Читать книгу Downrigger Drift - James Axler - Страница 12

Instinctively, Ryan edged back a bit, J.B. right beside him. Although he didn’t fear anything living on this hell-blasted planet—after all, if it breathed, he could chill it—the soulless machines created by the predark whitecoats were something else entirely. Often just one breath away from a malfunction, they had to be handled with extreme care just to keep them running.

Ryan had seen plenty of comps shut down in showers of bright sparks or go what passed for crazy when touched. In the back of his mind, he feared one of these days the incomprehensible machines controlling the mat-trans would malfunction and tear them apart molecule by molecule. If that ever happened, he hoped he’d already be unconscious before it started.

Shaking away the thought, he returned to the here and now, staring at the glowing countertop.

J.B. rubbed his chin as he studied the machine. “Never saw anything like this before. What do you think?”

Part of Ryan wanted to have nothing to do with the strange console, but he also understood it might be the way to fix that elevator—if they could make it work. “Guess we should enter something.”

“No shit. What’d you have in mind?”

That question was worth all the jack in the world, or at least the way out of this nightmare tunnel, which would be just as good. What would the passcode be? What word or numeric string would be the magic key to unlock this thing’s secrets?

Tentatively Ryan reached toward the console, his fingers hovering above it. “If each button represents a letter…”

His index finger stabbed the button with the letter c.

A small, black dot appeared in the rectangle.

Ryan slowly tapped out the rest of his guess, one button at a time: e-r-b-e-r-u-s.

Nothing happened. Ryan noticed the lowermost right button on the pad, marked enter, was flashing.

“Mebbe this’ll do it.”

He pressed the flashing button.

The entire screen flashed bright red, startling both of them. New letters appeared on the screen: Invalid Passcode Please Try Again

“At least it’s polite.” J.B. noted.

“Yeah, but not enough to let us in easy. You got any ideas?”

“How about the entire program name, you know, Project Cerberus.”

“Yeah, that might work.” More confidently, Ryan pressed the buttons to spell out the word, then pressed the enter button again.

The screen flashed red again, and the warning appeared again, with more writing: Invalid Passcode Please Try Again Warning: Third Failed Attempt Will Result In Activation Of Security Procedures/Automatic Lockdown Mode.

J.B.’s face darkened. “I don’t like that.”

“It probably doesn’t mean anything. It might just try to summon long-dead guards.”

“Or it might gas us and the others in the elevator. Or seal all the doors and pump all the air out till we black out and die.”

The Armorer’s bleak scenarios stopped Ryan’s finger as it was about to touch the surface again. He took a step back and racked his brain, trying to do the impossible—think like a whitecoat.

The majority of the men and women claiming to be scientists that Ryan had encountered during his travels often had a few things in common. They were highly intelligent and inbred, often living sequestered from the rest of the population in hidden laboratory redoubts. They were usually very dedicated to their work, whatever it might be, often bordering on passion—or mania.

And they were often crazier than shithouse rats.

“The code would be most likely be something simple, easy to enter, easy to remember. Something you could punch in almost without thinking—”

His breath caught in his throat. “Could it be that bastard easy?” he whispered. No sooner did he think it than his fingers stabbed the buttons—3-5-2

The general access code to open the doors of the redoubts.

“Here goes nothing….”

Tensing, Ryan pressed the enter button.