‘Try Argos,’ Nick Christopher suggested. Hepton typed in the letters.
Incorrect password. Please try again.
Hepton snarled, then typed in FUCK YOU and pressed the keyboard’s return button.
Fuck you too, 762, came the onscreen reply.
‘I hate computers with an inbuilt sense of humour,’ Christopher commented. Then he touched Hepton’s shoulder. Hepton looked up and saw that a security guard had entered the room. The guard stopped and held a murmured conversation with one of the new controllers. Hepton didn’t like this one bit. He reached around the side of the computer screen and turned the brightness and contrast knobs as low as they would go, blacking out the screen. Then he turned to Christopher. The guard was looking in their direction now.
‘Does that guard know you?’ Hepton whispered.
‘I’ve seen him around,’ Nick said, trying hard not to sound nervous.
‘Yes, but has he seen you around?’
‘We’ve nodded to one another in the corridor.’
‘Does he know your name?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. We’re not that close.’
Hepton’s hand went to his trousers and unclipped the ID badge, slipping it into the pocket. ‘Do you have a name badge?’ he whispered. As well as the official ID, some of the staff owned larger, rectangular badges made from stiffened card and boasting name only. These had been given out at the beginning of the Zephyr project, a stopgap until the proper IDs had been made. But Nick had held onto his, finding its inverted mistake — CHRISTOPHER NICHOLAS — amusing. He reached into his shirt pocket now, brought out the badge and laid it in the palm of Hepton’s hand. Pretending to fuss with his keyboard, Hepton attached the badge prominently to his own shirt.
A moment later, the guard confronted them.
‘Yes?’ Hepton asked imperiously. The guard stared at the name tag, then at Nick, whose face he recognised. He seemed confused, shook his head.
‘Nothing, sorry,’ he said, moving away again. Hepton watched from the corner of his eye as the guard said a few reassuring words to the controller, then left the room. He sighed and turned the screen back on. He was still no further forward. He stared upwards, seeking inspiration, and found himself gazing into the single black lens of a video camera, angled into the room from one corner.
‘Shit!’ he said. ‘I forgot about that.’
‘About what?’
‘That camera.’ Its red light was on, too. There was no doubt about it: it was beaming his picture back to security. Perhaps he had even less time than he had thought. He stared around the room. Two controllers were laughing over a photo in the newspaper...
Newspaper!
‘Nick,’ he said, ‘do you still do those crosswords?’
‘Yes, why?’ Nick Christopher sounded scared: he had an inkling now that this was all very serious after all.
‘Got a thesaurus?’
‘Sure. Stay there.’ As if Hepton were going to leave! A moment later, he returned with a large paperback book.
‘Look up zephyr for me,’ Hepton ordered.
Christopher started flipping through pages. ‘Why zephyr?’ he asked.
‘Because I don’t suppose Argos will be in there, and we’ve already used coffin.’
‘Okay.’ Christopher had found zephyr in the index, and now sought the correct section. ‘Three-five-two,’ he said to himself. ‘Right, here we are.’ He held open the book, his hands tense, as though he might at any moment tear the pages in half.
‘Start at the top,’ commanded Hepton.
‘“Breeze”,’ Christopher read.
Hepton typed the word in: incorrect.
‘“Breath of air”.’
Hepton was dubious, but typed it anyway: incorrect.
‘Next,’ he said.
‘“Waft”, “whiff”, “puff”, “gust”...’
Hepton entered all four individually: incorrect.
‘Damn this thing!’ he cursed.
One of the older operatives came up to the console.
‘Hi, Martin,’ he said. ‘What happened to the holiday?’
‘Just clearing things up, Gary,’ Hepton said, his grin as tight as a rictus.
Gary took a look at the screen.
‘It’s a game,’ said Christopher grimly. Gary sensed that he wasn’t wanted.
‘That’s nice,’ he said, moving away. Hepton watched him go.
‘Next,’ he said.
Christopher had lost his place. There was a pause while he found it.
‘Next!’ Hepton hissed.
‘Jesus, Martin, I’m doing my best. Hold on, here we are. “Capful of wind”.’
Hepton stared at him, saw he was serious and shook his head. Then tapped the letters in anyway. Incorrect.
‘“Light breeze”, “fresh breeze”, “stiff breeze”,’ Christopher concluded, closing the book with a thump.
‘That’s it?’ Hepton asked.
‘That’s it.’
‘Okay.’ Hepton thought hard, seeking another way.
‘What about a dictionary?’ Christopher suggested.
Hepton nodded vigorously, then, while the large red book was being fetched, rubbed at his aching temples. Time was rushing by. Soon he would run out of his online allocation, and the satellite’s computer would warn its guardians that someone was attempting to tamper with it. They would try to shut him down right then... that was supposing security didn’t get to him first.
‘Here you go.’
Hepton took the book. There was a mark on the cover where Nick’s palm had left some sweat.
‘What are you looking for?’ Christopher asked.
‘Straws to clutch at,’ muttered Hepton. He turned to the back and found zephyr. ‘“The west wind”,’ he read aloud, ‘“gentle breeze, the god of the west wind”.’ He closed the dictionary and handed it back, then turned to his keyboard. The west wind. Well, what the hell. He started to type.
WEST WIND. Then the return key.
There was a pause, and he held his breath, then: Incorrect password. Please try again.
Nick Christopher cursed quietly, but Hepton was staring at the screen. There had been a pause, a very slight pause, before the computer had responded. As though it were checking... As though it weren’t sure. He typed again, his fingers solid on each plastic key.
WESTWIND. This time with no space. Then the return.
There was another pause, if anything longer than the first, then the screen kicked into life.
Welcome to interlock option on interphase. Do you wish to:
1. Change interlock coding?
2. Enter interlock program?
3. Check interlock co-ordinates?
4. Oversee interlock?
5. Disengage interlock?
Nick Christopher sucked in air and leaned lower towards the screen. ‘You’ve done it!’ he gasped.
Hepton almost leapt out of his chair, but gripped its arms with his hands instead. Yes, he was in! He was right there in the nerve centre of the American satellite! He wondered if someone somewhere in a tracking station in the US was watching a screen and beginning to worry. He hoped so. Because he was going to give them a show.
Christopher slapped his back. ‘You clever sod,’ he whispered, his voice trembling. ‘You’ve actually done it.’
‘Now watch this,’ said Hepton. But Nick’s attention had switched to something else. He was looking over towards the far door, his antennae twitching.
‘She’s new,’ he said. ‘Must be part of the skeleton crew. A bit tasty for a skeleton, though. No, wait a second, I’ve seen her before...’