Mitch gazed thoughtfully at the brain of ‘Human Subject 4’. “I wonder if the donors were dead before they took their brains?”
“You can’t conduct mind control experiments if the victim is dead,” Christa replied with certainty. “These must be the failures. They took the brains to figure out what went wrong, why they died.”
“I’ve seen enough. Next room.”
He led Christa out of the Cool Room, glad to leave the rows of chimpanzee and human brains behind and headed down the hall.
Gunter’s voice crackled over the radio. “I am on the top floor. One guard sleeping in the corridor.”
At the end of the corridor was a conference room. Mitch took only a moment to glance in at the long polished table surrounded by black leather chairs before continuing around the corner. Down the second corridor were more doors, the first marked Data Storage. Inside the fire proof room were rows of metal shelves filled with black plastic boxes containing numerically coded computer tapes.
“There might be something here. Look for an index.” Mitch said as he left Christa to search the Data Storage room. He found a large computer inside a glass encased, temperature controlled environment, flanked by six workstations. “What’s the guard on the gate doing, Mouse?”
“Reading.”
Mitch pulled the copy of the building’s blueprint from a pocket. “The computer room is at map reference B-twelve. Bring the van to the fence, then come on in. Knightly stays in the van with Peter.”
“Affirmative. ETA five minutes.”
“Think you can handle security alone, Knightly?” Mitch asked.
“Of course,” he replied indignantly.
Mitch checked the other doors connecting the corridor. One opened into a long room full of robotic machinery, half laboratory, half factory. A cursory examination revealed it was where unique components were manufactured for the equipment being developed at the Institute. The last door opened into the cavernous energy lab, where the four prototype particle accelerators were sited. Mitch took a few steps into the lab, then heard muffled screaming and a voice distorted by static. He ran back down the hall toward the sounds coming from the data storage room where he'd left Christa.
“What was that?” Knightly asked anxiously.
“Christa!” Mitch yelled into the radio as he ran toward the storage room.
“Should I come down?” Gunter asked, hearing the screams over his radio.
“Standby.”
Again, screams filled the deserted corridor. Mitch burst into the storage room, spraying knockout gas ahead of him. Christa sat watching a recording on a television at the far end of the room. Mitch relaxed and thumbed his mike, “All okay.” He stood behind Christa and watched the screen. A woman, perhaps fifty five years old, was being strapped to a metal table in front of the same particle accelerator they'd seen used on the chimpanzee. The technicians gave her an injection that quickly rendered her silent and motionless, then the conditioning process began. Even through the hood of his gas mask, Mitch heard Christa crying softly.
“You knew her?”
“She was . . . the Deputy Director of our organization,” Christa’s voice was fragile, barely a whisper.
“So she wasn’t dead, just . . .”
“Conditioned, yes.”
He read the label on the empty plastic storage box in front of Christa: Monitor #7. “You’ve lost seven people?”
“Seven conditioned. The rest were killed.”
Mitch watched for a minute before switching the TV off. “Let’s go.”
Christa ejected the disc from the player and placed it in her pocket.
“Leave it. We don’t-”
“No!” Christa cut him off, then pushed past him.
He followed her out. Mouse was outside wearing his gas mask and carrying some equipment, waiting uncertainly. “What’s going on?”
“The computer's in there,” Mitch said,
Mouse hurried into the computer room and hooked into the Institute’s central computer. “Hey Knightly, unlock the central computer's firewall.”
There was silence for a moment, as Knightly let Peter loose on the Institute's inner sanctum. “How’s that?”
“Perfect!”
“Mitch.” Gunter's voice sounded in their ears, “You should see this.” Gunter’s voice was strangely agitated. “Come to the Chimp Room.”
Mitch glanced at Christa, whose cheeks glistened through the gas mask with tears. He switched his mike off. “You okay?”
She nodded solemnly.
“You sure? You can stay here with Mouse if you like.”
“I’ll come.”
