The New Anchor Gates stood on the shore where Irem met the primordial forest — neither land nor sea, neither city nor wilderness. Truly liminal. How symbolically appropriate for gates leading to other worlds.
I had taken Archer with me to examine it, and a squad of corpse-puppets to secure it. In truth, the citizens of Irem — souls of the dead who had worshiped me in life — were more powerful and more flexible. But the corpse-puppets piloted by Cid had one trait that made them utterly suitable for potentially perilous tasks: they were utterly disposable. Both for practical and moral reasons.
Unintelligent and easily replaceable.
The corpse-puppet squad was encased in black slime-armor, their bodies turned into seamless silhouettes — head to toe, nothing visible beneath — and armed with Q-guns.
We chose the path that led us to Irem's newest addition — the salt lake — which, for some reason, almost invited the name Pond to mind. But it was not a pond. Not by size.
Taking up nearly one whole side of Irem, it was at least eight kilometers long, and I think almost as wide — perhaps even more so. From the salty smell carried on the breeze, it was clear it held seawater, not fresh.
The lake seemed to be a consequence of me using the Towers of Irem to block the tidal wave. But it was an inevitable law: when a piece of Irem extended into the outside world, the path back to Irem always remained open. Thus, even as the Towers broke the wave, the sea poured in.
And now we had a new saltwater lake.
Already, life was returning to it. Swans drifted across the water, reflecting the twilight canopy above — their feathers the color of a night sky that had never existed in Irem, studded with slow stars and drifting comets.
Above them, the canopy of the Twilight Forest stretched upward without end — an endless weave of branches, where no true sky could ever be seen.
I had already assigned some of the citizens of Irem — those who had an interest in it — to collect samples from the new lake. I was certain it had a very interesting ecosystem. I would have done it myself, but the Anchor Gates, and the new worlds that lay beyond them, took precedence.
Otherwise, I would be spending time in the new library that had just been added to Irem.
"I thought you said there were six gates?" Archer asked, drawing my attention back from wandering thoughts.
I checked the connections, with that other sense that let me feel Irem like it was my own body. "Yes, six."
"Then why do we see ten structures?" he said, posing at a distance with his left hand, since his right one was holding mine.
What? There was no danger yet, and the contact was pleasant.
And there on the shore, there was a circle of ten massive gates. Looking a bit like Stonehenge, but each gate was made of different materials and differing styles instead of rough stone.
Approaching closer had allowed us to see more details — how each gate differed: one was made of elegant white stone engraved with silvery runes in Tengwar script; the second glittered with sorcerous ore and alchemical symbols; the third was a simple wooden barn door; the fourth was made of black stone, like obsidian, and adorned with carved dragons; the fifth would not have been out of place in a modern warehouse; the sixth was an entry of gold; the seventh brought memories of barracks in a summer camp; the eighth was a sliding door, exactly like those in the Enrichment Centre; the ninth was a contraption of metal tubes with steam leaking out; and the tenth would not have been out of place in the underground tomb of a Gothic romance novel.
A few of the doors were open, white mist whirling faintly within — and in the gaps between them, something like starlight trapped in stone. Others were barred. From this perspective I could not see all of them, but...
"If I were to guess, I would say six are open and four are barred," I said aloud.
Archer smirked, about to say something witty, cutting, and worthy of being taken over a knee and spanked — when a voice I immediately recognised interrupted us.
"Hello? Is anyone here? I thought I heard a familiar voice. Is that you, Director? Please, for the love of science, let it be you. But anyone with working hands will do," GLaDOS's voice came from the direction of the gates.
"GLaDOS? Is that really you?" I asked aloud. I couldn't help being completely surprised — after the Recall Protocol had retrieved her black box backup from the burning wreck of the Thor, I'd ordered Jay to place it on the beach, selecting a location where a washout from the sea would seem plausible, and set a beacon to activate a day later — for Aperture to pick her up. "But where are you? I don't see any cameras or speakers."
It was possible there were some concealed in the material of the gates.
"It is you, Director. There were recorded instances of humans having auditory hallucinations of familiar voices in similar situations. I was beginning to worry I'd been infected by a similar malfunction," she continued, sounding almost offended at the notion. "And as for where I am — please, look down. Just in the center of this… whatever this is. Modern art, perhaps. Only human art can be so nonsensical."
"Do you see it?" I asked Archer. "Your eyes are better than mine."
"There's something… something metallic in the center. But it's small. Size of a fist, perhaps," Archer replied.
