques were primitive and had to be scrapped. Then Villain.net was born from those digital ashes. The perfect lure for young, impressionable minds, don't you think?”

“How many more of you bad guys are there still around?”

“I think you mean ‘us' bad guys. But ‘bad' is such a clichéd black-and-white view of the world. We just have different opinions. And when those opinions conflict with the majority's cherished beliefs, then they label us as ‘the bad guys.'”

“But what about good and evil?”

“It is not a battle between good and evil, there is no such thing. It is merely a battle of wills, a battle for
power. Those who are brave and smart enough will win it. When countries go to war how can one be good and one be evil? The populations of those countries both think that they're on the side of justice. Would you consider yourself evil?”

Jake hesitated as he thought back to the horrified look on the scientists' faces when he had set the Institute alight. He had made sure they all escaped through the far door, though. He might be many things, but he wasn't a killer. He just hoped Basilisk hadn't seen what he had done.

“Of course I'm not evil,” retorted Jake.

“No? You're a warrior. People fear you. You bring much misery to the ordinary folk around you and you enjoy the power, don't you? Power over those scared kids in school; power over your sister.” Jake glanced askance at him: so he knew he had a sister. How much more did this creep know about him? “Power over those scientists' lives.”

Jake had to admit, it did feel good.

“Power is what Villain.net is all about. I have ambitions to rule the world, shape it in my image. But so did Napoleon, and that did not make him bad.”

“So did Hitler,” answered Jake, thankful that
some
of his history lessons had sunk in.

“But at the time many saw Hitler as a hero, the man who would revive Germany. They never saw the darker
side until it was too late. History is shaped by the winners, never the losers.”

Something occurred to Jake. “So are there super-heroes too?”

Basilisk growled derisively. “According to the authorities, yes. The Invisible Brigade among them, so-called goodies even though they will stop at nothing to get what they want either. But they do it under the banner of ‘law and order.'” Basilisk thumped the dashboard with his fist, his knuckles leaving an indent.

“And these heroes have the same powers?”

“Similar powers, not quite the same. They want to shape the world in their own image just as much as we do. There is an old saying: Who polices the police?”

That made logical sense to Jake. But before he could flip the thought around, Basilisk continued.

“You have proved that your potential is vast.”

Once again Jake felt an unexpected surge of pride. He was beginning to regard Basilisk in a different light. He understood his thirst for power. That thirst, on a much smaller scale, was what normally propelled Jake through each day.

“So who were you before you became Basilisk? Surely you had a real name?”

Basilisk turned his shadowed gaze on Jake for a moment as though contemplating telling him. “I was once Scott Baker, from Canberra, Australia. I was in the army
and had an accident that triggered my latent powers.” Basilisk said it as though he was reading from a script.

That seemed to be all the biography Jake was getting for the moment. He thought about the fact that Basilisk didn't have an Australian accent, but decided not to bring it up. He looked out of the window; it was once again dark outside. “Where are we going now?”

“You are going home, as we agreed.”

“Home? Why?” Just his luck. The moment he found something fun to do, something happened to end it. “I want to stay with you!”

“You will see me again in a couple of days, rest assured. But for now we cannot raise suspicions. If you stay away from home for too long, then your parents will call the police. That is something we dare not risk at the start of an operation.”

“But I don't even know what the operation is! You haven't told me.”

“At the moment, the less you know the better. It's for security. Believe me, even now some do-gooder will be probing around the technology institute we just destroyed, looking for clues. Fortunately, with no survivors, they will have little to go on.”