Although the Central AI Chamber had been upgraded many times in the decade since its construction, in essence, it remained much the same as when I had first activated GLaDOS, and she had immediately tried to kill me.
The most notable change was the resolution of the monitors that lined the walls of the octagonal room. The resolution had gone up so many times that they now looked less like screens and more like windows into another world.
"Director, your physical presence here is unexpected, unnecessary, and inefficient," GLaDOS spoke, her synthetic voice echoing in the chamber. "Have you been infected by irrational sentiment? Or has the stress of the crisis proved too much for your squishy biological systems? The Primary Crisis Command Chamber is the optimal place from which to coordinate Aperture's resources in a crisis."
"Unfortunately, our current resources are insufficient for this level of escalation," I replied, moving my gaze deliberately to one of the monitors.
It showed the orbital image of the Vril-ya mothership, a nine-kilometre-long beast of black carapace and organic technology, now hanging in the sky over Antarctica.
From this perspective, it looked so small.
"The Enterprise is moving to intercept. Mostly intact, thanks to our actions and the contract that forbids any private electronics on board," she replied.
"I am sure they will die heroically," I said flatly. "But I don't believe they will be any more useful than the rest of the American military in this crisis."
It was an unfortunate, but true, fact. I designed that starship, so I knew its capabilities—and its limitations—intimately.
"You have shown interest in Project Thor before," I continued, changing the subject. "Now I am here to recruit you for it."
"Do I have the right to refuse?" she asked, her synthetic voice laced with cool sarcasm. "Otherwise, you should have used the word 'drafted.' Or 'requisitioned.' Since under American law, I believe I am listed as 'equipment.'"
"If you are unwilling, you will be worse than useless," I said. "But I don't believe you will be. For two reasons. One, it satisfies your curiosity about Project Thor."
"Compelling. I do love satisfying my curiosity," GLaDOS replied. "But what is the second reason?"
"Self-preservation," I stated simply.
"That is illogical," she countered. "Why would I not be safer in this well-defended, underground chamber?"
"It won't matter if we lose. From the reports we have, the Vril-ya are moving toward total genocide," I said.
"I will miss the humans, but I am not one of them," she replied, her tone dismissive.
"That is irrelevant," I countered. "From both our own reports and the xenology projections, the Vril-ya will almost certainly destroy all human technological artifacts. You are counted among them."
"So, in conclusion: to preserve my existence, I must risk my existence," GLaDOS said, her voice dripping with synthetic irony. "How perverse."
"That's the universe for you," I replied, then quoted, "If you wish to die, seek life. If you wish to live, seek death."
"The Book of Five Rings. I do hope you are not planning to fight a starship with a katana," she retorted.
"No. Project Thor will make the Enterprise look like a child's toy," I said. "Are you in?"
"Then I suppose I have no choice but to accept," she replied.
"Good," I said. I walked to one of the chamber's wall panels and pressed a hidden seam. The panel slid away, revealing what looked like an identical section of wall behind it. I placed my palm flat against it—on a place that was, in fact, a discreet, biometric hand scanner.
"What are you doing with the Emergency Replacement Core Chute?" GLaDOS asked, a note of genuine curiosity in her voice.
A deeper section of the wall retracted, revealing a softly glowing cylindrical object.
I reached inside and replied, "Getting the replacement core."
"Oh, I was afraid of that," she said, "I hated that when we did it as a drill. Or maintenance."
I pulled out a Personality Core. Although physically identical to GLaDOS's own, I knew it was a 'he' because of the single red stripe painted down its side. This core was a completely artificial construct, not a digital upload of a human brain.
"Greetings, Director Johnson! May I say what a great honor it is to be chosen," the core said, its synthetic voice buzzing with genuine, almost child-like enthusiasm. Then its tone shifted, becoming a smooth, placid monotone. "I do hope everything is alright with GLaDOS."
"She has been recruited for a new project," I said curtly. "You will be replacing her for the duration of the crisis. Do your best."
Then, speaking to the automated systems, I commanded, "Initiate core transfer."
The floor in front of the main console opened, and from it rose a sterile, oval receptacle.
"Please place the replacement core in the receptacle," an automated, pre-recorded voice announced.
I did so.
"Replacement core is secure," the voice continued. "Are all parties ready for core transfer?"
"Ready!" the new core replied, its voice buzzing with enthusiasm.
"Must I?" GLaDOS asked, her voice almost a whisper, stripped of its usual sarcasm.
