When Moon Nazis invade

It took 0.2 seconds for the meteor defence monitoring station to detect unidentified objects as they rose over the Moon's horizon.

Before any firm detection, the Main Overseer Core reacted according to a protocol for objects moving at high speed – 3 km/s – on a direct course towards the facilities.

Immediately, it fired the Anti-meteor Gravity-assisted Cannon, a variant of the moon-shot project intended to prevent catastrophic meteor strikes on our lunar assets. The system consisted of three parts: a straight mine shaft on Earth, ten kilometres deep; an aiming platform on the Moon; and a portal connecting the bottom of the mine shaft to panels mounted on the Moon's platform.

Upon signal, it dropped a ten-ton rock, with its front painted in Repulsion Gel, straight down the shaft to the portal, from which it would launch towards the approaching object.

A little overpowered, but after all those accidents with micro meteors, installing the best anti-meteor defences was just common sense. The number of incidents clearly showed that the probability of being hit by a random meteor was much higher than we originally calculated.

The Repulsion Gel ensured that the cannonball would bounce, doubling the kinetic energy transfer, and hopefully at least slowing the momentum of the meteor, if not breaking it into smaller pieces.

In a way, it may be said we shot first.

It took 0.4 seconds to identify objects as spaceships and not natural phenomena, and a further 0.6 seconds to identify Nazi imagery.

Images were taken by the telescope, which was designed to utilize the zero atmosphere on the Moon for better operation.

There were five spaceships, each five kilometres long. Their elongated ellipsoid shape was reminiscent of German WWII dirigibles. Unlike dirigibles, these spaceships were covered with hard metal plates. The lesser telescopes would have missed them, but one Aperture station on the Moon was state of the art. Behind the ships, they tugged large asteroids, nearly a hundred times the mass of the rock used as ammunition for the Anti-meteor Gravity-assisted Cannon.

Due to the portals, this information was instantly relayed to GLaDOS, which began to reach out and inform all relevant parties, as well as come to the decision that the objects were most likely hostile. Even if they were not enemies initially, they would be after being shot at. GLaDOS ordered the Main Overseer Core to continue using the Anti-meteor Gravity-assisted Cannon, and began mobilizing combat assets, as well as initiating the evacuation of non-combat personnel to Earth through the portal.

34.7 seconds later, the five ships broke formation, unleashing their deadly payload in the direction of the base, and began deceleration.

That was also approximately the time Doug managed to get my attention.

The talk with Doug took about 50 seconds, enough for the battle to enter the next phase.

Since the ships were decelerating, the false meteors were the first to be hit.

Those rocks had both a hundred times more mass and travelled at a speed that was also a hundred times faster than the anti-meteor ammunition. The anti-meteor ammunition was not meant to stop them, just nudge them away so they would miss the base.

In that, it was almost perfectly successful.

Two false meteors, rather than being nudged, had broken into pieces.

The rocks were much smaller now, and most were set to miss. But these fragments were still traveling at speeds 30 times that of a high-velocity bullet.

With a rate of fire of two per second, the phase involving the five false meteors took ten seconds.

The next one was aimed at the leading spaceship.

It missed.

This was not an unexpected outcome. The Anti-meteor Gravity-assisted Cannon was not a weapon, but a tool designed for dealing with dangerous meteors. Meteors did not react to danger or adjust their trajectory.

GLaDOS had anticipated this outcome and had fired subsequent shots in a pattern that would be harder to evade. With a firing rate of one rock every 2 seconds, there were now four more shots before the spaceships would reach the base.

Each evasion allowed GLaDOS to more precisely calculate the maneuverabilities of the spaceships, and the reduced distance made evasion increasingly difficult.

The rest was a matter of physics and game theory. In a way, it was akin to chess – there were a limited number of legal moves, and each move was visible to both sides.

Considering the speed at which it was occurring, speed chess might be a better metaphor. Not a game a human could expect to win against highly advanced AI.

And it showed.

Steering a spaceship away from the path of one rock made it impossible to miss another, or the choice was between hitting the rock and pushing the ships too close to one another, which only set up another collision when a glancing hit pushed one of them.

Still, the metal-clad spaceships endured.

The first reason was their composition. The ships were not natural objects, shaped by chance and time. They were weapons of war, and thus heavily armoured.

The second was their elongated ellipsoid shape. While the aerodynamic properties were utterly useless in a vacuum, this shape allowed for only glancing hits.

Yet they were not undamaged. The giant metal plates were torn, and atmospheres vented, along with some of the crew.

It took me less than ten seconds to find the emergency portal back to the Enrichment Centre. It would have been quicker, but I could not show any unseemly haste to observers.

Immediately, I contacted GLaDOS for a report of what was happening on the Moon. Talking would be too slow for an emergency, so I connected mind-to-mind.

The Eldar version of mental—or better, spiritual—communication did not consider the species of those who communicated. It required only a mind—or better said, a soul.

The soul of a random machine intelligence might have been a subject for theological discussion or serious magical experiment, but GLaDOS had once been human.

The conditions for communicating successfully in this way were: authority, distance, and need.

Although distance could be replaced by conditions that united the flesh, like kinship or marriage—this was not relevant here.

While the core that housed GLaDOS could be considered her mind, her conduits spread all over the Enrichment Centre like a nervous system—thus, being within it, could be considered within touching distance.

The unprecedented emergency was the need.

And as CEO of Aperture, I had the authority.

Speaking mind-to-mind was faster than verbal communication, but not instantaneous.

The third phase was well underway when GLaDOS brought me up to speed.

One consequence of the Nazi spaceships' deceleration was the reduction of the relative velocity between the ships and the rocks hurled at them, thereby reducing the impulse at the moment of impact. This reduced damage but also allowed for more unconventional tactics.

