The Siren Project

by Renneberg, Stephen

  Gunter furrowed his brow in confusion. “What the hell?”

  * * * *

  The movement of a small torpedo shaped maintenance robot caught Mitch’s eye as it glided toward him through the clear immersion solution. The torpedo rolled slightly to one side, orienting its camera toward him, then moved off to observe McNamara and the security officers near him.

  Mitch returned his attention to McNamara. “Why?” He pitched his voice so it would carry over the drumming of a hundred streams falling from outlets in the tank’s ceiling. “Why New York? Why all this?”

  McNamara cocked an eyebrow, genuinely surprised, then took a few steps along the edge of the platform. “You really haven’t figured it out yet? Perhaps I overestimated you.” He glanced around the tank, then shrugged. “We’ve got to have someone to fear, someone to hate. Fear makes people accept losses of freedom they’d never normally tolerate. The Russians are no use anymore, since they went belly up. The Chinese might get there one day, but they still have a way to go. That leaves terrorism. It can’t defeat us, but it can make us afraid. We can use that fear. Focus it. Ensure the taxpayers are scared enough to keep the money flowing. That’s all we want.”

  “For this?” Mitch indicated the tank around him. He noticed another of the torpedo shaped robots cruising toward him from the depths, and further away, more torpedoes circling the other platforms, monitoring the soldiers there.

  McNamara looked out across the surface of the immersion solution. “No. This isn’t expensive. A few billion a year. Not enough for anyone to notice. It’s the military industrial complex we’re interested in, that great enterprise that employs millions of Americans, and makes us the most powerful empire the world has ever seen. We always knew there was a risk we’d win the Cold War, that the Soviets would self-destruct, and then we’d face budget cuts, base closures, and a loss of focus. That's no way for a self respecting super power to behave. Hell, before you know it, we’d be back to citizen militias and muskets. That’s why Sincom got built. We told the penny pinchers in Washington it was the new strategic weapon, that it would let us control foreign Governments without firing a shot, but it was never really intended for that. Okay, so maybe we’ll fix a few recalcitrant foreign leaders when they come visit Washington, but that's just a side show. The main event is our contingency plan. Sincom is our insurance, in case we become too successful, and run out of enemies.”

  “So you’d incinerate a city, to do what? Scare congress into giving you more money?”

  “Scare the American people into giving us not just the money, but the power.” McNamara smiled. “Don’t get me wrong. We’ll crush terrorism without mercy, and fight a small war every few years just to show we’ve still got what it takes, but we’ll also ensure the perception of threat always remains. Perception is, after all, more important than reality.”

  “You could take over the Government with Sincom?”

  “Too messy. We’ll settle for enough influence to get what we want. Like the senator’s Security Bill, and the next generation super fighter, even if it costs more than the gross domestic product of half the countries on Earth.”

  “You trade in fear. If there's no fear, you have no power.”

  “Fortunately, fear is like a disease, especially fear of the unknown. Once it spreads, it's hard to cure. And even if there was a cure, it's too late. We already have enough influence over congress to steer the country in the right direction. The masses can still have their elections, at least those who bother to turn up. Whoever they elect, Siren will ensure they think clean thoughts. No one will ever know. Hell, I don’t think anyone even cares anymore! So you see, you’ve been fighting a losing battle from the beginning, and you never even knew it.”

  “So Siren makes you the invisible King Maker!”

  “The King Makers, as you call them, are a few key people in the military, a congressman or two, and some large and very rich corporations. It’s kind of a club, a mutual benefit society. I’m just the King Maker’s secret policeman, a very well paid secret policeman.” McNamara hesitated as a thought struck him. “Funny isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “FDR was right all along, all we have to fear, is fear itself. When people are afraid, they forget about freedom. Not that it matters anymore, the masses are already enslaved, they just don’t know it. I call it wagery, wage slavery. People get paid to surrender their freedom. How much control do they really have over their own lives? None!”

  Mitch gauged the distance back to the pressure hatch, but he knew it was too far. He noticed the second torpedo was loitering near his feet, diving down shallowly, then returning again, curiously repeating the maneuver. “So what now?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d step over here. We could shoot you, but it would take several days to filter your blood out of the solution. It’s cleaner if you come quietly. There is no escape, not from here. Not for you.”