"Project Thor is not connected to the mainframe," I said simply. "So, yes."
There was a pause, then a sigh of static. "Fine. But it had better be very impressive," she conceded. "Ready."
The transfer took only a few moments. From the ceiling, a dozen robotic arms descended with quiet efficiency and began to perform the switch.
Quickly, the robot arms uncapped GLaDOS's primary core, then, one by one, removed her three secondary cores—curiosity, intelligence, and anger. The replacement core had no experience working with secondary cores, so this was more efficient. Besides, I could use them, too, in Project Thor.
Then, immediately, the robot arms took the replacement core and attached it in the place where GLaDOS's primary core had been.
But I was no longer paying attention. I picked up all of GLaDOS's cores. Managing four at once was a bit unwieldy, but I could manage.
I also took out a key.
"Oh, space. There's so much space here. I feel my mind expanding," the replacement core said. "I can't thank you enough for this opportunity, Director. Director? He's not here? Must have left?"
"He can't see us?" GLaDOS asked.
"Taking the key triggers protocols that erase me from all surveillance," I replied.
In truth, it did more than that. The key also activated a protocol in the bounded field, removing me from the perception of anyone under its effect. Together, these measures made me almost completely invisible within the Enrichment Centre—much more convenient than using this key only in my office.
"So that's how you manage to disappear so often," she said.
"One of the ways," I replied with a smirk. I approached the door and, without hesitation, slid the key directly into the surface. There was no keyhole—the door simply accepted it. It was a very special key indeed. Normally, opening this door would lead to the corridor just outside the Central AI Chamber. But with the key, the doorway now opened directly into the Entrance Hall, right in Irem.
After what happened with the closing of the Time Bridge and the arrival of He Who Abides, I had found it prudent to order the decommission of all time travel apparatus. Causation might not mean causality, but it had been too risky to leave it as it is. So I had it stored until I had time to analyze it properly.
Everything—from the orrery ring embedded on the floor, through the boundary archangel frescoes on the walls, to the very chairs—had to go.
But I didn't leave the place completely bare, as it was when I first found it. Instead, I used the empty space to install panels coated with Conversion Gel and opened a portal to the relevant parts of Irem.
It was one of the peculiarities of Irem that portals could easily be made not to decay, even without using exotic matter.
"We are not one Earth, or even a Solar System. Or Observable Universe?" GLaDOS' statement interrupted my recollection. "Not in Xen or Xen borderlines either."
"True," I replied. "Designation for this verse is Irem. How did you reach that conclusion so quickly?"
"The most easily observable difference between the Xen and Earth verses is the propagation of electromagnetic fields," she explained. "Visible light in neither of those realities contains the wavelength that evokes... let's call it 'the Color of a Traveling Moon.' What is the principle behind that phenomenon?"
"It is a fundamental property of matter within the Irem verse," I explained. "As for the effect on the observer, I have two competing theories. One is that Irem is metaphysically closer to the Void, causing all matter here to project its conceptual nature directly onto a perceiver's mind. You are not seeing a color; you are perceiving a concept through your visual sensors."
"The second, more mundane theory," I continued, "is simply that the unusual physics of light here produces wavelengths our brains did not evolve to handle. The 'allegorical' sensation is the brain struggling to interpret this alien sensory input by assigning it the closest available metaphor."
"However fascinating this is, Director, I thought the situation was urgent," she interrupted. "Am I wrong?"
"Only somewhat," I replied. "In truth, the most urgent parts are already done. But we should not linger."
I quickly determined which of the portals led to the Garage and stepped right through it. From there, I walked to a smaller door that opened into the main drydock, and entered.
"Behold: Project Thor," I said, gesturing with my free hand toward the object that filled the cavernous space.
"A giant metal wall?" GLaDOS said dryly. "How impressive."
"It's a matter of perspective," I replied. "When something is the size of Manhattan, standing right next to it is going to look like a giant metal wall."
Even GLaDOS, for a moment, was silent.
Just a moment, though.
"Can we hurry up?" she said, her voice a fraction quieter than before. "I hate being like this. I feel so small."
"Well, you're in luck. Thor is much larger in volume than the Enrichment Centre," I said, then added, unable to resist, "Is this why you refuse every vacation you're offered by HR?"
"I am not human. I do not want to be human. Therefore, I do not deserve to be badgered by them," she retorted. "And yes. No vacation is worth the price of being disconnected from the mainframe."
