Interlude Richter

The Moon Führer entered Dr. Richter's laboratory without knocking. He was both preceded and followed by a small squad of stormtroopers, his personal bodyguards.

At his side was a new addition, a teenager armed with swords of all things. This was Oberstgruppenführer der Mondstation Adler's son, a mixture of reward and leash for Adler. While his son had gained prestige through the ceremonial position of Champion of the Reich, the boy was also practically a hostage, always within the reach of the Moon Führer.

The sword was supposedly Gram, the blade wielded by the hero Sigfried from Germanic epics. Richter neither believed it was genuine nor liked its presence. Symbols were important, but that reeked of Thule mysticism.

The laboratory was a testament to their ingenuity since they left Earth in 1945. Mechanical instruments filled the room—oscilloscopes, vacuum tubes, and analogue devices that hummed and buzzed with life. Slide rules and abaci were scattered across workbenches. Detailed charts and blueprints lined the walls, alongside propaganda posters that celebrated the Reich's scientific prowess.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil. The constant hum of generators and the occasional hiss of pneumatic devices provided a steady background noise. The lighting was harsh and clinical, casting sharp shadows that emphasized the stark, utilitarian design of the space. Heavy steel cabinets and shelves, meticulously organized, held an array of tools and parts.

Without greeting, the Moon Führer declared, "You have important news."

He did not need to say more. Richter knew the unspoken threat: this news had better be truly important, or else… At best, and unlikely, merely a swift execution.

Richter nodded, stepping to his workbench cluttered with mechanical instruments and piles of decoded telegrams. "As you already know, the messages we intercepted are heavily encoded. And far too long. Since there is no way for ordinary soldiers to decode them by hand, there must be some kind of machine," Richter began to explain.

"Yes, I already know that," the Moon Führer replied with barely concealed impatience. The boy beside him—Klaus, Richter remembered his name—put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Executions were one of the duties of the Champion, and the teenager took it with admirable gusto.

"You created this for the purpose of obtaining one of the infantry bodies," the Moon Führer continued, pointing to a device on the wall. It was a sniper rifle modified for space combat. The rifle was a marvel of engineering, adapted to fire in the vacuum of space. Its barrel was lined with heat-resistant alloys, and the stock was reinforced to withstand the extreme temperatures. The bullets were designed to mimic micrometeorites, small and irregular, to ensure that any fatal shot could be disguised as a natural accident.

"Don't tell me it finally worked."

"Not exactly. The enemy always travels in groups. Whether it's for caution or to prevent rebellion, we don't know."

"I know that. I do read the reports," the Moon Führer replied, slightly raising his voice. Cold sweat trickled down Richter's neck. "And no, I am still not approving of attempting to wipe out whole squads. One or two may be statistically plausible accidents, but any more and they will start looking for us. But I suppose your invention was not completely useless. At least we know they can be killed, how much force it takes, and their weak points. But are you wasting my time?"

"No, Mein Führer!" Richter was quick to say. "We have managed to intercept a brief conversation that was unencrypted."

"Why did you not start with that?" the Moon Führer asked, toying with his sceptre. Klaus's handsome face twisted into an expression that almost looked like a pout now that execution was not imminent.

Richter had to rethink the young man's suitability for his daughter's hand. Enthusiasm was all well and good, but there was such a thing as taking too much pleasure in the nastier parts of one's duties.

But he was just a boy, and boys were by nature cruel. He would hopefully grow out of it.

Banishing such irrelevant thoughts from his mind, Richter busied himself with the dials. From the device came the pair of faint, childlike almost identical voices they had intercepted.

"Is it true that sword launch is confirmed?"

"Why are you using this channel? This is for emergencies only."

"My others are busted."

"Then go to maintenance."

"I just came from a stint in the Vault. They probed and poked me enough afterwards. Security there is insane. Is whatever is kept there so dangerous?"

"Does it have danger signs?"

"Dozens."

"No other place does. So that should tell you enough. It is said there's one thing even She fears."

"I thought She feared nothing. Well, except the Director, but that's common sense."

"There's a reason for all the security. But you should stop talking to me until you get that fixed. It's against protocol to use this channel unless it's an emergency."

"It's an emergency—I haven't talked to anyone in weeks. You know communication is forbidden in the Vault."

"Fix it first."

"Come on."

"Acting like that would earn you a hot date… with Miss Incinerator."

"Don't be like that. Just tell me about the sword. Is it true they're launching ahead of schedule?"

"There has been some breakthrough. It's set to launch on September the first. Now no more talking until you fix it."

After the conversation stopped, the Moon Führer was silent for a few minutes, obviously deep in thought. Richter did not dare to interrupt him.

"Sword," he finally said, "That sounds like a military operation."

"I am of the same opinion," Richter was quick to agree.

"They will be distracted then, their forces committed elsewhere. We won't have a better opportunity. Just six months. It will be a tight schedule, but we can manage," the Moon Führer spoke, though it seemed more to himself than to Richter. "But that Vault? Finding it is a priority. When we attack, we need to disable it first. Not only to claim it for the Reich but also to stop them from using it against us."

"I will get right on it immediately," Richter said.

"You? No, keep to the laboratory, Herr Doctor. I am going to assign that task to someone more suitable. But there's more to this. Some of their leaders were mentioned."

"Yes, She and the Director. A woman in a position of power. How unsightly."

"She is afraid of that weapon. It must be very potent."

"Women are soft and not suitable for leadership. Instead, they would use weapons and not hide them away."

"The voices of soldiers. You have heard them too. It seems that your theory about midgets was mistaken."

Richter frowned, considering. "Well, children are more common than midgets. I just did not think they would go that low. I suppose that a weaker body is no deterrent once you replace flesh with machines."

"Never mistake how low an enemy could go. This mistake we caught in time, and it could be forgiven. Some others may not," and with this dire warning, he left, no doubt to gather generals to begin mobilizing and planning for the invasion.

But that was a military matter and not Richter's duty.