James Axler - Downrigger Drift

“Too hard to move him that way. Besides, do you really think Doc could hang upside down and hand-overhand it all the way down here like we did?” Ryan didn’t even mention Krysty, and as he stared back at J.B., he knew he didn’t have to mention Mildred either. “Nope, all of us are gettin’ out, one way or another. We’ve just got to figure out which way to go.”

J.B. sat in one of the dusty chairs and propped his feet up on the desk. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Ryan whirled, his ears straining. “What did you say?”

J.B. shrugged. “I said—”

Ryan held up his hand. “No, it wasn’t that, not exactly. I heard something else when you sat down, a noise, beep of some kind.”

The smaller man swung his legs off the desk, then his eyes widened as he saw the top of the flat console. “Look at this.”

Ryan walked over and was as surprised as his friend. The formerly blank, black surface had lit up under the pressure of the J.B.’s feet, and now showed long, horizontal rectangle, a nine-digit numeric touchpad, each button containing a row of three letters and a number. A single directive was next to it, followed by a small, blinking line: Enter Passcode:

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.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the screen flashed a brilliant, deep blue and a new menu appeared.

Access Granted

Welcome To Fort McCoy Redoubt Main Menu

1) Operations

2) Programs

3) Security

4) Maintenance

5) Matter Transfer/Enter Passcode To Access

“Looks like number five is out.” J.B. noted.

“Yeah.” Ryan ground his teeth in frustration. In every base they’d jumped to, he had always been on the lookout for more information on the mat-trans units. How they worked, and more importantly, how a person could control where they jumped.

He’d come close a few times. Once, in an abandoned space station high above the planet, he’d had to leave a file full of documents behind just as the station comp began its self-destruct sequence. Another time, in the desert of what had been New Mex, he’d run into Major Drake Burroughs, from predark, who knew how to direct the jumps, sending a squad after Ryan and his companions when they escaped captivity. Someday, Ryan wanted to go back there and find out exactly what Burroughs knew. But that was another day…

Right now he still needed to figure out what to do about the elevator. They’d been lucky enough getting into the general system—trying to guess the passcode to access the mat-trans info would be like firing a bullet into the air blindfolded and still expecting to hit your target.

Wiping his forehead, which was now damp with sweat, Ryan ran his finger down the choices. “Security’s probably passcoded as well—they never trust anyone. Mebbe maintenance?”

“Good as any.”

Ryan hit number four, leading to yet another menu:

Maintenance Menu

1) General

2) Area

3) Room

4) Matter Transfer/Enter Passcode To Access

5) Other

Ryan sighed. “Feels like we’re wading two steps forward in shit, only to slip one step back.”

“Already done that today. Keep going. I think you’re almost there. Try number five. Mebbe we can tell it to unlock the sec code on the elevator.”

Ryan pressed the button. This made the console change again. Now a keyboard appeared, along with the usual horizontal rectangle, and a command: Enter Maintenance Task

Ryan looked at J.B. again, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one talking to it.”

“Some help you are.” Holding his breath, Ryan stabbed keys: Repair Matter Transfer Elevator.

The screen flashed, and more text appeared: System Diagnostic Running Matter Transfer Elevator Operating Normally. Last Inspection Of Matter Transfer Elevator Performed On 9/10/2000. Elevator Inspection Overdue. Do You Wish To Send Elevator To Maintenance Level For Visual Inspection?