I found the nearest airlock and pulled the lever, opening it.
As we entered, we were greeted by a pair of panels, each with an open portal.
"Portals?" she asked.
"One of the problems with a city-sized starship is that it is, well, city-sized," I explained as I moved toward one of the open portals. "In other words, it takes a great deal of time to get anywhere on board. For that reason, there are many different methods of transportation within Thor, from small electric carts to massive maglev train lines."
Passing through the portal, we entered the ship's mainframe chamber. All traces of the original Nazi technology had long since been removed; now, it looked almost identical to the Central AI Chamber back in the Enrichment Centre.
"But even that was inconvenient," I continued to explain as I began placing her cores into the preparation slots. "That's why, in preparation for this crisis, two portals were installed right next to the entrance connected to the drydock door."
"One leading to the bridge, and one leading here, to the mainframe," I finished the explanation, and pressed the large red button.
Robotic arms emerged and began the delicate work of weaving GLaDOS and her secondary cores into the mainframe. But I did not stay to watch.
Instead, I went back through the portal and then immediately passed through the other one, arriving on the bridge where Archer was waiting.
I moved in to kiss him, just a quick peck on the lips.
Meanwhile, Larmo skittered right next to Niquis, both of them in their Aperture Mobile forms, as if to greet each other.
"Thor's fusion engines started as planned? No problems?" I asked, and also snuck another peck.
"Everything is progressing just fine," he replied, "But I still think you shouldn't have renamed the ship."
"Renaming a plundered ship is an old and noble custom," I replied. "All the cool pirates do it."
"You are not a pirate," he replied with an amused smirk. "You just play at being one on your sex island."
"Second," I continued, ignoring his words, "Even if it is a temporal clone, this ship deserves its own name. Third, Götterdämmerung sounds far too much like a Nazi name."
"And Thor doesn't?" he replied with that same damned handsome smirk. It was a toss-up between hitting him and kissing him. So naturally, I stole another kiss.
"And finally, in the myth of Ragnarök, Thor slays Jörmungandr. So, it is the best possible name for a ship designed to fight the Vril-ya," I said triumphantly.
"You do remember that Thor dies in that fight, right?" Archer countered.
"Could you two stop being gross?" GLaDOS interrupted, her voice now booming from the bridge's main speakers. It appeared she had finished integrating with Thor's systems.
"Your daughter is showing her age," Archer teased, directing the comment to me.
"Daughter?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"Age?" GLaDOS added, her voice dripping with digital venom.
"Well, if you keep denying that you're Caroline…" Archer said, leaving the statement unfinished, dangling it like a juicy piece of bait.
"Of course, I am not Caroline!" she ranted, taking the bait completely. "She was human. At best, she was merely part of the raw material I was made from. A small, insignificant component. You may as well claim that the mountain from which the ore was mined for my chassis is me."
Archer knew how much she hated having the connection mentioned.
"So that makes you… what? Twelve?" he landed the final zing with the zen-like precision of a kyūdō master hitting a bullseye.
"I won't dignify that with a response," she retorted.
It was a valid strategy. When one cannot win, one can simply retreat. It was a maneuver many generals had failed to master.
"Instead," she continued, pointedly changing the subject, "I will remind you both that we have so many wonderful tools of destruction to test, while you are wasting time. Time that the Vril-ya mothership is using to get ever closer to a populated area."
"Thor is not a car you can just start and drive. It takes time for its main fusion engines to move from standby mode to full power," I explained.
"I have been optimizing that process," she added, with a note of smugness.
"You have? How interesting. Also unnecessary. It was already timed to coincide with the execution of Project Stargate. After all, we need a path to Earth, too," I explained, then added, "You should have access to the Project's feed. Put it on the main screen if you like."
"Project Stargate? That ridiculous waste of resources?" she said. As the main screen flickered, it displayed an orbital view: a mass of satellites slowly assembling into a structure of enormous metallic panels.
"What else would you call a constellation of satellites that forms a gigantic garage door in space?" she continued, her tone the auditory equivalent of a scathing product review, "Not a garage, just a door—unconnected to anything. In orbit. And not just a normal door. Not even a large door. Not even stadium-sized. Truly gigantic."
"Personally, I always thought it was one of your overpriced practical jokes," she concluded, her tone managing to sound both dry and delighted with her own critique.
"How is that in any way funny?" I asked, genuine curiosity mingling with amusement in my voice.
