“I'm going in,” Bryce said.
The others protested, but he was already up the step and through the door. He went to the first terminal screen, where six words burned in pale green letters across a dark green background.
JESUS LOVES ME — THIS I KNOW.
Bryce glanced at the other two screens. They bore the same words. Blink. Now there were new words:
FOR THE BIBLE TELLS ME SO.
Bryce frowned.
What sort of program was this? These were the words to one of the songs that had come out of the kitchen drain at the inn.
THE BIBLE IS FULL OF SHIT, the computer told him.
Blink.
JESUS FUCKS DOGS.
The latest three words remained on the screen for several seconds. It seemed to Bryce as if the green light from the display terminals was cold. As fireplace light carries a dry heat with it, so this radiance carried a chill that pierced him.
This was no ordinary program being run on these displays. This was nothing General Copperfield's people had put into the computer, no form of code, no exercise of logic, no systems test of any kind. Blink.
JESUS IS DEAD. GOD IS DEAD.
Blink.
I AM ALIVE.
Blink.
DO YOU WANT TO PLAY 20 QUESTIONS?
Gazing at the screen, Bryce felt a primitive, superstitious terror rising within him; terror and awe, twisting his gut and clutching his throat. But he didn't know why. On a deep, almost subconscious level, he sensed that he was in the presence of something evil, ancient, and… familiar. But how could it be familiar? He didn't even know what it was. And yet… And yet perhaps he did know. Deep down. Instinctively. If only he could dig inside himself, down past his civilized veneer which embodied so much skepticism, if he could reach into his racial memory, he might find the truth about the thing that had seized and slaughtered the people of Snowfield.
Blink.
SHERIFF HAMMOND?
Blink.
DO YOU WANT TO PLAY 20 QUESTIONS WITH ME?
The use of his name jolted him. And then a far bigger and more disturbing surprise followed.
ELLEN
The name burned on the screen, the name of his dead wife, and every muscle in his body grew tense, and he waited for something more to flash up, but for long seconds, there was only the precious name, and he could not take his eyes away from it, and then-
ELLEN ROTS.
He couldn't breathe.
How could it know about Ellen?
Blink.
ELLEN FEEDS THE WORMS.
What kind of shit was this? What was the point of this?
TIMMY WILL DIE.
The prophecy glowed, green on green.
He gasped. “No,” he said softly. For the past year, he had thought it would be better if Timmy succumbed. Better than a slow wasting away. Only yesterday, he would have said that his son's swift death would be a blessing. But not any longer. Snowfield had taught him that nothing was worse than death. In the arms of death, there was no hope. But as long as Timmy lived, there was a possibility of recovery. After all, the doctors said the boy hadn't suffered massive brain damage. Therefore, if Timmy ever woke from his unnatural sleep, he had a good chance of retaining his normal faculties and functions. Chance, promise, hope. So Bryce said, “No,” to the computer. “No.” Blink.
TIMMY WILL ROT. ELLEN ROTS. ELLEN ROTS IN HELL.
“Who are you?” Bryce demanded.
The moment he spoke, he felt foolish. He couldn't just talk to a computer as if it were another human being. If he wanted to ask a question, he would have to type it out.
SHALL WE HAVE A LITTLE CHAT?
Bryce turned away from the terminal. He went to the door and leaned outside.
The others looked relieved to see him.
Clearing his throat, trying to conceal the fact that he was badly shaken, he said, “Dr. Yamaguchi, I need your help here.”
Tal, Jenny, Lisa, and Sara Yamaguchi stepped into the field lab. Frank and Gordy remained outside, by the door, nervously surveying the street, where the daylight was fading fast.
Bryce showed Sara the computer screens.
SHALL WE HAVE A LITTLE CHAT?
He told them what had flashed onto the video displays, and before he was finished, Sara interrupted him to say, “But that's not possible. This computer has no program, no vocabulary that would enable it to—”
“Something has control of your computer,” he said.
Sara scowled. “Control? How?”
“I don't know.”
“Who?”
“Not who,” Jenny said, putting an arm around her sister. “More like what.”
“Yeah,” Tal said, “This thing, this killer, whatever the hell it is, it has control of your computer, Dr. Yamaguchi.”
Obviously doubtful, the geneticist sat down at one of the display terminals and threw a switch on an automatic typewriter. “Might as well have a print-out just in case we actually get something from this.” She hesitated with her delicate, almost childlike hands poised above the keyboard. Bryce watched over her shoulder. Tal, Jenny, and Lisa turned to the other two screens — just as all the displays went blank. Sara stared at the smooth field of green light in front of her, and then finally keyed in the access code and typed a question.
IS SOMEONE THERE?
The automatic typewriter chattered, beginning the print-out, and the answer came at once. YES.
WHO ARE YOU?
COUNTLESS.
“What's it mean?” Tal asked.
“I don't know,” the geneticist said.
Sara tapped out the question again and received the same obscure response: COUNTLESS.
“Ask it for a name,” Bryce said.
The words she composed appeared instantly on all three of the display screens: DO YOU HAVE A NAME?
YES.
WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
MANY.
YOU HAVE MANY NAMES?
YES.
WHAT IS ONE OF YOUR NAMES?
CHAOS.
WHAT OTHER NAMES DO YOU HAVE?
YOU ARE A BORING, STUPID CUNT. ASK ANOTHER QUESTION.
Visibly shocked, the geneticist glanced up at Bryce. “That is definitely not a word you're going to find in any computer language.”
Lisa said, “Don't ask it who it is. Ask it what it is.”
“Yeah,” Tal said, “See if it'll give you a physical description.”
“It'll think we're asking it to run diagnostic tests on itself,” Sara said. “It'll start flashing up circuitry diagrams.”
“No, it won't,” Bryce said, “Remember, it's not the computer you're having a dialogue with. It's something else. The computer is only the means of communication.”
“Oh. Of course,” Sara said, “In spite of the word it just used, I still want to think of it as good old Meddy.”
After a moment's thought, she typed: PROVIDE A PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF YOURSELF. I AM ALIVE.
BE MORE SPECIFIC, Sara directed.
I AM BY NATURE UNSPECIFIC.
ARE YOU HUMAN?
THAT IS A POSSIBILITY ALSO.
“It's just playing with us,” Jenny said, “Amusing itself.” Bryce wiped a hand over his face, “Ask it what happened to Copperfield.”
WHERE IS GALEN COPPERFIELD?
DEAD.
WHERE IS HIS BODY?
GONE.
WHERE HAS IT GONE?
BORING BITCH.
WHERE ARE THE OTHERS WHO WERE WITH GALEN COPPERFIELD?
DEAD.
DID YOU KILL THEM?
YES.
WHY DID YOU KILL THEM?
YOU
Sara tapped the keyboard: CLARIFY.