Callsign: King II- Underworld

“Blame is irrelevant. Military assets now have a more complete understanding of the threat, and will subsequently escalate their response. There is a seventy-eight point three percent probability that the threat will be completely eliminated within three experimental cycles.”


Any lingering doubts King might have had were swept away by the electronically produced voice’s second probability assessment. Brainstorm!

Just a few short weeks ago, King had learned of the mysterious entity known as Brainstorm. Hardly anything was known about Brainstorm. Deep Blue had hinted at the possibility that it was in reality an artificial intelligence program that had infiltrated computer networks around the world. It was surreptitiously controlling corporations and governments alike, all to advance an unknown, but almost certainly apocalyptic agenda; King’s first encounter with Brainstorm had uncovered a scheme intended to turn literally billions of people into a mindless drone labor force.

During that mission, King had interacted directly with Brainstorm utilizing a similar electronic voice interface that effectively masked the true identity—the true nature—of Brainstorm, but whatever he, she, it or they was or were, Brainstorm saw the world entirely in terms of probabilities.

Brainstorm didn’t think small. Whatever its interest in Bluelight, it almost certainly spelled bad news on a global scale.

“Commence the next activation cycle in forty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds. Mark.”

King immediately pressed a button on his wristwatch, activating the stopwatch function.

“This is insane,” Copeland muttered.

“Negative. If your supposition is correct, and the events with hostiles of unknown origin are directly connected to the activation of the Bluelight generator, then repeated aggravation of the hostiles by that method is the only way to ensure their extermination. The Bluelight facility will be adequately protected. Military assets are now aware of the true nature of the threat and will be able to eliminate it more effectively. This is the course of action with the highest probability of success, and will ensure continued operation of the Bluelight generator.”

As the electronically produced voice droned on, King began his own probability assessment. He didn’t know what Bluelight was, but it was plainly evident that Copeland was critical to its operation.

King eased the door open a little more, and saw the physicist seated at a workstation in a room that looked like a scaled down version of NASA mission control. Copeland was alone.

Take Copeland…or take him out…and Bluelight is dead in the water. Problem solved.

But before he could take that next step, something in his pocket started buzzing like a swarm of angry bees.

Damn it, Aleman. The tech expert should have known better than to call in the middle of an infiltration. King eased the door closed and dug the phone from his pocket.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the name on the caller ID.

“Who is it?” Nina whispered.

King fought to find his voice as he retreated from the door to the Bluelight control room. “I have to take this.”





24.


Pierce and De Bord ran for their lives.

Pierce blamed himself. He had been overconfident in his belief that the creatures would continue to ignore them, and so had ventured further into their subterranean territory than was, he now realized looking back, wise.

It wasn’t like they had strolled through the middle of a gathering. In fact, he wasn’t sure exactly how they’d gotten by the group of monsters that now stalked them. To the best of his knowledge, they hadn’t passed any junctions.

After leaving the burial cave, he and De Bord had continued through the exit passage, in the creatures’ wake. Although he secretly hoped to discover more about the strange, almost human beings, Pierce’s foremost goal was always to find a way back to the surface. It was plainly evident however that they were descending, deeper and deeper into the Earth’s crust. After more than a mile of walking, the cool cave air growing warmer with each vertical foot of drop, Pierce had begun second-guessing the initial decision to move forward.

“This ain’t gettin’ us anywhere,” De Bord had announced, as if tuning into the same psychic channel. “The entry was there. We both went through it. We must’ve just missed it somehow.”

Pierce had been on the verge of agreeing to the request when a glinting reflection caught his eye on the path ahead. “Let me check something out. Five more minutes, then we’ll turn back.”