The vault's alarm spoke: "Fa-oop fa-oop, fa-oop." Endless repetition. Jesse James Santangelo hacked at the security codes.
"I'm through level two," he said as, keying more numeric sequences into the computer. Dancing weasels filled the display spelling out -- WOW. It spoke again.
"Congratulations, life has smiled on you. You have solved level boozy. Would you like to try level queasy?" the voice said. Jesse typed. The voice began to sing in tones so nasal and off-key that Jesse shivered.
"Way down south, in Birmingham, I said south, in A-la-bam..." Jesse typed more codes. The computer stopped singing. A tribal chant with drums blasted their ears.
"Hey, Scungelini, shut down that noise" Tri yelled. Tri was short for Tristan Jeremiah Jones. Scungelini was his private nickname for Jesse. No one left alive knew what Scungelini really meant in Italian. Germany, Italy and France were only memories from before the asteroid.
But not before the Italians had surged ahead in neural network technology and built in-vitro the world's most powerful organic computer chips, powered by living neuron cells.
If only they'd had time to engineer out the passion for red wine before the rock hit.
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: ril