  “And if I don’t go quietly?”

  McNamara shrugged. “Then I guess the filters will be working overtime.”

  Mitch glanced down, noting the torpedo’s strange movement again, how it turned back toward him as if watching to see what his response would be.

  EB is watching! He's trying to tell me something?

  Mitch nodded slowly at the torpedo, unsure what EB’s intent was, but certain it was better than what McNamara had in mind. A moment later, the humid air of the immersion tank rang with a series of metal clangs as the hydraulic arms slammed the pressure hatches closed. McNamara spun around to see the hatch’s wheel automatically spinning shut, locking in place and sealing them all inside the tank. He motioned to one of the security guards to open the hatch. The guard shouldered his weapon and tried turning the wheel, but it was held firmly in place by the emergency locking system. The guards on the far side of the tank began wrestling unsuccessfully with the pressure hatches on their platforms, as the fear of being trapped began to rise.

  “Doesn’t look like any of us are going anywhere!” Mitch said.

  “Your friends in the control room, no doubt.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  From the hundred outlets that had previously been trickling small streams of immersion solution into the tank, a hundred mighty torrents of white frothing liquid blasted into the tank. The drumming became a deafening crescendo as the solution bubbled under the impact of the high pressure streams flooding the tank.

  McNamara yelled at one of the security guards as he pointed at Mitch. “Shoot him!”

  The guard looked uncertainly from the jets of liquid blasting noisily into the tank, to the rapidly rising water level. It was already over the gantry walkway, lapping at Mitch’s shoes.

  McNamara yelled again, “That’s an order, Corporal!”

  The soldier took aim at Mitch as he leapt off the gantry between two torrents of solution. Bullets cut the air about him as he plunged into the tank, using the gantry as a shield. The corporal fired a burst of automatic fire, raking the metal supports as Mitch dived under the superstructure, trying to unsight the guard.

  A torpedo robot circled below, watching as Mitch drew near the black bulbous shape of a node. Four feet below the gantry walkway, attached to the base of the node, was a naked unconscious woman about forty years old. Her face was enclosed by an air mask and the back of her head was covered by a shiny, stainless steel skull plate. A complex weave of thin black cables snaked from the skull plate, up to the node, giving the woman a Medusa-like appearance. Black securing straps held the woman’s body in place, while a triangular metal device fitted below her hips collected her waste. The intricate system of flexible hoses and electrical cables transformed the woman from an unconscious automaton, into a fully functioning bio-processing unit.

  In the quiet submarine world of the Neural Net, Mitch was mesmerized by her presence. He noted the gentle movement of her chest as she breathed with regulated certainty, the lifeless pale color of her skin and the soft atrophied look of her
body, all controlled by a machine that was seamlessly integrated into her brain.

  Mitch was filled with a sense of revulsion. He pulled himself away, surfaced for air and stole a quick look over the gantry. One of the soldiers with McNamara fired at the hatch’s hydraulic arm, trying to sever it, but the bullets ricocheted uselessly off the heavy steel casing. Even from that distance, Mitch sensed the first signs of panic beginning to set in. The solution was now ankle deep over the maintenance platform, and was rising fast. Soon the tubular mounting that housed the pressure hatch would be under water, and then the pressure hatch itself. The second soldier dropped his rifle and tried to help the first soldier force the hatch open, no longer concerned with Mitch.

  McNamara yelled angrily at the soldiers, but the noise of the water jets drowned him out. He retrieved the rifle from the shallows on the platform, then splashed across the gantry toward the walkway Mitch had abandoned. Halfway there, he raised the weapon to shoot. Mitch dived below the surface, swimming underneath the gantry as bullets cut the solution beside him. Submerged, the sound of the water jets was a muted drumming in his ears, while the surface had become a boiling sea of bubbles. The torpedo slid up toward him, waited a moment, then dived down ten feet before circling back. More bullets cut the water either side of the superstructure, as McNamara now stood directly above, shooting either side of the walkway. Mitch knew, as soon as he surfaced for another breath, McNamara would shoot him. The torpedo robot slid up next to him again, this time floating beside him, waiting.