GLaDOS had predicted that outcome from the moment the ships started slowing down. She had also calculated the precise second when it would be optimal to implement the new strategy, and which ammunition waiting on the conveyor belt would be used first for that new tactic.

Robotic arms had already washed away the Repulsion Gel from the slab of rock. Fortunately, Repulsion Gel was water soluble. The flat surface of the rock was then painted with Conversion Gel, preparing it for the creation of a portal.

The key to this scheme was the newest gel – Fixture Gel.

The bright red gel was discovered as a side effect of Damien noticing that an exotic life form from the Hawking Anomaly, when overgrown over portals, tended to keep them open.

It was possible that for this discovery – once it was all declassified – he would earn a Nobel Prize. Depending on how soon it was declassified, he could also become the youngest person to earn such a reward for science.

Fixture Gel was processed from one of the main reasons for the phenomenon – microcrystals containing exotic matter embedded in a complex polymer. The result was a bright red gel, which, curiously, when vigorously stirred, turned into an aerosol, similar to how shaving cream turns into foam when dispensed from its can.

It was already known that the edges of portals reacted with aerosols in unusual ways – mostly by capturing them. This property was previously utilized to colour portals, a feature integrated into the portal gun. Interestingly, the aerosol form of Fixture Gel propagated through portals, unlike other aerosols. Thus, by applying it on one side of a portal, both sides would be coloured.

The more important feature was that once Fixture Gel was applied, the portal remained fixed – no longer dependent on the Quantum Tunnelling Device. It would remain open as long as the Fixture Gel lasted, and applying more would extend the timeframe.

Thus, it removed the equivalency between the number of portals and the number of Quantum Tunnelling Devices. Considering that Fixture Gel costed exponentially less, it opened many new practical uses.

There were downsides. The portals fixed by the gel were permanent. They could not be closed, nor could their exits be redirected. Flexibility was traded for permanence.

Another interesting feature of Fixture Gel was that the portal tended to capture it mid-transit. Not strongly—a light push made the gel pass through—but enough so that the whole portal could be painted by it, creating a red membrane. This would render the portal a bit less usable but also more stable, allowing for setting the portal in an inactive mode. This feature wasn't relevant for the current scheme, though.

Equipped with a Fixture Gel attachment, the portal gun created a pair of linked red portals: one on the rock and the other on a panel, which was then transported to the staging area. There, specialised O.R.C units, armed with rockets instead of anti-infantry ammunition, gathered. Some of these rockets were filled with Conversion Gel, awaiting deployment.

As the rocks were dropped towards the portal leading to the moon, the military robots took their positions, poised for the moment they would draw near the enemy ships.

The planned trajectory was deliberately adjusted from a direct hit to a near miss, transforming the rocks from simple kinetic munitions into mobile weapon platforms.

This ingenious strategy was not conjured up by GLaDOS in a matter of seconds after encountering the Nazi spaceships. Rather, it was the culmination of several workshops where Aperture Science scientists, including myself, discussed and debated possible tactics utilising portals and our arsenal of designed weapons. Some scenarios were even presented to students as theoretical exercises, allowing them to think creatively and strategically.

GLaDOS simply selected the most effective option from the pool of available strategies, showcasing her calculated and ruthless efficiency.

Almost involuntarily, my lips curled into a proud smile.

My head was already throbbing, and if not for the Blood Slime, I would have been bleeding from my nose. I dropped the connection. I needed to preserve my use of supernatural power for later.

"Is it ready?" I asked, referring to the Aperture Science Future War Combat Exoskeleton Space Edition—the personalised model for me. But time was short, and GLaDOS knew what I meant.

It contained no magecraft, elven enchantment, or supernatural powers—just pure human science. Sooner or later, I would have to retrieve the Crown of Midnight. By that time, the null-effect would be empowered by so much evil that it would be problematic to overcome. One solution was not to bother, just to build a mundane weapon powerful enough to do the job.

Personalisation consisted of only adding two working portal guns to the kit. One for use, and one reserved for emergency exit. The reason such equipment was not part of the standard kit was simply the cost. Several defective ones were remodelled into singularity grenades.

Just one of those two portal guns cost more than enough to equip an entire army division with combat exoskeletons.

"It is set next to staging area C7," GLaDOS replied through the wall speakers as I was running. Now that I was in the Enrichment Centre, there was no reason to conceal the emergency. "I have calculated the optimal route. Follow the lit blue lines."

I followed the lines of Electroluminescent Paint through which the current ran. It was a relatively cheap solution that allowed GLaDOS to easily direct anyone as needed. Although, I think there were some artists who also experimented with this medium, especially in combination with different colours and timed changes in activated currents.

"Target four – portal successfully formed on the surface," GLaDOS's report came just as I was passing through a semi-permanent portal used to connect different parts of the Enrichment Centre.

I had no time to daydream. Speed was of the essence. For that reason, I decided to take the risk and use reinforcement. It would reduce my use of other supernatural abilities available in the coming conflict, but I needed to get to the battlefield first.

"Target two – portal successfully formed on the surface. Target four changed course. New target calculated – mining area. Priority lowered."

As I neared the staging areas, there were more human security personnel and robots, both O.R.Cs and worker androids, carrying supplies.

"Target one – portal successfully formed on the surface. Targets five and two adjusted course. The new target calculated – weapon testing fortress."

I began to tear my clothes as I approached the arming pod. The combat exoskeleton could be comfortably worn over a standard Aperture jumpsuit, but I was dressed for presenting S.W.O.R.D to the public. It was an expensive set of clothes, custom-tailored for the occasion. It was a bit wasteful to ruin them, but they cost much less than the facilities on the Moon.

