by Ernest Cline
Debbie nodded. "Quoting Revelations is probably a bad idea right now," she said. "I think we're all terrified enough already."
Whoadie gave Milo and Debbie a look of disappointment before she replied.
" 'He which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart,' " she recited, still glaring at the two adults. " 'His passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse--we would not die in that man's company, that fears his fellowship to die with us.' "
They both stared back at her for a long moment.
"What is it with you, anyway, kid?" Milo asked finally.
Whoadie shrugged again. "The only thing my uncle Franklin loves more than quoting Scripture is quoting Shakespeare." She smiled to herself. "I seen all those Branagh and Zeffirelli movies about a zillion times each, so I know every word by heart."
Chen typed something into his QComm's translator, then tilted it toward her.
"You are very smart and you have an amazing memory," the synthesized voice said.
Even though his compliment came via a computer, it was enough to make her blush again as she whispered, "Thank you." She and Chen shared another glance. They seemed smitten with each other already, despite the language barrier.
"How old are you, Whoadie?" Debbie asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
"I just turned sixteen last week," she said. "But I don't have my license yet."
"You sound like you're from New Orleans," Debbie told her, doing her best to pronounce it N'Awlins.
Whoadie nodded. "I live in the Ninth Ward," she said. "That's actually where my nickname comes from. Whoadie is how the locals say wardie. That's a person who lives in the same ward as you," she explained. "My parents called me Whoadie ever since I was a baby. I didn't always like it, because there were some boys at school used to call me Whoadie the Toadie all the time. But then I punched their fucking lights out and they stopped."
She said this in such a sweet, girlish voice that I burst out laughing. So did Milo. But Debbie looked absolutely horrified.
"Lila!" she said, wincing again. "Such language, honey! Your parents don't let you swear like that around them, do they?"
Whoadie folded her arms. "Well, no, they didn't used to," she said. "But they both died in a hurricane when I was little, so now I get to say whatever the fuck I want."
"Oh, snap!" Milo muttered under his breath.
"You poor dear," Debbie said, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Whoadie nodded and looked away, leaving Debbie to squirm in the silence that followed. That was when Milo decided to try to help salvage the conversation.
"Hey," he said, nodding at me. "Zack over there thought his father was dead, too--but he's not. Maybe your folks are still alive, too?"
Whoadie glared back at him, then shook her head slowly.
"They drowned," she said. "I saw their bodies."
She didn't elaborate. Milo was too taken aback to even respond. Whoadie turned to look out the window, and I watched her, recalling what Admiral Vance had told me about not feeling too sorry for myself.
"How about you, Debbie?" I asked, desperate to change the subject. "Where do you hail from?"
"Duluth, Minnesota," she said, giving me a grateful smile. "I'm a school librarian there. I also have three boys, all teenagers now. The oldest is only fifteen." Her smile faded. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to any of them. They let me send my sister a text message, asking her to pick them up, but I obviously couldn't say why."
"Can't your husband take care of them?" Whoadie asked.
Debbie glanced down at the wedding ring on her left hand, then smiled at Whoadie.
"I'm afraid not, dear," she said, meeting Whoadie's gaze. "Howard died of a heart attack last year."
Now it was Whoadie's turn to look embarrassed. "Sorry."
"It's all right," she said. "My boys are tough as nails. I'm sure they'll get through this fine. I just hope--" Her voice hitched, but she went on. "When I'm allowed to call them later, I just hope they understand why I couldn't stay with them through all of this."
"They'll understand," I said, with as much assurance as I could. "Your sons are gamers, too, right?"
She nodded. "They all play Terra Firma together every night, while their mom is playing Armada," she said. "We all have our computers set up next to each other in the living room."
"Then your boys will be fighting right alongside us," I said, smiling at her. "Right?"
Debbie nodded, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
"Right," she said. "That's right, I forgot."
"Fucking-A!" Milo shouted. "We're gonna have AtomicMom's boys whipping ass for our team, too?" He smiled at Debbie. "Those alien dipshits won't stand a chance."