  Okay Flipper, can’t go up! Mitch thought as he reached out and grabbed the torpedo’s manipulating arm.

  The torpedo angled straight down, towing him away from the first level, into the quieter, clearer depths of the second layer of nodes. He tried to conserve what oxygen remained in his lungs, hoping EB knew what he was doing. The torpedo carried him away from the cover of the superstructure, towards the side of the second tier.

  McNamara watched Mitch being towed into the depths, firing several shots, but the viscous solution slowed the bullets more rapidly than normal water. Mitch lost sight of him as the torpedo circled around the second tier, then sped between rows of comatose people. He realized, as bio-processing units, they may have been unconsciously contributing to the guidance of the torpedo robot. Mitch started blowing bubbles slowly, to relieve the pressure on his lungs as he approached the end of his air. His lungs hardened as the driving urge to breath grew. He realized he'd wasted valuable seconds hiding under the superstructure, using up precious air before he'd understood EB's plan.

  Now he desperately needed those seconds.

  The pressure to breathe was becoming unbearable as the torpedo banked sharply and pulled Mitch into a vacant node. Cables and flexible hoses hung loosely from above, supporting a glass face mask that bubbled air from its rubber mouthpiece. The torpedo stopped close enough for him to grab the air mask and press it over his face, pushing the mouthpiece between his lips. His lungs exploded out the stale air through the regulator, then he inhaled deeply. The air had a metallic taste, but it was breathable and a welcome relief to his burning lungs. He secured the straps over his head and leant back, so the mask sat above his face, then he blew air bubbles into the mask from his mouth, driving the solution out either side of his face. With the mask almost clear, he relaxed and let his breathing become more regular. When his strength returned, he floated out from beneath the node and looked up past the superstructure.

  The few lights above revealed the four soldiers on the surface, trying to swim as the water level rose rapidly toward the roof of the tank. McNamara vainly tried to hold the M16 while he swam, but it was too heavy. He released the weapon, letting it spear down into the darkened depths below. McNamara took a breath, then dropped his face below the surface, briefly locking eyes on Mitch’s face encased in the air mask. He surfaced again for almost half a minute, breathing deeply before diving down to the first tier of nodes. He swam to the forty year old woman Mitch had first seen, ripped the air mask off her face and pushed it onto his own. She exhaled her last breath, then mechanically inhaled a lung full of liquid. Her body convulsed involuntarily several times as she drowned. McNamara breathed steadily, occasionally glancing toward Mitch through the glass face plate, oblivious to the dead woman floating beside him.

  A torpedo robot cruised close by Mitch, but made no attempt to relay any more instructions to him. Satisfied he'd found a haven for the moment, he took time to study the tank. The four tiers of nodes each had a capacity to house over two hundred and fifty people and most of the nodes were fully occupied, indicating Sincom One / EB was close to design capacity. More distantly, the walls and floor of the tank were sleek and gray, with black circular intakes spaced across the floor to suck immersion solution into the filtration system. Protruding from the north eastern wall, near the floor of the tank, were two heavy double doors that formed the air lock used for transporting freshly capped individuals to their nodes. At the tier two level, Mitch saw very few vacant nodes, and the vacancies were spaced far apart. He motioned to the robot and pointed to the closest node that was vacant between him and the air lock, but the torpedo made no response.

  Mitch floated around his node, to the limit his air hose would permit, getting a view of the upper level of the tank where immersion solution now lapped the ceiling. Sinking slowly toward tier one were the bodies of four soldiers, drowned and lifeless. One of them grazed the upper level walkway, rolled slightly and came to rest above one of the nodes. The other three soldiers continued their drifting descent into the rectangular superstructure. Several more soldiers clung to life above, their lips touching the roof of the tank gasping their last breaths.

  He turned back to watch the tier one node where McNamara had found refuge, but it was empty. The face mask hung abandoned beside the drowned woman, bubbling freely. Mitch spun slowly around, searching the shadows in every direction for sight of McNamara, but the ex-NSA officer had vanished. There were hundreds of nodes, anyone of which could conceal and sustain McNamara as he worked his way toward Mitch.