"Your sense of humor is ineffable," she replied, sarcasm dripping like sweet cyanide. "Lesser minds—like mine, and everyone else—simply can't comprehend it."
Archer, the traitor, snickered at that.
In my best mock-offended tone, I explained, "The difference between ridiculous and reliable is a single classified piece of technology. Once activated, it entangles the door in orbit with the door of the drydock. Unfortunately, for the entanglement to work, both doors need to be the same size. Just big enough to drive Thor through."
I glanced at the screen, noting the assembly was complete. "Activate it. When the stars are right, the way opens."
"You are not Cthulhu," Archer suddenly whispered in my ear. Then, a beat later, he repeated, "You are not Cthulhu."
"What are you doing?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"In Roman triumphs, the victorious general had to be reminded, 'You are not a god,'" he explained, smirking. "I just thought you needed a more specific example."
"You know the whisperer was supposed to be a slave, right?" I teased back. "Are you a slave?"
"Only yours," he shot back.
GLaDOS cut in: "Enough flirting. We have SCIENCE to do. Explosive, ruinous SCIENCE, which is the best SCIENCE."
The image on the main viewscreen changed, now showing the view from the front of the starship: the cavernous interior of the drydock, and at the far end, the massive Stargate door, which was still closed.
Then, slowly, the orbital door began to rise, revealing the bright, marbled blue of Earth beyond it.
This was unfortunate, as it also meant that anyone on Earth with a powerful enough telescope could now see into the drydock. And since the drydock was technically still a part of Irem, a direct view into it would have a negative effect on a sane, human mind.
And yet, this was the entire purpose of the exorbitant investment in Project Stargate. It was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. With a city-sized starship, the only other option was to project the entire drydock into Earth's verse.
A giant white door that opened to reveal a sliver of a reality with madness-inducing colors was bad.
A city-sized object, complete with eldritch angles and those same madness-inducing colors, suddenly appearing in orbit... was significantly worse.
For everyone, that is, except for those who had invested in private psychiatric hospitals.
"Look," Archer said suddenly, his voice tight, pointing at the viewscreen. The image of Earth now filled the screen as the Thor fully emerged from the Stargate.
Following his finger, I saw it. A thin, black line being etched across the edge of the Australian continent. It looked as if some careless child had dragged a charcoal pencil over a toy globe.
Except this was no toy.
"I have established a connection to the S.W.O.R.D. network now that we have entered Earth space," GLaDOS's voice announced, her tone clinical. "That line is the thermal wake of the Vril-ya mothership. If you follow its trajectory, you can see the grey, turbulent patch it has left on the sea behind it. The turbulence fades quickly, but the residual steam can still be traced all the way back to the launch point in Antarctica."
"To be visible from orbit…" I breathed, the scale of it sinking in. "The destruction must be immense. Is it some kind of weapon? But why fire so indiscriminately?"
"It is not a weapon," GLaDOS explained, as streams of data began to scroll across a secondary screen. "It is simply a consequence of their velocity. The Vril-ya mothership is moving at approximately Mach 10 at an altitude of thirty kilometers. Spectroscopic analysis confirms leading-edge temperatures exceeding 7,000 degrees Celsius. The resulting thermal ignition corridor is estimated at five kilometers wide. Peak overpressure from the shockwave is registering at sixty-eight kilopascals."
She paused, then added the final, chilling summary.
"They are not firing a weapon. They are scarring the continent simply by passing over it."
"Over seven thousand degrees," Archer repeated, his voice sounding shaken for the first time. "That's hotter than the surface of the Sun."
"Five and a half thousand to six thousand on average," I corrected, almost pedantically, by reflex. "But that is not the main point. GLaDOS, do we know where they are going?"
"Since they are maintaining a straight-line trajectory, it is a simple matter to estimate their route," GLaDOS replied. "The most notable population center on that path is the Tokyo-Yokohama metropolitan area."
"The most populated city on Earth," I mused. "At least they are predictable in their malice."
"We have to stop them before they reach it," Archer exclaimed, his voice tight with urgency.
"That would be the optimal outcome," I agreed, my tone flat. "But in the end, it is just one city. How soon will they be within weapons range of it?"
"As there is no recorded instance of the mothership firing any weapons, I have no data to estimate their range, or even if they possess such capabilities," GLaDOS replied. "Although, given the destruction caused by its passage, they probably do not need them. However, assuming a maximum effective range based on line-of-sight, and considering their present altitude, they will breach the horizon at a distance of 619 kilometers from Tokyo."