To my surprise, Debbie returned his smile, and I found myself reconsidering my first impression of Milo. His Rocky Balboa-esque method of speaking somehow made his cocky enthusiasm seem endearing.
Chen--who had just now caught up with the conversation via his translator--nodded vigorously in agreement with Milo, then spoke into his translator.
"I know my friends and family back home will be helping us fight, too," the software said for him. "And that is very comforting to me."
"Thank you, Chen," Debbie said. "You too, Milo. You're right, that is comforting." She twisted her hands into knots in her lap. "But I'm still frightened for my family--and for all us." She shook her head. "I never believed something like this could really happen. It's a nightmare."
"I don't know," Milo said, leaning back. "It seems more like a dream come true to me."
Debbie stared at him. "Are you insane?" she asked. "How could you possibly think that?"
Milo shrugged. "Yesterday I was living in a shitty basement apartment and working a soul-crushingly boring cubicle job." He motioned to the surreal view out the shuttle window. "Look at me now! I'm an officer in the Earth Defense Alliance, and I'm on my way to the fucking moon to help save Earth from an alien invasion!" He turned back to Debbie. "Now please explain to me how this isn't the greatest day ever? Like, in history?"
"Because we're all about to get killed, moron!" she shouted back, with a tremor of hysteria creeping into her voice. "Were you even paying attention during the admiral's briefing? Did you see the size of their armada? We're going to be ridiculously outnumbered!"
Milo seemed genuinely surprised. "I may have missed that part of the briefing," he said. Then, under her withering glare, he added, "I have ADD! My mind wanders during long meetings!" For the first time, I detected genuine fear in his voice. "Are the odds really that bad? The admiral never said--"
"What?" Debbie asked, interrupting him. "That we're probably doomed? Why would he say that out loud?" She turned to look out the window. "He doesn't need to. It's obvious. I mean, how desperate must the odds be if we're the Alliance's best hope? We're a bunch of gamer geeks, not soldiers."
"Yes we are!" Milo replied. "We all just enlisted, remember?" He shook his head at her. "Come on, lady--can't you try and be a little more positive? This isn't over yet. We can still win this thing!"
Debbie studied him for a moment before she replied. "Don't you get it, Milo? No matter who wins, millions of people are going to die when the fighting starts a few hours from now."
He waved a hand at her dismissively. "Oh, grow some balls! If killing these alien dipshits is half as easy as it is in the game, we're gonna kick their European asses!"
"Europan, Milo," I said. "You. Rope. An. Not European."
"Whatever the fuck you wanna call them," he sighed. "You know what I mean."
"I hate to say it," Whoadie said. "But I agree with Milo. If we beat them in the game, we can beat them in real life." She looked around at the three of us hopefully. "After all, we are the best of the best, right?"
Before his QComm even had time to finish translating for him, Chen jumped to his feet and shouted "Right!" with a raised fist. Then he bared his teeth and shouted something that sounded like "Sheng-lee!"
&n
bsp; His QComm repeated the word in synthesized English: "Victory!"
Whoadie grinned and raised a fist of her own, then repeated after Chen, shouting "Sheng-lee!" at nearly the same volume.
"Hell yeah!" Milo shouted, throwing up a pair of heavy-metal horns. "Sheng-lee!"
Debbie glanced at me, waiting to see if I would take up their battle cry, too. Privately, I shared her grim appraisal of our chances. But feigning optimism seemed like it would be better for everyone's morale--including my own.
I raised a fist like the others, then, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I repeated their cry of "Sheng-lee!" I nudged Debbie with my elbow, and she sighed in resignation.
"Sheng-lee!" she echoed, halfheartedly pumping her fist in the air. "Woo."
Chen grinned at all of us, leaned forward, and stretched out his right hand, with his palm facing down. Whoadie smiled back and stacked her hand on top of his; then Milo, Debbie, and I each did the same thing. Then, in unison, we all shouted "Sheng-lee!" one more time.
