Krysty stared around her, shaking her head. “There must be plans in here of how the redoubt was built. If’n we knew that, we could maybe find how to get out. Or how to wreck it.”
“Take forever.”
“I guess so. But I feel that” She looked down at her feet.
“What is it?”
Krysty grinned. “You know there’s a kind of mutie streak in me, lover. I can feel some vibrations from in here.”
“What? Somebody in here? Can’t be. We been clear round it, and there’s only the one entrance.”
“No. Not that. Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay here, by this microviewer. Keep quiet. Don’t move or speak.”
Ryan did as she asked. He already knew that Krysty had some strange powersexceptional sight and hearing, as well as a doomie’s sensitivity. He watched her, stepping light as a cat, eyes almost closed, head raised as if she were scenting the dulled air. She vanished behind a row of shelves, and he waited, patient, unmoving.
He heard a wheeled ladder being moved, rusted casters squeaking, cabinets opening, drawers slamming shut. Once he heard her coughing as though dust had gotten into her throat.
“This one.”
She held out a flat disk in a laser-scan envelope. There was a seal across it, with a tiny pattern of microcircuits dappled over the top. On the front were the letters TT/ CJ/Ce.
“Why?”
“That’s the one we have to view. I don’t know why, lover. Just try it in the player.”
He took it and broke the seal, sliding the disk into the machine. The red light on the front remained steady, but the screen was stubbornly blank.
“Malfunctioned?” Krysty asked.
“I don’t Ah, here she comes.”
The screen glowed a pallid green, and finally lettering appeared.
Access denied. Refer to subcode CJ, all sees. Go to mainframe on limit/inject. Enter code now for reading. Repeat NOW.
Nothing more happened. The words disappeared off the screen, leaving it blank again. Ryan and Krysty looked at each other.
“Don’t like this,” Ryan said.
“Me, neither.”
Then the screen came to life again. Warning. If access reading code not entered in fifteen seconds from message end then all sec services will be notified. Warning ends. Fifteen-second delay begins now. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen
“Time to move on out,” Krysty said.
“Never get beyond the door,” Ryan said. “Looks like this is the time the piss floods the tubes.”
Ten seconds. Warning repeats. Security caution in ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven
“It’s E , then M and finally Y ,” a quiet voice behind them said.
Without even looking around, Ryan punched in the three letters.
Three. Two Access open. Sec warning deleted. Proceed.
“Thanks, Doc,” Ryan said, finally swiveling in the seat to see the old man leaning up against the wall, looking indescribably ancient and bone-weary.
“Pleasure. Didn’t want those faceless goons on top of us.”
“Where’s Lori?” Krysty asked.
“Back in the dormitory. Wasn’t feeling at all up to scratch. So I came wandering. I confess I had a most peculiar feeling I would find you in this place.”
“But what’s?” Ryan began. “And how did?”
“Just key it in,” Doc said quietly.
Krysty leaned over Ryan’s shoulder, her hair brushing against his cheek in a subtle, caressing gesture. She pressed the button marked Run with her index finger.
The code had opened up the secret file, and now the screen glowed once more. Subject. Tanner, Theophilus Algernon. Doctor of Science, Harvard. Doctor of Philosophy, Oxford University, England . There followed a whole string of further qualifications, degrees and honors, many from Europe. The screen scrolled through some forty lines of them.
“Fucking impressive, Doc,” Ryan said. “But there haven’t been any of these college places for a hundred years now. How d’you fake all this?”
Ryan laughed, but Doc Tanner didn’t. He simply leaned against the wall and watched the screen with blank resignation.
Birth date and location. South Strafford, Vermont. February 14, 1868.
Ryan laughed again. “There’s a lot of things in this complex cracking up. 1868.” He stopped. “But it’s wrong all ways. Can’t be 1968. Nor 2068. So ?”
Krysty pressed Query and Repeat.
February 14, 1868.
“Got to be a mistake,” Krysty said doubtfully. “I’ll punch up the portrait.”