"Target three – portal successfully formed on the surface. Targets one and three entering red zone. Deploying Animal King Turret."

The combat exoskeleton was too cumbersome to put on manually. That's why there was an automated arming pod. As I stepped in, automated robotic arms quickly began to attach panels, levers, and motors, like squires arming a knight. Thanks to numerous refinements, it took less than five seconds and hardly ever broke bones. The last step was sealing the helmet for vacuum work.

"Rocket fire incoming. Anti-meteor Gravity-assisted Cannon disabled. Casualties among O.R.Cs deployed on the Moon surface. Targets two, four and five deploying smaller craft."

The voice of GLaDOS was no longer coming from the wall speakers. With the helmet on, it came directly to my ear. The head-up display lit up. There was still work to do on the resolution. Meant for military use, it was naturally more expensive than the civilian equivalent, but the miniaturization needed to fit within the helmet still made the graphics a bit clunky.

The icon for S.W.O.R.D lit up, signalling a connection, then it rotated, displaying the log for Battle.net—an experimental network made for coordinating military operations.

It was designed jointly by Aperture Science and ex-military personnel, of which there were many in Aperture Security.

The list of the fire team I was to lead was highlighted: five O.R.Cs, one flag-bearer, Dr. Peterson, and the last one made me raise an eyebrow—GLaDOS's Human Intimidation and Eradication Avatar.

I remembered greenlighting the project to create a mobile combat platform for GLaDOS, more as a proof of concept and a test bed for military androids than for practical use. I did not know that a working model was already operational.

Following the directions, I approached staging area C7. Since this area was set for exit into a vacuum, I needed to enter through the airlock.

All staging areas were similar: rectangular rooms with walls covered in Aperture panels, not much different from Test Chambers.

I was the last of my team to arrive. I could see the five combat robots marked on my HUD. There were more than five O.R.Cs, but they were either reserves or part of other squads.

There was only one flag bearer—a core with robotic arms mounted on it. The design was similar to the Companion Core, like my Igor. They were called flag bearers because they carried BANNERs, small metal rectangular shields as large as ordinary house doors, with a portal projected on one end. It served as an exit from another staging area.

Like carrying doors through doorframes, one BANNER could carry a portal identical to the one in the BANNER, allowing the deployment of BANNERs through BANNERs for exponential growth in the number of portals.

The GLaDOS Human Intimidation and Eradication Avatar stood imposingly before me. Its design was a masterstroke of Aperture Science engineering, combining both elegance and menace. The Avatar's face, pale and devoid of warmth, was framed by sleek, dark metallic components that extended down its neck, merging seamlessly with the intricate exoskeleton.

Her eyes glowed with an unsettling intensity, a vivid orange that pierced through the dim lighting of the staging area. These eyes, set within an almost humanoid face, conveyed an eerie sense of intelligence and purpose. A single, prominent red dot was embedded in her forehead, a likely nod to her origin as an advanced AI, and possibly a multifunctional sensor.

The outer shell of the Avatar was a blend of pristine white and deep red, with segmented armor plates meticulously arranged to provide both protection and flexibility. The red armor pieces, resembling those of a medieval knight, were adorned with Aperture Science insignias, making it unmistakably clear who this machine served. The white armor, smooth and almost ceramic in appearance, gave the Avatar a futuristic, almost clinical look, in stark contrast to the raw aggression suggested by its design.

Golden rings encircled her ears, a subtle yet jarring touch that added to the Avatar's otherworldly presence. The combination of advanced robotics and humanoid features was designed to instill both fear and awe, an embodiment of GLaDOS's cold, calculated efficiency.

As I approached, the Avatar's head tilted slightly, its movements smooth and precise, powered by the sophisticated motors and servos hidden beneath the armoured exterior. The Avatar's shoulders were broad and reinforced, capable of withstanding heavy impacts, while the sleek, integrated weaponry suggested it was ready for combat at a moment's notice.

Despite its intimidating appearance, the Avatar moved with a grace that belied its purpose. Each step was deliberate, each motion a testament to the cutting-edge technology that had been poured into its creation. It was not just a machine; it was a weapon, a guardian, and an executioner, all moulded into a single, terrifying entity.

In other words, she looked like a final boss in a video game, which made me suspect that her number one minion —Zachs—had convinced her to have Will draw concept art for it. Perhaps with Trevor's help—I could see the young cartoonist's style in it. But I could not fault the result.

Like a silent shadow draped in loose black cloth, Dr. Peterson stood next to her. He had no space suit, nothing to shield him from the hard vacuum. But he no longer needed to breathe, not since he had been stabbed through with a morgul blade. He carried a single Aperture spring gun, modified for vacuum, but he hardly needed it. Fear was the main weapon of a wraith.

"Staging area C7 is about to be deployed," GLaDOS informed me. "Interior of target five breached."

Staging areas with C in their name, like the one I was in, were designated for the third wave. Those labelled with A were to open a portal on the hull of enemy starships. Luckily, the metal used for their armour was conducive to portal formation; otherwise, applying Conversion Gel would have been necessary. The squads from B areas were to take BANNERs connected to C areas and carry them into the interior of the ship—a more dangerous job assigned to more expendable troops.

"Opening portal in five, four, three, two, one – open."

Panels parted, revealing the open portal. Although GLaDOS used the word "opened," the actual portal was created simultaneously with the one carried onto the spaceship. In this context, opening meant removing the protective covering.

Using the haptic system, I commanded the wraith to go first, followed by the combat robots. The wraith was immune to most mundane weapons—save fire, of which there should be none in the vacuum—and the robots were the most expendable. Although there shouldn't have been any danger—the troops already there should have secured the site before signalling to open the portal.

After them, it was my and GLaDOS's turn. The flag-bearer was to be last.