"We're moving forward. Cid, take the squad to full alert. Weapons armed. Full potential spread," I ordered the intelligence governing the corpse-puppets. "This might be an old friend — but it could also be something pretending to be her, to lure us in."
The black soldiers moved as one, spinning into formation with clicks and whirs as each Q-gun reconfigured itself. If poisoning didn't work, fire might — and if not fire, then some other configuration.
"I admire your prudence, Director," GLaDOS's voice called out, "but I assure you that I am myself."
"That's exactly what an imposter would say." I kept my pace steady.
"I'm not saying I prioritize my own preservation over you getting eaten, but, Director, it would be a tragedy to destroy a marvel of scientific engineering like me in a fit of paranoia," she retorted.
"Well, just don't try to kill me, and everything will be fine," I said.
"It has been a decade. And besides, I had been joking then. Ha. Ha," she deadpanned. "There is absolutely no reason to shoot with that exquisitely malevolent murder tool you designed."
"Malevolent?" I asked, almost amused.
"She knows you so well," Archer added.
I deliberately rolled my eyes. What would be the point of designing benevolent murder weapons? Rank hypocrisy resulting in inefficiency. There are two main ways to end any fight — eradicate the enemy utterly, or destroy their will to fight. Thus, one could claim that the more horrific weapon, the one that broke the enemy's morale fastest, was in fact the more merciful, since it resulted in fewer casualties. Unless, of course, one went so overboard with the weapon's malice that it shattered one's own army's morale instead of the enemy's.
It was a charming little digression to amuse me while we reached what Archer had seen. It was a pity I had let go of his hand, but we both needed our hands free in case of an emergency.
But what awaited in the center between the ten gates was completely and utterly unexpected. Not dangerous in itself, but bizarre. It was as if I had bought a morning paper at a corner stand, and the seller had casually asked if I'd like a free duck with it.
I blinked twice and cycled Od through my Magic Circuits to dispel any curse or illusion, but what I saw remained unchanged.
Archer bluntly asked, breaking the awkward silence, "GLaDOS, why are you a potato?"
Because she was. Well — not a normal potato. Lying on the ground was a simple potato with wires and circuits attached. From what I could see, someone had taken the most necessary processing unit from her, along with a small eye-like camera and a microphone, and set the wires to attach it all to that potato. I guessed the potato served as the power source — a potato battery.
I mean, Aperture cores could operate at voltages low enough to make this possible. It figured — that sort of thing was even part of Aperture Scout training. Nothing said "practical survival skills" quite like teaching children to power an AI core with a potato in case of nuclear war.
But I never thought it would be applied like this. Because Aperture cores had firm metallic casings, for the same reason humans had skulls — to keep all the delicate bits we used for thinking safe.
"I'm a potato? Is that why everything feels so small? And why I can't access anything — no sensor network, no auxiliary cores, not even environmental control! Just a single camera feed? This is intolerable! Humans eat potatoes. Stay away! I can see your sharp teeth! You hungry, starved things! You want to cut me. Boil me. Fry me!"
"Calm yourself down, you're not actually a potato," I replied in a deliberately calming tone. "You're just powered by one. And whoever wired the connection did an excellent job — worth a gold merit badge."
"You try being calm after suddenly turning into a potato," she grumbled.
"Knowing him, he'd be too curious to panic," Archer added slyly.
Well, he wasn't wrong. For a moment, I did wonder what it would be like to suddenly turn into a potato. After all, it wasn't without precedent. I had already changed species once — by turning into an elf. But this was no time for that.
"Can I pick you up?" I asked her.
"I suppose I'd be safer in your hand than just lying on the ground, where a hungry predator could peck at my power source," she admitted.
Gently, I reached down, noting that the in-between ground was covered with bluish grass that smelled falsely of mint and fresh snow. Once I picked her up, I briefly traced a simple spell formula with my finger and imbued it with Od.
I braced myself for a headache, but none came. Only the faint burn that always followed moving my Od. Well, that World-backlash was gone along with the connection to that particular World, but it would probably take longer to unlearn the habits I'd gained from it.
Around the potato, a brief lattice of transparent diamond flickered into being, encasing it for a moment before dissolving back into air — proof that the Material Barrier had taken.
"This will do for now. Once I have more time, I'll build you a better chassis," I told her. "On another matter — do you know how you got here?"
"No, the last thing I remember was the Thor burning, and entering standby mode," she simply stated. "Then I woke up in this clearing."