A second later, we heard Captain Meadows' voice on the intercom again, announcing that we were on final approach to Moon Base Alpha. This seemed to make us self-conscious, and we all quickly withdrew our hands.
The shuttle banked sharply, and the moon's cratered surface suddenly filled the portside windows as we rocketed into orbit. I caught a brief glimpse of the Tycho impact crater as we zoomed over it on our way around to the far side, which was mostly in shadow. This hemisphere of the moon always faced away from Earth, so it was the first time any of us were seeing it with our own eyes. The surface was marred by a few small blackened regions, which looked like burn marks, but there were no ocean-sized dark patches or "seas" like those that marred the moon's more familiar hemisphere. The landscape here on the far side of the moon was far more uniform in color and appearance, but that didn't make it seem any more inviting.
As we sailed over the cratered and barren lunar surface, I was struck by a brief vision of Earth after the coming conflict. The battle had left our world ravaged and dead, as devoid of life and color as its own moon, its oceans and atmosphere burned away, its mighty cities replaced with impact craters, and the whole of its once-beautiful surface scorched black by the fire of war.
I shook my head and rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands before looking back down at the lunar surface.
The sun was low in the sky, causing the more prominent craters to cast long shadows that stretched out across the pockmarked surface like crooked black fingers. Far below, an enormous bowl-shaped crater slid into view, and the sight sent a chill cascading down my spine. I recognized this place. I was looking down at the crater Daedalus, the secret location of Moon Base Alpha. I'd known this was our destination, but I still hadn't been able to convince myself that it really existed until that moment, when I saw it with my own eyes.
The large crater, Daedalus, had a much smaller, steeper crater named Daedalus B immediately adjacent to it, and a third, even smaller crater adjacent to that, known as Daedalus C. The lips of all three craters touched, and when viewed from directly above, their outlines somewhat resembled the shape of a pocket watch, with Daedalus B standing in for the small round knob on top, and Daedalus C serving as the even smaller chain ring attached to it. These three craters immediately stood out from the thousands of others on the lunar surface because even at this distance, they all contained obvious evidence of human construction.
The walls of the big crater had been smoothed out and curved into a perfect bowl shape to create a dish antenna for an enormous radio telescope. Its design was similar to that of the Arecibo Observatory in the mountains of Puerto Rico, but several hundred times larger. The two smaller craters each had an armored sphere nestled inside, like a golf ball sitting atop a shot glass. They were made of armored metal plating that had been painted gray to match the lunar surface.
"Moon Base Alpha!" Chen shouted as he spotted it, too. Then he began to talk excitedly in Mandarin as he pointed out things down on the surface. The others craned their necks to see out the nearest window, and they each gasped at their first glimpse of our destination.
"There it is!" Whoadie said, bouncing in her seat. "It's really there. It's really real!"
Moon Base Alpha was a familiar sight to all of us, because we'd flown our Interceptors into and out of a simulated version of it hundreds of times while playing Armada. Our shuttle was even approaching along the same trajectory, giving me a strange sense of deja vu.
As we made our final approach, the dome at top of the smaller sphere split apart into equal segments, like an orange, and retracted far enough to permit our shuttle entrance. As soon as we descended inside the dome, its armored segments slammed back together above us, sealing the hangar bay once again, which essentially functioned like a giant airlock. Its design had always reminded me of the docking bay of the fictional Clavius Base featured in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Now I found myself wondering if the EDA had borrowed elements from Stanley Kubrick's design. After all, stranger things had obviously happened--and were still happening right now.
Our shuttle touched down on the hangar floor a moment later, and when the engines cut out, an abrupt silence filled the cabin. The others were all pressed to the windows, but I couldn't look. I just sat there frozen in my seat, paralyzed by oscillating waves of anticipation and dread.
Meadows' ATHID emerged from the cockpit and used one of its clawed hands to slap a large green button on the bulkhead. The safety bars around our seats retracted up into the ceiling as the doors opened with a hiss.
