A Cage of Butterflies by Brian Caswell Page A

ever doubt me?”
    â€œNever!” This time, her kiss was more spontaneous. She moved across to the wall-unit and placed the cassette into a portable camcorder, which was already hooked up to the TV. As she turned on the set and pressed the play-back button, she noticed that her hands were trembling.
    The screen buzzed with static, then the picture appeared. Erik’s face staring up into the camera. He poked out his tongue then moved out of camera range, leaving an unobstructed view onto the computer-screen and keyboard.
    â€œYou’d better cue it forward.” Erik’s voice drifted in from the kitchenette, where he was filling the kettle. “Larsen was late. There’s about fifteen minutes of nothing on the tape before he arrives. You want a cuppa?”
    â€œPlease.” Susan’s reply was murmured. She was staring at the TV, mesmerised. Even at search speed, it looked like a still photo on the screen. Suddenly Larsen appeared. She cancelled the search, and the tape slowed to normal speed. At first, all she could see was Larsen’s back and the top of his head, blocking out the camera’s view of the computer, and for a moment she feared the whole exercise was going to prove a waste of time. Then the balding scientist moved around and sat at the desk. He pressed a few keys and the machine began its set-up sequence, flashing through a series of screens, finally stopping at a blue screen with a single word flashing red in the middle of it.
    PASSWORD?
    Larsen had placed an access code on some of the hard-disc files. Without the password, there was no getting at the information stored inside.
    The camera had been Erik’s idea.
    A few days earlier, they had been sitting on the lawn, out of earshot, discussing the problem.
    â€œLook.” Erik had been studying the sun through closed lids, and now rolled over to face her. “All we have to do is find out the password, and we’ll be set.”
    â€œOh yeah. We just rock on up to Larsen and ask him. I can just imagine it. ‘Look, we don’t trust you, we think you’re being obsessive and unethical. Could you just give us the password so we can check up on what the hell it is you’re doing?’ How could he refuse?” Erik had just smiled as Susan continued. “When I came here, they told me I’d have access to all the research data. But I don’t. Larsen knows a whole lot that he isn’t telling anyone – except maybe MacIntyre.”
    â€œWho said anything about asking him for the password?”
    â€œWell, he’s the only one who knows it. How do you suggest we get it?”
    Erik’s smile had expanded to a grin. “Larsen’s already shown you how. Think about it. How does he gain half his information on the Babies? He’s got his little toys situated around the complex, recording all their movements. There was a new delivery of equipment last week – I had to unload it. All we have to do is borrow one of the cameras …”
    On the screen, Larsen began to type, but his fingers covered the keys.
    â€œI couldn’t see the letters he typed.” Erik spoke from behind her shoulder. The computer screen was no help. It just showed an asterisk for each character typed.
    â€œYou don’t need to see them.” Susan took the mug of tea which he was holding out to her. “One of the first things I learned in high-school was touch-typing.” She pressed the review button, then played the typing sequence again. “Just watch the position of his fingers. M,E,Y … no, T, A, M, I, D and W … no, make that E.” As she spoke, Susan jotted the letters on a notepad with her free hand: “METAMIDE.”
    â€œThat’s a weird password.”
    â€œWhat did you think he’d use? The name of his dog? That’s the idea of a password. It’s something unique, that no one else would think of.”
    â€œYeah, I guess you’re