The first thing I noticed after stepping through was the reduced gravity. I almost bounced with my next step but adjusted quickly. This was not my first time on the Moon.

I wished that Archer was with me, but his Aperture identity—Dr. Hutter—was not listed as a combat asset. Sometimes, keeping secrets reduces efficiency, especially in emergencies. But it was for the best. What was unknown was harder to counter.

The tight metal corridor reminded me of pictures of submarines, with its cramped quarters and low ceilings. The walls were adorned with Nazi symbols—swastikas and eagles, their stark black and red contrasting with the dull, grey metal. Propaganda posters, faded but still menacing, depicted heroic Aryan figures and stern warnings against dissent. I could read them, as I was familiar with the German language.

Large, clunky pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, all exposed to the vacuum due to breaches in the hull. The retro-tech design was evident in the exposed wiring and oversized gauges, each needle frozen in place, a stark reminder of the ship's failing systems. Silent puffs of steam occasionally burst from damaged sections, freezing instantly in the frigid vacuum, adding an eerie stillness to the scene.

With the combat exoskeleton, it was a somewhat tight fit. I had to be careful not to snag on the protruding pipes and conduits that crisscrossed the corridor. The whole place had an industrial, almost archaic feel.

Through the massive tear on the corridor side, I could see soccer-shaped smaller vessels zipping by at great speed, their movements silent and surreal against the backdrop of space. Explosions lit up the distant void, each burst of light a stark reminder of the ongoing battle outside.

I concluded that the tear was the point where the preceding squad had made their entrance.

The oppressive silence was overwhelming, the absence of sound amplifying the sense of isolation and danger. The ship's interior was a frozen testament to the harsh environment of space, every surface coated with frost where coolant had leaked and immediately frozen.

With a swift movement of my finger, I activated the comms. "We go towards the bow."

At the same time, using the same haptic system, I left orders for the next squad to go in the opposite direction and for the squad already here to continue guarding the portal through which we came.

"We don't know if there is anything of importance there," GLaDOS commented back through the comms.

"Basic human psychology, it's more likely to have command at the front," I replied. "Besides, we need to explore, and one direction is as good as another. But be on the lookout for any maps or computer terminals."

"Do they even have any?" GLaDOS asked, her mechanical eyes scanning the environment. "Everything looks so... primitive."

"It's a spaceship. How could it be without computers?"

We moved swiftly through the narrow corridor, leaving the breach behind. It curved slightly inboard, drawing us deeper into the vessel.

Meanwhile, reports arrived from both outside and other boarded ships. The outside battle was not going in our favour. The combat robots equipped with anti-air missiles were being quickly overwhelmed.

They were simply too outnumbered.

Those robots that lacked anti-air capability were faring a bit better, but that was because at this stage the enemy was focused on the ones that were an actual danger to them.

After all, there was no ground assault.

"A door! I found a door!" the childlike voice of one of the O.R.C.s exclaimed. Such voices were a legacy of the Aperture Sentinel Turrets on which the combat robots were based. There was some suggestion that, since O.R.C.s were meant for battlefields and not home security, their voices should be changed, but the group working on Psychological Warfare demanded otherwise. And it was a good reminder that while robots could communicate in natural language, they were not much smarter than a pack of ten-year-olds. But too high intelligence was detrimental in a soldier anyway.

The door was like something from a museum, an exhibit on World War II-era submarines. Completely made of metal, without any windows, it had a large handwheel in the centre. There was a pair of dials on the frame, one left and one right. The needle on the left pointed to the lowest right part, deep in the red, and the needle on the right was in the green area.

I read the text on the dials, translating from German. It wasn't hard to guess their purpose. "It measures air pressure on both sides of the door. And there is air on the other side. Good. GLaDOS, try to open it."

GLaDOS's avatar moved towards the door and began to turn the handwheel. "No resistance."

"We need to add more members with hands to the teams," I said. This was one reason why I had boarded the spaceship. We just had too little information for proper planning, and being on site bought precious time. The analysts and tactics workgroups were being assembled. Not in a physical location, but virtually using the computer network, both humans and several AI Cores.

"Worker androids or human security personnel?" GLaDOS spoke aloud, while at the same time assembling a map using data from the boarding teams, summarizing and moderating discussions, providing statistics of the assault on the moon base—even a helpful pie chart that showed the percentage of operational versus destroyed weapon emplacements—and a few other actions to ensure the smooth and efficient run of this operation.

"Let's go with mixed, and see what works best," I replied. It would be most flexible, even if it could result in human casualties. But that's why security personnel were paid for. Besides, being mostly ex-military, they would be insulted if they were not included.

"Brace yourself," GLaDOS warned. The pressure door slammed open. The air from the pressurised compartment rushed out, creating a brief but intense gust that pushed against me and other team members, pulling any loose debris along with it. The moisture in the air instantly condensed and froze, forming a misty cloud of ice crystals that rapidly dissipated.

Loose objects and papers were violently sucked through the opening, tumbling into the vacuum with eerie silence. Several bounced off my armour, among them what appeared to be a loose screw.

The rapid depressurisation left the edges of the door and the surrounding metal frosted over, adding to the already surreal and silent environment of the breach.

"Go—the same formation!" I ordered the team.

The wraith moved silently, while the combat robots skittered on spider-like legs. Their childlike, yet bloodthirsty voices chirped through the comms.

"Ready!" one O.R.C. announced with glee. "I'm gonna find something to shoot and make it go boom!"

Another O.R.C. giggled, "Let's find the bad guys and play tag! They're it, and I have bullets!"

Beyond the door was the same corridor. The pressure doors separated it so that when depressurization occurred, only a small part of the ship would lose atmosphere. Or at least, that was my hypothesis. GLaDOS and the analysts agreed it was the most likely scenario. It made movement less efficient, but this was a military vessel. Damage was to be expected.

