The Terminal Experiment - Robert J. Sawyer Page 0,81
user log, Hobson, Peter G.,” said Sarkar.
A list of dates and times appeared on the screen. Sarkar slapped his hand against the table top. “See that? Node 999? Diagnostic mode. Your account was used, but accessed internally—from inside the system.”
“Damn!” Peter leaned into the mike. “Login.”
“Login name?” said the computer.
“Fobson.”
“Hello, Peter. Should I terminate your other session?”
“What other session?”
“You are logged on here at node 001 and also at node 999.”
Sarkar leaned forward. “Yes,” said Peter. “Absolutely. Terminate session at node 999.”
“Logoff failure.”
“Damn,” said Peter. He turned to Sarkar. “Can that other session override this one?”
“No. The most-recent login takes precedence.”
“Okay,” said Peter, rubbing his hands together. “Reference directories and files previously specified by Sarkar. Unlock attributes.”
“Password?”
“Password: Mugato.”
“Incorrect password.”
“Password: Sybok.”
“Incorrect password.”
“Dammit,” said Peter. He looked to Sarkar. “Those are the only two passwords I ever use.”
Sarkar exhaled noisily. “They’re not going to let us erase them.”
“Can we take this system offline?”
Sarkar nodded and spoke into the microphone. “Initiate shutdown.”
“Jobs are currently running. Confirm command?”
“Yes. Initiate shutdown.”
“Password?”
“Password: Abu—”
The red light on the microphone winked off. Sarkar slammed his palm against the console again. “They’ve shut off voice input.”
“Christ,” said Peter.
“This is silly,” said Sarkar, angrily. “We can still pull the physical plug.” He reached for the phone, dialed a three-digit extension.
“Maintenance,” said a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello,” said Sarkar. “I know it is late, but this is Dr. Muhammed speaking. We are, ah, having a little difficulty up here. I need you to cut all power to our computing facility.”
“Cut it, sir?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay,” she said. “It’ll take a few minutes. You’re aware, though, that your data-processing department is on a UPS—you know, an uninterruptable power supply. It’ll run on batteries for a while.”
“How long?”
“If everything’s turned on, only six or seven minutes—just enough to weather any short blackout.”
“Can you disconnect the UPS?”
“Sure, if you like. It’ll have to be physically unplugged; I can’t turn it off from down here. I’m the only one on duty right now. Can I get someone to do it for you tomorrow?”
“This is an emergency,” said Sarkar. “Can you come up and show us how to do it? I’ve someone here with me if it’s warm bodies you need.”
“Okay. You want me to cut the mains before I come up?”
“No—we’ll cut them after the UPS is disconnected.” He covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Peter. “That means everything will go off at once, without giving the sims any warning.”
Peter nodded.
“Whatever you say, sir,” said the maintenance person. “Give me a few minutes, then I’ll be up.” Sarkar put down the phone.
“What will you do once the power is off?” asked Peter.
Sarkar was already on the floor, trying to remove an access panel from underneath the computer console. “Take out the optical drives and hook them up to a test bench. I can zap data on a bit-by-bit basis, if need be, using a Norton laser, so—”
The phone rang.
“Can you get that?” Sarkar said, struggling with a stubborn wing-nut.
The video phone’s screen displayed a notice that the incoming call was audio-only. Peter picked up the handset. “Hello?”
There was staticky silence for about two seconds, then an obviously synthesized voice came on. “Hel-lo,” it said.
Peter felt himself flush with anger. He hated computerized telephone solicitations. He was in the process of slamming down the receiver when he heard the next word, “Peter.”
In the split second before the handset hit the cradle, he realized that even if the soliciting computer was working from an online phone directory, there’s no way a stranger would expect to find him at this number. He stopped short and pulled the receiver back to his face.
“Who is this?” he said. He glanced down at the lights on the phone deskset. This wasn’t a call being transferred internally; it was coming over an outside line.
“It’s,” said the voice, dull and mechanical, “you.”
Peter held the handset in front of his face, looking at it as if it were a serpent.
More words came from the earpiece, each one separated from the next by a small, static-filled space. “Surely you didn’t expect us to stay cooped up on that small workstation?”
THE MAINTENANCE PERSON arrived a few minutes later, carrying a toolbox. Sarkar looked up at her, turmoil plain, at least to Peter’s eyes, on Sarkar’s face.
“All set?” she said.
“Ah, no,” said Sarkar. “Sorry to have dragged you up here. We, ah, don’t need to disconnect the UPS anymore, or to cut the mains.”