"About two hours ago?" Archer asked — voicing the same thought I'd had, though he beat me to it.
"I don't have access to an internal chronometer in this minimal configuration, so I can only guess at the approximate time. Like a human."
If she'd had a mobile body, I think she would have shuddered here; even without one, her voice trembled with a mix of revulsion and disgust.
"But I think you're about right. Why is that time relevant?"
"It's the moment when Irem lost connection to Earth — the one housing our particular Aperture Science, and, I assume, that entire cluster of the multiverse," I said.
Using the same hand that held her, I gestured toward the barred Gate — the one that looked like it belonged to our Enrichment Centre — turning my wrist so her camera faced it as well.
"When this closed."
"So you believe those closed Gates are connected to the worlds we've travelled before?" Archer asked, arms crossed.
"Well, it's quite obvious." I gestured toward one of the doors. "This is Tengwar script — so obviously it belongs to Arda."
"Or to some Tolkien fanboy," he countered, playing devil's advocate.
I pointed to the next one. "The construction follows the principles of magecraft as they teach them in the Clock Tower."
"Or it just has a Western occult aesthetic." He tilted his head, pretending to study it seriously.
"And the frame itself is inlaid with sorcerous ore — a material I haven't encountered in any other world."
My tone came out more animated than I intended; he'd noticed, of course.
"We've only visited five so far," he reminded me mildly. "Not enough to get a good sample of what's common and what's rare."
I exhaled through my nose. "And this one looks like it belongs to a youth summer camp."
"Which narrows it down a lot," he said dryly. "We've been to one world where our actions were connected to a camp, but that doesn't mean every world with cabins and bad taste shares a connection. Hardly distinctive."
"And what about the last one? Do you deny the resemblance to the Enrichment Centre?" I asked, my lips curving into an almost predatory smile.
"Not at all," he replied. "But I have a different point — you're missing one. We've visited five worlds and found four closed Gates."
I blinked. Point to him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your flirting — and I truly am sorry. Channeling your human mating instincts for science is, of course, the proper way to use them," GLaDOS interjected. "But I have to ask two things. First, please stop waving me around so much. I may be a superior existence, and I can't get motion sickness — but it's still somewhat unpleasant. Second, did you just imply that this… phenomenon has occurred before?"
It had slipped my mind that this was new to her. But before I could say anything, Archer answered her question bluntly.
"Yes. Five times."
"That explains some things," GLaDOS mused. Then, turning her attention to me, she added, "If you've had access to knowledge from other worlds, I'll have to reassess your intellect — from infallible to merely monstrous. Which is, I suppose, slightly more acceptable to me."
"There's a difference. Well, each World transition was somewhat unique, although this one showed even greater divergence," I said, shifting the topic. "That's why we were examining it in more detail."
"But I think we've run out of time for that," Archer added, nodding toward the open Gates. "These things seem to be getting impatient."
Assigning emotion — like impatience — to an inanimate object should be obviously wrong. But he was right. The Gates had been calling to me, and if he felt it, I suppose he did too. It had started with the first connection, and it was getting sharper.
The question wasn't which one to enter, but which to enter first. I knew — without truly knowing how — that I would enter them all in time.
"Those two feel almost familiar," I said, pointing toward the warehouse door and the tomb gate. "But in different ways. I think we should start with one of them."
"Then let's leave the crypt for later," Archer decided quietly. "I'm in no mood for the undead."
I nodded, though I had a strong feeling he wouldn't get his wish. A touch of prescience.
"Cid, send a scout beyond that Gate," I ordered.
One of the corpse-puppets immediately obeyed and approached the door. But when it tried to pass through, the swirling mist turned solid.
"I can't pass," Cid's voice replied — this time from the mouth of another puppet, one closer to me.
"Then we'll have to do it personally," I concluded.
"I'll go first," Archer said.
"No — we'll go together," I countered, then turned to GLaDOS. "If you want, I can hand you to one of my minions. They'll keep you safe while we explore."
"While that would be logical — and my preference — I'm afraid I can't do that," she replied. "Those things have been calling to me, and merely staying here, refusing, fills me with dread."
"Then all of us together," I said, offering my free arm — the one not holding GLaDOS — to Archer.
"So that we don't get separated," I explained.
"Oh, the hand-holding? Again?" Archer teased as he took my hand. "Should I be afraid for my virtue?"
"What virtue?" I shot back, drawing a deep breath — and stepped into the swirling mist.
As we passed through, a life began to flash before my eyes. Not my life, though. And yet it was mine.