“Wow,” said Sarkar. “Wow.”
“And you know that Cathy’s father died recently.”
“Of course. I was very sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not sure I can say the same thing,” said Peter, pausing briefly at a red light.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re suggesting now that his death was murder.”
“Murder!”
“Yes. Both him and Cathy’s coworker.”
“
“I didn’t do it,” said Peter.
“Of course not.”
“But I did want them dead, in a way. And—”
“You’re a suspect?”
“I suppose.”
“But you didn’t do it?”
“No, at least not this version of me.”
“This ver — oh, my goodness.”
“Exactly.”
“Meet me at Mirror Image,” said Sarkar. He clicked off.
Peter moved into the passing lane.
Peter lived closer to Mirror Image than Sarkar himself did. Add to that Peter’s head start and he ended up waiting a good thirty minutes for Sarkar, parked in a lot with only one other car in it.
Sarkar’s Toyota pulled up next to Peter’s Mercedes. Peter was outside his car, leaning against the passenger door.
“The Leafs won,” said Sarkar. “I heard it on the way over.”
An irrelevancy. Sarkar was looking for some stability in the madness. Peter nodded, accepting the comment.
“So you think … you think one of the sims… ?” Sarkar was afraid to speak the thought out loud.
Peter nodded. “Maybe.” They began walking toward the glassed-in entrance to the Mirror Image offices. Sarkar pressed his thumb against the FILE scanner. “There’s proof, apparently, that my father-in-law’s medical records were examined, using an account that belonged to a man I knew at university.”
“Oh.” They were heading down a long corridor. “Still, you would need his password and such.”
“At U of T, they assign account names by adding your first initial to your last name. And for passwords, the default on the first day of classes is always your own last name spelled backward. They tell you to change it, but there’s always some idiot who never does. If a simulation of me was looking for a way into the medical database, it might have tried names at random of med students I’d known back then and seen if any of them still used their old account names and passwords.”
They’d come to Sarkar’s computer lab. He touched his thumb against another FILE scanner. Bolts popped aside and the heavy door slid noisily open. “So now we must turn off the sims,” said Sarkar.
Peter frowned.
“What’s wrong?” said Sarkar.
“I — guess I’m just a bit reluctant to do that,” Peter said. “First, of course, likely only one sim is guilty; the others don’t have to suffer.”
“We don’t have time to play detective. We have to stop this before the guilty sim kills again.”
“But will he kill again? I know why Hans was murdered, and, although I wouldn’t have done the same thing, I can’t honestly say I’m sorry he’s dead. And I even understand why my father-in-law was killed. But there’s no one else I want to see dead. Oh, there are others who have wronged me or ripped me off or made parts of my life miserable, but I honestly don’t wish that any of them were dead.”
Sarkar pantomimed slapping Peter’s face. “Wake up, Peter. It’d be criminal not to shut them off.”
Peter nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. It’s time to pull the plug.”
CHAPTER 37
Sarkar cracked his knuckles nervously, shifted his barstool in front of the master computer console, and spoke into the microphone: “Login.”
“Login name?” asked the computer.
“Sarkar.”
“Hello, Sarkar. Command?”
“Multiple delete, no prompts: all files in subdirectories Control, Spirit, and Ambrotos.”
“Confirm delete?”
“Yes.”
“Delete failure. Files are read-only.”
Sarkar nodded. “Attributes, all files and subdirectories specified previously, read-only off.”
“Attributes are password locked.”
“Password: Abu Yusuf.”
“Incorrect password.”
Sarkar turned to Peter. “That’s the only password I use these days.”
Peter shrugged. “Try again.”
“Password: Abu Yusuf.” He spelled it.
“Incorrect password.”
“Who locked the files?” asked Sarkar.
“Hobson, Peter G.,” replied the computer.
Peter’s heart began to pound. “Oh, shit.”
“Display user log, Hobson, Peter G.,” said Sarkar.
A list of dates and times appeared on the screen. Sarkar slapped his hand against the tabletop. “See that? Node nine-nine-nine? Diagnostic mode. Your account was used, but accessed internally — from inside the system.”
“Login name?” said the computer.
“Fobson.”
“Hello, Peter. Should I terminate your other session?”
“What other session?”
“You are logged on here at node oh-oh-one and also at node nine-nine-nine.”
Sarkar leaned forward. “Yes,” said Peter. “Absolutely. Terminate session at node nine-nine-nine.”
“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?”