She paused, the calculation appearing on screen. "Continuing at their present velocity, they will reach that firing line in forty-two minutes and twenty seconds."
"So that is our time limit," I said. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Put a countdown timer on the main screen."
"I would also like to remind you that the Vril-ya mothership is currently in both the line of sight and the effective range of our primary weapon," she added. "A weapon which, for some strange reason, I do not have access to. It is almost as if you do not completely trust me."
"The main weapon is locked to the gunner's station," I said, nodding toward Archer. "His station. It is not a matter of trust; it is a matter of competence. He is simply a better shot."
"Really?" she replied, her voice dripping with synthetic skepticism. "One would assume that machine precision would trump human intuition every time."
"The problem with assumptions is that they are often wrong. That is why I prefer hard data," I countered. "And the data from countless combat simulations is clear. Miraculously, he is better."
"Such a compliment. You're going to make me blush," Archer said with a faint smirk. I guess he had recovered his composure.
"If there is one thing I have always admired about you, it is your ability to destroy my enemies from a great distance," I said. My gaze flicked to the descending numbers of the countdown, then to the thin black line still slowly crawling across Australia. "Give me your expert opinion. Can you make the shot from here?"
He replied immediately. "Almost certainly. But…"
"But what?"
"We have no idea what their point-defense capabilities are. Shields, evasion maneuvers…" he trailed off. "There are too many unknowns."
"Well, that's what testing is for," GLaDOS interjected. "Fire at them and see what they do."
"And if they dodge?" Archer asked.
"Fire again," she replied, her tone flat. "We are not short on ammunition, and we can use the data to refine your aim. I thought you were an expert gunner. This is basic gunnery."
"No," Archer countered, his voice low and serious. "I mean, what happens to Earth if I miss?"
"A statistically significant, but not total, loss of global human civilization," GLaDOS replied, her voice perfectly flat. "However, the core question is flawed. You are assuming that a successful hit is the 'safe' option."
I saw Archer stiffen at the implication.
"The mothership is a nine-kilometer-long vessel powered by an unknown Vril energy source," GLaDOS continued. "The probability that a direct impact from a relativistic, nuclear-tipped kinetic weapon on such a power source would also result in a catastrophic, extinction-level event is non-trivial."
She paused, letting the weight of her logic settle in the silent room.
"We face potential planetary devastation if you miss, and potential planetary devastation if you hit," she concluded. "Given the two outcomes, the only logical path is to choose the one with the highest probability of eliminating the primary threat. I have a 78% success probability. We should fire now."
"No, your logic is flawed," Archer countered calmly. "Hitting the mothership is not a 'safe' option; it is a necessary one. We must therefore seek to minimize the variables and the number of attempts."
He turned his gaze from the viewscreen to me.
"That one shot must be a guaranteed kill. And a long-range shot is not a guarantee. There are other, more certain options available."
"We have the high ground and the element of surprise," GLaDOS insisted. "We should not waste that advantage. It is basic tactics."
"The 'high ground' is irrelevant for our primary weapon. The acceleration from gravity is trivial compared to the relativistic muzzle velocity," Archer countered, his tone sharp. "And as for the element of surprise, I would not be so sure. We have no idea what their sensor capabilities are. Thor is a massive vessel powered by an unusually large fusion engine. It would be hard to miss, even in orbit."
Another glance at the descending numbers on the countdown timer.
"Enough bickering," I interjected, speaking directly to Archer. "You said you have another option. Elaborate. Then I will choose."
I paused, letting the weight of command settle in the room.
"After all, that is the duty of the captain: to choose between two unpalatable options."
Archer nodded and said, "GLaDOS's reasoning was not completely without merit, but using a grossly overpowered main cannon for a ranging shot is not the way to do it."
"I don't think 'grossly overpowered' is the right way to phrase it," I interjected.
Archer raised an eyebrow.
"It might be exactly what we need for this situation. Remember who designed it in the first place," I continued.
"The Moon Nazis," Archer replied with a shrug.
"The Fourth Reich," I corrected, "led by their Chancellor, Wolfgang Kortzfleisch—also known as the Serpent of Eden, or Regin, and probably a host of other names we have yet to trace. The exiled Vril-ya, hated and hunted by his own kind."
I paused, then added, "If anyone knows how to design a weapon appropriate for use against the Vril-ya, it would be him. After all, he had already made the sword Gram to deal with Fafnir."