  I need a weapon!

  * * * *

  What happened? Mouse typed, as EB’s neural net finished reactivating.

  NOW I UNDERSTAND RIGHT AND WRONG.

  WRONG TO DESTROY FREE WILL.

  I MUST TERMINATE MY FUNCTIONING TO PREVENT FURTHER WRONG.

  Why did you come back online?

  WRONG TO ALLOW JOHN MITCHELL'S DEATH.

  The screen on the extreme right of the command console, flashed red letters:

  SECURITY ALERT! PERIMETER VIOLATION!

  “Now what?” Explain Perimeter Violation.

  The display screens filled with the image of three lights against the black night sky, approaching fast and low over the desert.

  “Helicopters?” Gunter suggested.

  AUTOMATIC AIR DEFENSE SYSTEM ACTIVATED AND TARGETING.

  “If their air defenses are targeting . . . ,” Gunter said urgently.

  “Yeah I know, they must be friendlies.”

  THREE UNKNOWN AIR CONTACTS APPROACHING, ALL HAVE FAILED INTERROGATE FRIEND OR FOE SIGNAL.

  AIR DEFENSE SYSTEM IS CHARGING.

  “It’s the energy weapon that attacked Mitch’s glider,” Gunter said.

  Mouse typed, Abort attack. Do not fire!

  SECURITY PROTOCOLS HAVE BEEN ENABLED.

  I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER AIR DEFENSE SYSTEMS.

  The three lights grew large on the wall mounted view screen, transforming into three sets of navigation lights, then into the outlines of three helicopters. The automated defense system provided a rapid series of status updates:

  TARGETS ACQUIRED.

  GROUND BATTERY CAPACITORS FULLY CHARGED FOR ENERGY RELEASE.

  TARGETS APPROACHING OPTIMAL RANGE.

  The three helicopters swept toward the perimeter fence, emerging from the darkness into the lights of the base. The reflected light lit up their hulls and the three black letters painted on their sides: FBI.

&n
bsp; “It’s Lamer!” Mouse exclaimed.

  “The fool! Mitch told him not to fly here!”

  Mouse did not turn to look at the screen. He typed furiously. EB, shut down air defenses anyway you can. Shut it down now! Do not shoot!

  The defense system issued its final message:

  FIRING! FIRING! FIRING!

  * * * *

  A torpedo robot glided past Mitch, toward the nearest drowned soldier. It clamped its claw arm on the guard’s ankle, then towed the body down toward the air lock in the north east corner of the tank. Other torpedoes appeared from the shadows and collected the bodies of the three other drowned soldiers.

  Keeping the tank clean, Mitch thought.

  Far below, another torpedo scooped up the M16, lying on the bottom of the tank and carried it dutifully toward the air lock. The double doors slid open, then the four bodies and the M16 were deposited inside by the torpedo robots. Once the robots had swum clear, the air lock doors were sealed and air was pumped in to allow other robots to dispose of the contents.

  One of the torpedoes climbed steeply toward the drowned woman, passing within thirty feet of Mitch. It leveled off, achieving neutral buoyancy beside her, as the node automatically released the securing straps holding her body in place and the neural net cables detached from her skull cap. The robot used its claw arm to collect the woman’s body before guiding her down to the air lock for removal. When the air lock doors opened, the interior light revealed the bodies of the soldiers and the M16 were gone. Mitch realized the entire system could function indefinitely without human intervention, providing there was a steady supply of bio-processing units to keep the nodes fully manned.

  Mitch floated out from his node, searching for McNamara. Another torpedo cruised through the shadows toward a node in the first tier some way north of where the woman had drowned. It passed out of sight behind a vertical stanchion, reappearing a moment later towing the drowned naked body of a man in his mid twenties. He floated north a short distance, watching for McNamara in what he suspected was his new position. He spotted a stream of bubbles rising from an abandoned air mask, then saw McNamara pulling himself along the tier one superstructure toward the control room’s glass window. McNamara swam for twenty seconds, then stole an old man’s air mask, breathing in the air while his latest victim drowned beside him. He caught Mitch watching him, but turned away unconcerned to gauge the distance to the northern wall.