“You may accept the invitation on your species’ behalf right now,” it told me. “You have earned that right.”
“What if I—what if we decline to join?”
“No species has ever declined to join the Sodality,” the Emissary told me. “There are many benefits to membership. The sharing of knowledge, medicine, and technology, among other things. Your species’ longevity and individual quality of life will increase drastically.”
I didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking it over. I just went ahead and said yes.
“Congratulations.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. That is it.”
“What happens now?”
“Now we will begin the process of inducting your species into the Sodality,” it said. “The first step is for us to share certain beneficial aspects of our technology with your species that will help you rebuild your civilization. Very soon your people will also be free from sickness and hunger. But this is just the first step. The Sodality will contact you again when you’re ready for the next one.”
“When will that be?”
“It depends on what you do with what you are given.”
Before I could sort out my next question, the Emissary probe departed, warping out of our solar system in a blink. I never saw it again.
I parked my Interceptor in orbit around Europa and disengaged the link, leaving it there, possibly forever. Then I turned around and saw my mom standing behind me, along with Cruz and Diehl. All three of them had been watching, and I saw that Cruz and Diehl had both recorded my entire conversation with the Emissary on their phones.
I asked Diehl to post my exchange with the Emissary on the Internet, but he told me there was no need—the aliens had been broadcasting it all around the world, on every TV channel and device connected to the Internet. The truth about the Envoy and existence of the Sodality had already been revealed to the entire human race.
When the third wave of the alien armada arrived a few hours later, the drones didn’t attack. Instead, they landed and began to help humanity rebuild its civilization, as well as its planet’s fragile environment. The alien drones also began to dispense miraculous life-giving medicine and technology, along with an endless supply of clean, abundant energy. It seemed like they gave humanity everything it had ever wanted.
But while the world celebrated its victory, all my mother and I could do was go back home, and begin the process of mourning everything we’d just lost.
My friends and I each received a Medal of Honor from the president, on the lawn in front of the newly rebuilt White House in Washington, DC.
And my mom thought it was just as hysterical as I did when they decided to rename the gym I’d destroyed at my high school after me.
As promised, Lex took me out on our first date, but we spent most of it talking over everything that had just happened to us in a state of traumatized disbelief. It wasn’t until our fourth or fifth date that we were able to focus on something other than the invasion. Then we did our best to stop discussing it altogether.
With Ray’s blessing, I decided to take over the operation of Starbase Ace. Lex moved to town with her grandmother, and they both helped me run the place. It quickly became the most popular secondhand videogame store/historical battlefield in the world.
On the one-year anniversary of his death, a commemorative statue of my father was erected in the Beaverton town square, and we all attended the unveiling ceremony, during which my father was posthumously awarded military honors and medals from dozens of different nations.
Admiral Vance gave the closing address, during which he spoke at length about my father’s bravery and their long friendship. He spoke honestly, as he always had, about how my father had prevented him from making the worst mistake of his career. His shame and regret were evident, even though he was far from being the only political or military leader guilty of the same mistake.
My dad had been right about Admiral Vance. He was a good man.
Afterward, as we were admiring my father’s statue, something strange happened. A young man stopped me to ask for an autograph. That in itself wasn’t a strange occurrence at all, now that the Sodality had made me an international celebrity; what was strange was that this particular young man happened to be Douglas Knotcher, my old high school nemesis.
He was wearing an EDA uniform with the rank of sergeant. He was also standing on a pair of artificial legs, which were heavily in fashion this year. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize him. His self-satisfied smirk was long gone.
He held out a pen, along with a copy of our senior yearbook, open to my photo. Because of the war, our class had never even had a proper graduation ceremony. They had mailed us our diplomas, along with our yearbooks.
I took the yearbook and scrawled my name beneath my photo. Then I paused a moment to study the clueless, smiling teenager in the picture. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize him either.