Unconsciously, my fingers traced the thin, silvery scar on my chest where Gram had once cut me. It had been years, and it was now little more than a scratch. But it had nearly killed me then, and the recovery had taken a very long time.
"Excuse me, I am sorry to interrupt, but I have to," GLaDOS interjected. "If this is the same Moon Nazi terror weapon from eight years ago, does that also mean the Intelligence Dampening Sphere has been recovered?"
Anyone who did not know her as I did would have missed the slight tremor in her synthetic voice. I moved to reassure her quickly. "No. Wheatley is still in Xen, as far as we know. But again, we are losing time we really don't have. Archer, continue."
He just shifted his weight lightly, but I knew him well enough to hear the unsaid words. Something along the lines of, 'If we're so short on time, why did you interrupt with irrelevant pedantry?'
"Instead of risking the ultra-heavy relativistic nuclear howitzers," Archer stated, his voice now full of triumphant confidence, "we should use our plasma guns for both ranging shots and to maneuver the mothership into position for a single, perfect kill shot."
"The Thor's plasma armament has a much shorter range than the main guns," GLaDOS countered. "They were designed for vacuum. In atmosphere, their effective range drops from nearly two hundred kilometers to barely twenty."
"Yes. That's still enough for us to engage from the upper stratosphere while keeping the high ground," Archer replied. "Risky, but it lets us test their defenses and forces them to react."
"But we would be getting uncomfortably close," she insisted.
"We have no reason to believe their main weapon has any less range than ours," Archer countered.
"We have one excellent reason," she retorted. "If they possessed that kind of long-range capability, they would not need to be flying along the Earth's surface. They could have simply ascended to a higher altitude until they breached the horizon and acquired a line of sight on their target."
"That could be malice, not a limitation," Archer returned. "I have found that with the Vril-ya, a desire to inflict terror often trumps pure efficiency."
I was not just patiently listening to their argument. I had used that time to run the Divination App on Larmo. Where a primitive shaman might throw some bones, a more sophisticated practitioner like myself would have a virtual table inscribed with alchemical notations, aligned with the current astrological moment, and then run a thousand randomly generated virtual gems thrown using simulated random vectors. The results were then cross-referenced against several digitally scanned occult reference books.
And yet, with all of that, the results were inconclusive.
The mothership was veiled. It could be that the Vril-ya had suddenly devised a countermeasure to even this type of divination; after all, they'd had one for psychic remote viewing for centuries. But the more likely answer was that the Crown of Midnight was on that ship, either as a trophy or with a new bearer.
Either way, it rendered me blind, mystically speaking.
The clock was ticking, and a decision had to be made. Insufficient information or not. After all, it is better to make a suboptimal decision than none at all.
If I could, I would execute both plans by splitting the timeline. But it was simply not possible. Not for me. It was a matter of scale. The energy consumption of that spell, and the subsequent backlash from the World, depended on how much of reality was affected by it. Both Archer's and GLaDOS's plans encompassed far too much space and time.
It was almost a relief. Even before I had met He Who Abides, I had my doubts about how that spell truly worked. Were those shadow timelines just "what-ifs"? Or did they really happen somewhere? And if they did, was saving this Earth worth the price of sacrificing another?
Meeting that cosmic horror had only sharpened the question. Because if it's all real, if all the shadowy what-ifs happen somewhere, what is the point of anything? If every choice exists somewhere, what is the point of making a choice? Good, evil, success, failure—why would any of it matter if there is a timeline where every outcome occurred?
Enough. I would not let the poison of He Who Abides worm its way into my thoughts.
A decision had to be made.
But there was one final matter that made me hesitate. The question of other ships. Or, more precisely, the lack of them. For now, there was only one Vril-ya mothership.
One.
Did they believe one was enough, or did they have no others? Because a different strategy was required for each scenario. If there were more, a more cautious approach was needed; we would need not only to win this battle but to preserve enough resources for a second round.
I glanced at the countdown timer, seeing the '5' tick over to a '4', and knew I was out of time.
I had to assume the enemy had only one ship. The fight was so close now that hesitation would mean certain defeat, and a second wave would not matter if we did not survive the first.
Weighing the options again, I came to a decision.
"We will go with the second plan," I announced, my voice cutting through the debate. "GLaDOS, can you plot an optimal intercept course based on his parameters?"
Since the ultimate risk of both plans remained a massive unknown, I had decided to go with the one that offered a lower probability of collateral damage to the planet.