"Leave your gear and follow me," Meadows told us over the drone's comm speaker. Then the ATHID turned and exited the shuttle, motioning for us to follow.
Whoadie immediately unbuckled her harness and literally jumped out of her seat. She was already running when her feet hit the floor.
"I can't believe we're on the moon!" she said in childlike wonder, stretching her arms out wide as she leapt through the shuttle's open hatchway. I saw her sprint off and noticed that she didn't bounce as she ran, the way the Apollo astronauts always did in footage of the moon landings, which meant the gravity up here was somehow being altered to match that of Earth.
Chen struggled to get free of his own harness, then scrambled outside after Whoadie. It took Milo slightly longer to extricate himself, but then he exited the shuttle, too, grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, leaving Debbie and me alone in the passenger cabin. She unbuckled her safety harness and turned in her seat to face me.
"You ready to head out there, Zack?"
I started to nod, but ended up shaking my head.
"I've spent my whole life fantasizing about this moment," I told her. "And now ... I think I'm too terrified to even go out there."
"It'll be all right," she said. "He's probably just as nervous about meeting you. Maybe even a little more."
Meadows' ATHID stuck its head back into the cabin, with his telepresence monitor now deployed. He smiled at Debbie through the screen, then rotated his drone's head to address me.
"The general is right outside in the hangar bay, waiting to meet you, Lieutenant." He turned to Debbie. "He asked me to escort you and the other new arrivals down to Operations, so that he and the lieutenant can have a few minutes in private. They'll join us there shortly."
"Of course," Debbie said, standing up. She brushed a lock of hair off my forehead, then squeezed my shoulder and gave me another smile. "See you in a few minutes, okay?"
I nodded. "Thanks, Debbie."
She gave me one last smile before she departed with Meadows' ATHID.
I sat there alone inside the cabin for a few seconds, summoning my courage. Then I thumbed the release latch on my safety harness and shrugged it off as I slowly got to my feet.
When I finally stepped outside, he was right there, waiting for me.
He was just a few yards away from me, standing at rigid attention in a uniform just like the one I now wore. My father, Xavier Ulysses Lightman. Living and breath
ing.
And smiling.
He was smiling at me--with my own smile, on an older version of my face. The man standing in front of me could have passed for my time-traveling future self, come back to warn me of our shared destiny.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Meadows' ATHID escort Debbie through a pair of armored doors at the opposite end of the hangar. Chen, Milo, and Whoadie were waiting for them just inside the tunnel on the other side, along with an EDA officer I didn't recognize, who had a Japanese flag on his uniform. The entire group gaped at us through the open airlock doors until the doors slammed shut again a second later with a dull boom that echoed through the vast hangar.
I was only vaguely aware of their departure, or of my new surroundings, because all of my senses were now acutely focused on my father. The paternal ghost whose absence had haunted my entire adolescence now stood before me, miraculously resurrected. I found myself staring at a drop of sweat that had formed on his brow, and then watching as it rolled down the side of his face, as if this detail were proof this was really happening. It made me think of a scene in the original Total Recall--another movie I knew by heart because he'd once owned a copy on VHS.
I took a long look at him, while he did the same to me. As I drank in the details of my long-lost father's face, my first-hand familiarity with his features made it easy for me to detect the fear he was trying to conceal.
He looked older than I'd expected--but that was probably because he'd never been older than nineteen in every photo of him I'd ever seen. I think part of me was also subconsciously hoping that when I saw him, it would appear that he hadn't aged at all, because the EDA had frozen him in carbonite or subjected him to light-speed time dilation to keep him young for the coming war. No such luck. He would be thirty-seven now, the same age as my mother--but unlike her, he looked a decade older than his real age, instead of a decade younger. He still appeared to be in excellent physical condition, but his once dark hair was now shot through with gray, and there were prominent crow's-feet around his eyes, which were the same exact shade of blue as my own. A hardened weariness seemed to permeate his features, and I wondered if I was getting a glimpse of what my face would look like, if I somehow lived to be his age.
