Interlude

Somewhere in a musty corner of a dark room buried hundreds of feet below the surface something was not right. These readings couldn't be correct. The computer had to be wrong. It just had to be. If what it showed was correct, it spelled disaster.

Anderson's forehead beaded with sweat as he ran the figures again. It just had to be wrong. If not… all their work-

Beep.

The computer had finished running the numbers again. No change. Was there something wrong with it? some small bug they had missed? But it couldn't be wrong. Not Isis. Not after he made it run the figures twice. Isis was never wrong the first time through, let alone the second. It was inconceivable that Isis could have a bug. Even if one ever popped up, she would fix it herself.

The room was barely lit with the words, casting his hunched shadow across jumbles of cable and wires and bleak concrete walls. He was at a loss as to what happened, what changes, to make the outcome they had work so hard towards just disappear like that. With no options left he groped for his keyboard. Finally finding it half buried under discarded wrappers and empty bottles of water, he typed in a command that would notify people that needed to know. Hesitating for half a second, he hit the send key.

With nothing left to do, he sat and stared at the word, glowing in bright red, seeming to float there in the center of his screen. Negative Resolution. A more ambiguous and damning two words he couldn't imagine.

After what seemed like minutes, but was probably hours, the door to his dark dank room swung open like a gunshot. It startled the pale man sitting in the chair. Looking at the doorway, he had to quickly look away as the light that spilled in hurt his eyes. He could tell a tall figure had entered, but even after the door was closed, he couldn't make out any details. He had to many spots in his eyes. Afterimages of a tall and imposing figure in black bracketed by the light of the doorway.

He could hear the figures deliberate footsteps as he came closer, an outline becoming apparent from the monitors soft glow. Before he could say anything, the figure spoke:

"Negative Resolution." The voice said in a strong, emotionless monotone. "I see. Show me the criteria." It commanded.

Anderson leaped to comply, pulling up his analysis data and Isis's own additions. He turned to the figure. "T-the defining point is that I-Isis no longer predicts a 'Saffron' downfall." The figure seemed the mealy glance at the data, not even acknowledging that the pale man had said anything, before turning away and starting back to the door.

"W-wait, what about…" he spoke, trying to find out what he needed to do, if anything could in fact be done.

"It is not so big of a problem as you make it out to be, Mr. Anderson, merely some interference from the opposition. Isis can only predict based on what her satellites feed her, after. And that a failure if things continue as they are. We only have to take things to the next stage. Your service will be needed again in a little while, but until then take a break, Mr. Anderson. And get some Sun. This fight is far from over."