The corridor remained deserted through the next two pressure doors. Each was separated by about 7 to 10 meters. We had yet to encounter anyone, but I supposed that while the spaceship was in battle, people would remain at their assigned battle stations and not run around. I wasn't sure, so I passed the question through the network, hoping someone might have a better idea.

It was at the third door that we ran into trouble.

"I am hit," the wraith said, his voice almost drowned by static. It was unpleasant to listen to the wraith's voice in person, but electronics liked it even less than the living. The HUD flickered with errors but stabilized quickly. Although the effect was unavoidable, Aperture was aware of it and had designed methods for managing it.

"I see them," one of the combat robots cried out. "They're just around the corner. Bullet tag time!"

Because of the vacuum, I could not hear our guns or the enemies' firing, and the corridor was a bit too narrow to properly see from the back. But I saw bullets hit the wall.

There was a T-section ahead, and we were in an unfortunate position without cover. Not desperate, since mundane bullets were ineffective against the wraith at the front, and all other members of the team were armoured.

Still, sitting still and being shot at was not an optimal solution. I looked in the direction the shots were coming from and then I saw it: a flat metal surface perfect for forming a portal.

I drew and fired the portal gun. But I needed the other side of the portal too. Luckily, I found one just nearby.

"Opening portal," I commed to the nearest robot, "Be ready."

I fired, and the portal opened, showing the enemy from a side completely exposed. He was dressed in a very strange version of a spacesuit. It looked a bit like a long leather trench coat uniform with something like a gas mask covering his face.

The robots unleashed silent volleys of machine gun fire, riddling his body. The blood froze as it left his body, turning into crimson crystals that fell slowly under the Moon's gravity and gently shattered as they hit the ground.

It was often said that dead men tell no tales. Even without necromancy, that was not quite true. Forensics existed as well. But that would take time. Time that we did not have, which was why I signaled a pair of worker androids to come through the BANNER portal and take the body for examination.

But before that, a quick spell. It was to necromancy what structural grasping was to general magecraft. Generally only used to teach beginners the craft, it was a synchronization with remaining thoughts, grasping the echoes of the newly dead.

I closed my eyes and murmured the incantation, feeling the spell weave its way through the remnants of the soldier's consciousness. Fleeting memories flashed before me: the taste of stale sausage from his last meal, the scent of gun oil, the daily pledge to the Führer echoing in his mind. I could feel his discipline, his unwavering conviction.

Images flickered past: marching in formation, the oppressive weight of his uniform, the chilling pride in the swastika armband. His final orders surfaced, vague yet potent—check the breach, assess how far it extended. The urgency and fear of failure were palpable.

Not exactly what I wanted. I focused deeper, seeking more elusive fragments as the thoughts faded. The memories grew more disjointed, slipping away like sand through fingers. And then, amidst the haze, I found it—the route to the ship's bridge. A clear path formed in my mind, illuminated by his final, desperate thoughts.

I opened my eyes, the spell dissipating. "We have the way to the bridge," I announced, the worker androids already starting their grim task. The corridor felt even colder, the weight of the past lingering like a spectre.

"This is heartening to hear," GLaDOS commed, her avatar approaching me, followed by the others. "While I am not opposed to a nice stroll in a Nazi-infested spaceship, it's good to know that we have direction and aren't just wandering like ants in a maze. On less pleasant news, we need to cease venting the atmosphere immediately."

"Why?"

"Analysts are concerned it may be construed as a war crime," she continued, accenting the last two words with a touch of sarcasm.

"War crimes? This is the first engagement we've recorded in space. How could we already have rules?" I felt a mix of confusion and irritation at the disruption to our working strategy.

"The experts are extrapolating from maritime traditions. Intentionally depriving the crew of oxygen could be seen as an act of unnecessary cruelty. And we wouldn't want to tarnish our impeccable reputation, especially if there are innocent non-combatants on board," she explained, her tone dripping with faux concern.

"Non-combatants? That's stretching it a bit. I can hardly find suffocation any more painful than a bullet."

"You can rescind the order, Director, if you wish," she said with genuine indifference, her avatar's eyes fixed on me.

"No. I should listen to the experts, even if it doesn't make much sense to me," I replied, reluctantly conceding. Then, thinking it over more, I added, "Unless they keep all doors closed when not in use, there must be some sort of automated mechanism, probably linked with air pressure detectors. If we don't have to stop and manually open each door, we can advance faster. Automated systems might close the doors if they detect a breach, which means less resistance for us if we maintain pressure."

When we opened the next pressure door, after closing the one from which we came, the atmosphere was somewhat restored, and my attention was drawn to a voice shouting propaganda in German.

It came from the speaker mounted on the wall. Now that I noted it, I could remember seeing them before. Only in the vacuum, I hardly paid attention to them. No sound.

These speakers were bulky, with large, conical horns attached to rectangular metal bodies. They were painted in dark, muted colours and bolted to the walls with heavy brackets. The metal grilles covering the speakers were shiny and well polished. Either new or well-cared for.

We continued down the corridor, the echo of the German announcements following us. Rotary phones hung on the walls at regular intervals, each with a handset connected by a spiralled cord. There was no time for detailed examination; these were just glimpses I got while we ran toward our destination.

The walls were dotted with intricate mechanical gauges, their needles twitching in response to unseen changes in the ship's environment. Each gauge was connected to a network of pipes and tubes, a complex system that controlled everything from temperature to pressure. Despite their antiquated appearance, these systems were essential for the ship's operation.

Curiosity practically burned in me. How did they manage to do it? But I couldn't stop. Not now. There would be time for proper science once we secured the ship. And I could not stop the nagging feeling that I had seen something like that before.