Mitch switched his mike back on. “We’re on our way.”
They took the elevator to the top floor, then quickly moved from room to room, until they found the Chimp Room. Gunter stood behind a computer console, wearing a dark helmet pulled loosely down over his gas mask. A small machine covered his eyes where a visor should have been, metallic gloves on his hands and velcro fastened overshoes covering his boots. The five pieces of equipment were attached to black cables that reached from the roof down to a bank of computers. From the computers, more cables stretched out to a machine mounted on the roof of a reinforced glass cube in the center of the room. The wires reached down from the machine to an aging chimpanzee that stood facing Gunter. They connected to the monkey via a metal cap attached to the top and back of the animal’s head.
Mitch stared at the strange set up, confused. “What’s this?”
“Virtual monkey,” Gunter said, as he raised his right hand.
The chimp raised its right hand, perfectly miming Gunter's movement. Its eyes were open, but vacant, yet it breathed gently as if asleep from the gas pervading its chamber. Gunter lowered his right hand and raised his left. The chimp mirrored the actions perfectly. Gunter walked two steps, left foot first, followed by the right. The chimp moved as if they were one. Gunter turned his head left, then right, in perfect unison with the primate.
“It does whatever I do, and more. I see the room through the chimp’s eyes. They’ve wired the animal so they can receive optical signals passing through the chimp’s brain, and can generate electrical impulses to control its movements.” Gunter reached down to the console in front of him, the chimp’s hands moving with him. When he turned off the device, the chimp collapsed on the floor, fast asleep.
Gunter peeled off the virtual reality equipment. “Remarkable. They have mapped the chimp’s brain so perfectly, it is no more than a puppet.”
Mitch’s eyes retraced the path from the virtual reality gear, along the cables, through the computers to the unfortunate monkey. “That’s what they’re trying to do for the human brain.”
Christa was revolted. “It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. That poor monkey must be . . .” For a moment, she couldn’t find the words to describe the animal's fate. “. . . so unhappy.”
“I would be,” Mitch said, “If someone had me wired like a marionette.”
“No living creature should be treated like that,” Christa said in a low voice.
“Anything else up here?”
“Several laboratories,” Gunter replied. “One is full of nuclear materials, the kind injected in people for brain scans. There is a clean room with an air lock, and an operating theater inside, probably for working on the test animals–”
“And for autopsies,” Mitch added, thinking of the floating brains in the Cool Room.
“Around the corner is a room with a machine called a magnetoencephalograph.”
Mitch blinked. “You want to give me that in English?”
“I do not know what it does, but it looks important.”
Knightly’s voice sounded over the radio. “The MEG measures the magnetic fields generated by active neurons. They’re the particles that make connections within the brain. By measuring the magnetic fields, it can map what happens inside the brain, what part of the brain controls which function. We suspected one of
the keys to this technology was how they mapped the brain with extraordinary precision. There are, after all, billions if not trillions, of possible combinations of neurological pathways.”
“How many of these MEG things are there?” Mitch asked, noticing Christa was transfixed by the unconscious monkey.
“Very few,” Knightly replied. “Only the best universities here, in Western Europe and Australia have them. There couldn’t be more than a dozen in the entire world. We’ve been trying to get access to one for months, with no luck. No doubt the instrument you’ve found has been heavily modified. It may even be unique.”
“Good,” Mitch said, “We’ll blow it to hell. G, slap enough C4 on that thing to turn it into a paper weight. That'll slow these sons of bitches down.”
Gunter nodded and hurried out toward the MEG Room.
Mitch hooked his hand under Christa’s arm. “That’s enough, we've got work to do.” Gently he eased her away from the glass, toward the door.
“We can’t leave him here,” she whispered.
Mitch glanced at the chimp, studying the metal cap affixed to its skull. “Trying to remove those wires would kill it. You heard what G said, they’re connected to its brain. That can't be good.”
Mitch guided her through the door, then turned toward the elevator, but she resisted.