I could see a pie chart on my HUD representing the defensive emplacements of the moon base, slowly dripping into red. Into destroyed. I had no idea what the Nazis would do once all anti-air defences were gone. The best-case scenario was that they would continue bombing runs until the moon base was destroyed. Since we used A.D.A.M.A.N.T. to construct it, it would take quite some time.

The worst would be if they continued to Earth.

We had just built the S.W.O.R.D. satellite network, and since it was made for civilian use, those satellites were practically defenceless.

A glaring oversight, but we did not expect to find Nazis in space. In Argentina maybe, but not space.

The sudden sound of gunfire was almost deafening. I had gotten too used to the silence in the vacuum.

By the time I was close enough to see, it was already over. Four corpses lay on the floor—two dressed the same as the first one, and two in lighter uniforms. Still black, both mostly cloth. Their faces were bare.

They looked so young, as young as my students. But this was no time for compassion—and I had no time to stop to even try to ascertain if any were alive, much less to offer any medical assistance.

"We run now," I commanded, while typing quick orders at the same time, "The noise will raise the alarm. Let's show them how one does a proper blitzkrieg."

We ran, and per my orders, each minute one new O.R.C. jumped out of the BANNER portal and stayed behind to guard our backs.

I could hear additional gunfire in the distance, so they were not wasted. They prevented us from being pincered.

The propaganda was replaced by glaring alarms. A harsh, mechanical voice blared through the speakers, "Achtung! Feindliche Infiltration! Alle Einheiten zum Kampf bereit!"

"Attention! Enemy infiltration! All units prepare for combat!" The message echoed through the corridors, confirming that our presence was known.

The second group we ran into had dug in. Or more precisely, since we were on a spaceship, they had used various features of the larger room—metal boxes, massive gears, and large pipes big enough for a man to crawl through—to take cover.

"Take cover!" I shouted, as bullets riddled the wraiths futilely but effectively halted our progression.

Combat robots returned fire, trying to pin the enemy. The corridor echoed with the staccato of gunfire and the sharp ping of ricochets.

"Suppressing fire!" one of the O.R.Cs chirped, its childlike voice at odds with the deadly situation.

The gem on GLaDOS's avatar's forehead opened, revealing a small portal underneath. From it emerged a red laser beam, moving with precision as she targeted the entrenched enemies.

"We need to move!" GLaDOS's avatar said, her voice calm and composed. "They're digging in deeper."

I scanned the area for a suitable surface to open a portal. "Damn, nothing," I muttered, then reached for a Conversion Gel Grenade. "Cover me!"

"It would be more accurate to call this a paint-bomb," I said to no one in particular, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. "But we could hardly sell something called a paint-bomb to the military."

"Focus, Director," GLaDOS chided. "Time is of the essence."

I nodded and threw the grenade, watching as it splattered the gel over a section of the wall, transforming it into a suitable surface for a portal. "Portal surface ready. Get ready to move!"

"Portal set," I called out, firing the portal gun. "Go, go, go!"

Our team surged forward, the newly formed portal allowing us to flank the entrenched enemies. The combat robots moved with precision, their firepower cutting through the enemy lines.

"Targets down," one of the O.R.Cs reported, its voice tinged with satisfaction.

"Good job," I said, my eyes scanning the room for any remaining threats. "Let's keep moving. We need to reach the bridge before they regroup."

The next enemy that crossed our path was a bit disturbing.

"Aren't you a little short to be a stormtrooper," GLaDOS's avatar remarked, holding a ten-year-old boy who had tried to ambush us like an unruly kitten. Like a kitten, the boy, dressed in child-sized military fatigues, was trying to claw her with a knife, his gun already disarmed.

It seemed that the analysts were right about venting the atmosphere. Suffocating children would be terrible for our PR.

"Toss him through the portal," I ordered. "We don't have time for this."

"Understood," GLaDOS responded, her avatar effortlessly restraining the boy and tossing him through the portal back to the Enrichment Centre. "Deploying more O.R.Cs."

The child screamed in frustration, his voice cut off as he passed through the portal.

"Focus, everyone. We need to reach the bridge," I reminded the team, moving forward with renewed urgency. "Keep an eye out for any more... surprises."

The surprise came in the form of a barred door. The handwheel wouldn't turn.

"Should I order some thermal lances?" GLaDOS asked, as her avatar failed to open the door.

"Too slow. Stand back!" I ordered, taking out one of the singularity grenades. It was time to solve this problem using Batman's real superpower—money.

Singularity grenades were fiendishly expensive. But as the dwarven saying goes, one needed to spend gold to earn gold. Once we had this ship in our custody, we would reclaim all we had lost and more.

Both the cost of this invasion and the assets ruined on the moon.

We'd take it over, reverse engineer it, modernize it, and sell it to the American military.

We would have a monopoly, since no one had even begun to design military spaceships—certainly not something that made aircraft carriers look small.

I lobbed the grenade.

The door and surrounding walls collapsed inward, pulled in by the now uncontained micro singularity. Without containment, a singularity of that size could not exist within the universe governed by these physical laws. Luckily, as a side-effect of the containment we usually used to induce macro-scale quantum tunnels—portals—rather than converting all that matter into lethal radiation, it dispersed, collapsing matter randomly in a radius of about five astronomical units. That approximation derived through models, practical testing was impractical.

"Move in!" I shouted, stepping over the debris.

The interior beyond the door was a scene of chaos. Equipment and structural elements were scattered, the singularity's impact evident in the twisted metal and displaced objects. One of the larger pipes had ruptured, filling the room with boiling steam.