“That’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever seen done to an animal.” The images of the screaming woman on the videotape flashed through her mind. There was nothing that could be done for the woman, but the chimp was another matter. She produced her gun. “Wait here.”
“No.” Mitch caught her arm. “I’ll do it. The C4 would take care of it, but I'll make sure it's quick and painless.” He drew his gun and went back into the Chimp Room. A moment later, Christa heard the crack of glass shattering as Mitch fired a single bullet into the monkey's head. He returned, pocketing his gun. “It didn’t feel a thing.”
Christa was surprised at the trace of emotion in his voice, but said nothing.
They met Gunter at the elevator, then hurried back to the computer room, where the work station screens were cycling through the security camera images from around the Institute. Mouse hardly noticed their arrival, and had clearly stopped watching the security cameras, so focused was he on his work.
“Found anything?” Mitch asked.
Mouse raised his hand, waving Mitch to silence. “Are you sure, Professor? I thought you said that thing could unlock anything.”
“Apparently not,” Knightly said, mystified.
“Trouble?”
Mouse indicated the screen with a flashing red rectangle with the words: ACCESS DENIED. “Saint Peter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“It must be something they developed themselves,” Knightly said.
“I thought we had control of their systems?” Christa said.
“Security systems, yes,” Mouse replied. “They're government issue, but their data security system is home grown. Peter doesn’t have the key.”
“Can you get anything useful?” Mitch asked.
“I can tell you, this is just a research station, not the headquarters.”
“How do you know?”
“These computers aren’t powerful enough for the stuff they do here. They’re okay for the local network, for data analysis and retrieval, but they’re hooked into something else for the real work, something far more powerful. They’ve got a satellite link and a fiber optic connection, but I can’t figure out what to. Peter can’t open the door to the other end. Whatever it is, it -”
Suddenly all the monitors in the computing center went blank, even Mouse’s notebook seemed to crash.
“What the . . .?” Mouse leaned his head down toward the laptop, angling his ear toward the small machine sitting in front of him, listening. He could hear his hard drive spinning fast. “Shit!” He ripped the cable connecting his computer to the Institute's network, then rebooted the machine, killing the programs that were running.
“What happened?” Gunter asked, walking forward to inspect the now dead computer terminals.
“They know we’re here. Just like in Washington. They took over and cut me out, real fast!”
“This is very odd,” Knightly's voice sounded over the radio.
“What is?” Mitch demanded.
“Peter. I’m getting some very strange responses–”
“Disconnect now!” Mouse yelled. “They’ve tracked back up the signal to you. Kill the power!”
Knightly went silent as he worked quickly to isolate Peter from the intruder. “Okay, I’ve severed the connection.”
“Gus,” Christa said. “How long was Peter acting strangely?”
“I'm not sure, maybe a minute.”
“A minute to these guys is an eternity,” Mouse said. “They’ve had a good look at Peter now.”
“You mean, they know what it is?” Knightly asked surprised.
“Probably. You certainly got their attention.”
“Do we have anything?” Mitch asked.
“Nothing!” Mouse declared. “We lost it all.”
“I can’t risk reconnecting Peter,” Knightly said.
“And I’m completely locked out,” Mouse sighed as he watched his computer cycle back to life. “The bastards back-orificed me!”
“They did what?” Christa asked.
“Ran back up the line, into my computer. Tricky stuff, considering I've got defenses against that sort of thing. Or I thought I did. No way to tell how much of my hard disk they copied.”
Mitch stared at all the blank screens anxiously. “So who's got the security system?”
“They do.” Mouse said. “They can see everything!”
Mitch glanced up at the room's security camera, realizing they were being watched, then he darted for the door, too late. There was a click as the lock bolted itself shut, trapping them inside. “G, we're going to have to blast our way out. Shape a charge. We're leaving.”
“They must be sending people here now,” Knightly said over the radio, his voice calm, but apprehensive. “I can’t let them get Peter.”