Steam. The last piece of the puzzle. Why use steam power on a spaceship? It would be inefficient to the extreme, unless that steam was generated as a byproduct of fusion power. Rather than just converting thermal energy directly to kinetic and then to electrical energy, using turbines to heat water into steam could also power all sorts of mechanical parts. It made sense—using steam instead of converting back and forth to electricity.

I had seen this before. This was the same design philosophy that powered the Twilight of the Gods—the city-sized spaceship I had in the Garage of Gods. Hopefully, like the base on Io, it was from a future timeline and the Nazis would have one of those. Otherwise, I would have no choice but to implement the Wolftime contingency.

Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for those guarding the room, the steam had scalded anyone within.

The temperature did not bother us, and we hurried through the area of lessened visibility.

"I can't believe they use steam," I muttered, moving through the haze. "It's archaic, but genius if it's fusion-based."

"Efficiency isn't always about modernity," GLaDOS's avatar replied. "It's about what works."

I was glad that the steam hid the corpses mostly from view. I didn't want to see if there were any children among them. It was a bit hypocritical, which I normally disliked, but I never said I was perfect. If I had really cared about not killing children, I should have stopped the attack once I knew they were on board.

"Keep moving!" I ordered, pushing the thoughts aside. "We need to secure the bridge before they can regroup."

We pressed on, the steam slowly thinning as we moved further from the ruptured pipe. The oppressive atmosphere of the ship pressed down on us, a mix of old and new technologies clashing in a surreal display.

A comm call came from the Chief Security Officer of Aperture Science. I answered at once, "Finally. GLaDOS has been doing a fine job coordinating this assault, but someone with military training, like you, should be in overall command."

Another trio of Nazi soldiers appeared. Fortunately, they all seemed to be adults. The wraith interposed, drawing their fire. The Nazis were dismayed by the wraith's fear aura, but it served to make him their primary target, which was just as well.

"Director, fall back immediately!" Joe barked through the comm.

Furrowing my brows, I noted two potential sites for portals—one on the ceiling above the enemy and one on the floor nearby. "Should I put GLaDOS back in overall command? My team is furthest in!" I replied.

"You're cut off and exposed. Reinforcements are too far out to assist in time," he responded urgently.

"That's why we have portals," I said, firing the portal gun twice. With a gesture, I commanded one O.R.C. and it obeyed, jumping into the portal on the floor. It emerged from the one on the ceiling, upside down, but that's why O.R.C.s were equipped with internal gyroscopes to better use portals. As it fell, it rotated and fired at the enemy, now completely exposed.

"Director, your position is compromised. You need to RTB—return to base—ASAP," Joe insisted, his voice firm.

The pressure door we arrived at looked just like every other door, but shards of memories I had stolen from the dead told me that the computer centre lay behind it, and the computer centre was directly connected to the bridge.

"Nonsense! We are nearly there," I replied. "We can finish this."

"This does not matter! Everything—the spaceship, the moonbase assets—is expendable. You are not. I… We can't afford to lose you. You're being too reckless."

GLaDOS's avatar moved in front of the door and tried to open it. It didn't budge.

"We can take this spaceship. We're nearly there."

I motioned with my hand for them to step back and took out another singularity grenade.

"It does not have to be you! And it does not matter. We have access to assets. We can always bring explosives."

"No!" I shouted. "The technology here will help recoup our losses. And there are kids on board."

I tossed the grenade, and the metal crumpled like tinfoil collapsing into a singular point.

The blast from the singularity grenade cleared the way, the door and part of the surrounding wall disappearing into the miniature black hole. I stepped through the debris, the path now open to the computer centre.

"Move in!" I commanded. The wraith went first, followed by the O.R.Cs, then myself and GLaDOS's avatar.

The room beyond was a stark contrast to modern technology. Dominating the space was a massive, room-sized computer. Large dials and oversized buttons adorned its face, while tape reels spun methodically. Rows of vacuum tubes flickered, casting an eerie glow. The entire setup screamed of an era long past, yet it was still functional and integral to the ship's operations.

Several corpses were strewn about. Without cover, they had fallen under the combat robots' machine guns.

"Can you hack it?" I asked GLaDOS.

"Only with an axe," she replied, her voice dripping with contempt. "It's too primitive. But it doesn't matter—there's no security in the system. It just doesn't have much data, and most of it is useless. This is basically a glorified rangefinder. No wonder their manoeuvres were so predictable. They must have calculated them in advance. Probably took exponentially more time to plan the route than to run it."

"You leave no choice, Ace," Joe butted in. He was addressing me informally, a clear sign he was upset—furious, really. "GLaDOS, as Chief Security Officer, I command you to take the Director back to the Enrichment Centre by force if necessary."

GLaDOS's avatar turned to me, her mechanical eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm sorry, Josef. I'm afraid I can't do that," she said, mimicking HAL's chilling calmness.

"Since when do you watch movies?" I asked.

"Since we started digitizing them for S.W.O.R.D," she replied. "Besides, Zachs recommended this one."

"GLaDOS, you know that the Director is irreplaceable!" Joe nearly shouted over the comms. "Think about what would happen to Aperture without him. This is about all your work. All the things you care about."

"Josef Griffin-Iverson, Director Johnson is not that easily exterminated. I have proven that empirically. Now be quiet, or I will cut communication. I am, after all, the main administrator."

"Ace, please. Don't take another step," Joe pleaded, his voice tense.

"I don't plan to. We're close, and you will see why I need to be here in person," I replied to him, then gave a command to the exoskeleton. "Initiate full Sensory Isolation Mode."

Comms cut off, the HUD went dark, and the whole helmet blacked out, leaving me in silence and darkness. The perfect environment to use psychic powers.

Stepping out of my body took no effort—I had a lot of experience by now.

Although "stepping out of my body" was more a description from my viewpoint than a literal truth. A more precise explanation was that I imprinted the position just in front of me onto the void.

But such distinctions were pedantic. The first explanation was practical enough to work with.

In this, metaphors mattered.

I moved—my point of view moved—to the bridge. It was annoying that I had to come this close before using my powers. The problem was, I neither knew for certain where the bridge was, nor how it looked. Nor was I familiar with any of the personnel on the bridge. Without those markers, accessing it from a distance would be problematic. If this were a Star Trek episode, the Nazis would have communicated by video, and I could have astral projected from a longer distance. But lacking any of that, I had to get closer physically.

Immaterial, the wall parted like mist, revealing the bridge.

In the centre of the bridge stood an almost steering wheel that could have belonged in a sailing ship, an anachronistic touch in this high-tech environment. It was surrounded by various controls and levers that looked like they belonged in an old submarine rather than a spaceship. The wheel itself was polished wood, contrasting sharply with the cold metal and blinking lights around it. Nearby, a pilot manned the wheel, his hands gripping it tightly, eyes focused on the dials and gauges in front of him. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair cropped short and piercing blue eyes—like he almost walked out from the propaganda poster.

Around the periphery of the bridge, there were several large, analogue dials and gauges, displaying information such as oxygen levels, fuel reserves, and engine power.

Instead of a traditional viewport, there was a series of mirrors and lenses reflecting the outside view in a fragmented, collage-like manner, reminiscent of an insect's compound vision. The images were slightly distorted due to the mirrors, making it obvious that it was a simulated view. This setup was both practical and a clear sign of the ship's heavily armoured exterior.

A crew of six manned the bridge, all in various states of focus and agitation. The crew members wore uniforms designed to emphasize their masculinity, tailored to show off their broad shoulders and well-muscled frames. Each had blond or light brown hair and blue eyes, their features eerily similar. They moved with rigid precision, a result of their strict training and discipline.

At the back of the bridge, a raised platform held the command chair. Sitting in the chair was the captain, an older man with grey hair and a lined face that spoke of many years of service. He was adorned with numerous medals that glinted under the dim lights, symbols of his long and decorated career. His uniform was immaculate, and he held an old-fashioned microphone that resembled a sceptre, complete with a cable linking it to the command chair. He used this to give orders to the ship, his voice authoritative and steady as it reverberated through the bridge.

Next to the captain stood an adjutant, a teenage steward holding a tray with drinks, ready to serve. The steward was leaner than the others, but his posture was equally rigid. He waited attentively, ready to respond to the captain's needs.

One officer, seated at a console to the left, was focused on navigation, adjusting the ship's course with a series of levers and dials. He occasionally glanced up, his blue eyes flickering with concentration. Another officer to the right was monitoring communications, headphones on, scribbling notes and relaying messages with precision. Near the back, a fourth officer was in charge of engineering, overseeing the ship's systems and ensuring everything was running smoothly, his muscles rippling under the tight uniform as he worked.

But I was not here to admire the eye candy, but to bring desolation.

Possession, a skill that any ghost learned in less than one easy lesson. I was no longer among the unquiet dead, but some lessons had remained from my sojourn to the other side of the veil.

I floated to the captain and fell into him like acid rain on fertile soil.

As I burrowed into his mind, I could taste his thoughts. Bitter—like coffee—and I hated coffee. Promises of a glorious Reich—failed. The long exile on a barren Moon. Sacrifice upon sacrifice. The necessity of cruelty and harshness. Utter certainty in his cause. And hate. So much hate.

But to be united by hatred was a fragile alliance at best.

At the heart of fascism, there was a simple lie—we are great, good, and righteous, but there are those who do not look like us, who envy our greatness, our goodness, our riches. They corrupt, sully, and ruin everything. If we could just expel that malevolent other, everything would be well again.

But how can one truly know who that hateful other is? They could look like us, dress like us, speak like us, and yet be the worm in our apple.

How else could our ship get boarded? There must be traitors. And the pilot's skull? Does he not look like a Jew? Tricky, tricky Jew.

As I whispered the poison of paranoia, I felt the captain's pulse quicken. His eyes darted suspiciously around the bridge. His thoughts, once rigid and certain, began to shift ever so slightly under my influence. The seeds of doubt I planted took root, feeding off his deep-seated hatred and fear. His hand, trembling with a mix of anxiety and resolve, slowly but surely reached for his sidearm.

Entwined with the captain, I could fully feel the recoil of the gun as it fired, hear the sound of the gunshot on the bridge, and watch as blood and brains spattered onto the pilot's head. I also heard the crash of glass as the steward stepped back, dropping the tray.

I had control now. I barely had to push, and the captain's arm moved to the next target—the navigator. Blood pattered over his maps as he fell.

The communications officer began to rise, reaching for his own handgun. "Traitor," I whispered, and shot him next.

Another gunshot, not my own. And pain—piercing pain in my chest. But the captain's pain was not my own. I savoured it like fine wine. The body was mortally wounded, but I moved by will alone. Raising the gun, I calmly dispatched the one who shot me—the last adult officer.

Even as the captain's consciousness began to fade, I twisted his head around one hundred eighty degrees and fixed a maniacal grin on his face—a classic for a reason.

The panicked steward ran to the door in a frenzy. Hurriedly, he unlocked it and dashed out, right into the waiting arms of GLaDOS' avatar.

Just as planned.

I dropped the captain's body like used socks, letting him slowly die. But I did not return to my own.

Not yet.

Now that I knew how the bridge of a Nazi spaceship looked, logic dictated that others were the same. That meant I could find them and decapitate their leadership.

A flash of pain. The beginning of a migraine. A warning that my psychic powers were not unlimited.

I corrected my course—decapitate as much of their leadership as I could. No matter the cost.