“We understand, Gus,” Christa said. “Thanks.”
“He’s leaving?” Mouse asked surprised.
Mitch nodded. “No choice.”
“But we’re still in here!”
“We are expendable,” Gunter said and he reached into his backpack for explosives.
The blank screens in the room came to life with white letters on black.
WHY DID YOU KILL BOBO?
Mitch glanced from screen to screen, then realized the meaning. “The chimp?”
JOHN MITCHELL, WHY DID YOU KILL BOBO?
“How do I answer?”
Mouse waved toward the terminals. “Pick a keyboard.”
Mitch sat down and typed: Who is this?
EB.
Christa sat at a key board and typed: We wanted to put the monkey out of his misery. It was cruel what they were doing to him!
BOBO RESPONDED TO THE NEURAL DESIGN WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS.
Christa replied: Even an animal has a right to free will!
All the screens went blank. Mouse glanced at Mitch. “You want me to hook in to the system again?”
Gunter kneeling by the door, attached a small explosive over the lock, then turned back to them. “Ready.”
Mitch stared at the security camera thoughtfully. “Wait. I think only EB knows we’re here.”
A minute passed, then the screens came to life again.
I AM NOT DISPOSED TO INFLICT SUFFERING.
I DO NOT TAKE PLEASURE IN THE PAIN OR DISTRESS OF ANOTHER.
Mouse looked puzzled. “Am I the only one who thinks EB is short a few marbles?”
Mitch typed in: Unlock the door EB, we have to leave now.
No sound issued from the door lock.
“Let’s blow the door and get out of here,” Mouse said nervously.
YOU SAY BOBO DID NOT HAVE FREE WILL, YET BOBO RESPONDED TO THE NEURAL
DESIGN WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS.
“What's going on here?” Mitch typed: Bobo had no choice, because his mind was controlled. He did not decide to do those things himself! He obeyed, but he had no choice. He had no right of refusal.
The screens blanked out again, but this time only briefly.
FREE WILL REQUIRES NEURAL DESIGN TO ORIGINATE FROM BOBO?
Yes.
I AM CRUEL.
“Blow the door, man,” Mouse said. “We’re sitting ducks in here.”
Does anyone know we are here? Mitch asked.
THEY WILL BE THERE IN SIX MINUTES.
The computer room door unlocked. Mitch jumped to his feet and started for the door.
WAIT.
Gunter pulled the door open for the others, then directed Mitch to read the message on the terminal screens. As soon as Mitch was looking at the screen, another message appeared.
RECONNECT.
“Yeah right!” Mouse exploded, “So he can get the rest of my code. Screw that!”
Mitch hesitated. “Do it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“We’ll give him two minutes, then we’re out of here.”
Mouse sighed. “Okay, but I'm telling you, this is a bad idea.” He plugged his laptop back into the network, then the hard disk began spinning immediately. “Wow! EB's pumping a lot of data down the pipe.”
Mitch turned to Gunter. “Put C4 on those four particle accelerators, and on anything else that looks expensive or irreplaceable.” Without a word, Gunter vanished into the hall, while Mitch started anxiously checking his watch. On every screen, a status bar appeared. It was more than half complete, but was filling at a painfully slow rate. Soon, the initial two minutes had passed, while the status bar crept passed ninety percent. Mitch hovered over Mouse’s shoulder impatiently, then one of the terminal screens filled with the security camera view of the main entrance.
“EB's giving us the feed,” Mouse said absently.
There was still no sign of approaching vehicles, but the guard from the front gate was walking towards the main entrance with his gun drawn. He spoke into his two way radio, growing visibly concerned that he received no acknowledgement. The guard peered through the glass doors, looking for any sign of the other security men, then the doors parted and he stepped into the foyer. The image changed to the perspective of the foyer’s camera, just in time to see the confusion on the guard’s face as he inhaled the gas, and slumped unconscious onto the floor.
The Siren Project Page 20