But I still managed to nod my head and mumble, “Yes.”
Ray grinned—proudly, I think—and squeezed my shoulder.
“I thought so!” he said. “Follow me, pal. There’s no time to lose.”
As the entire school looked on, I followed Ray back across the lawn and over to the waiting Earth Defense Alliance shuttle. As the crowd parted to clear a path for us, I spotted my ex-girlfriend, Ellen, staring at me in disbelief from amid the sea of faces. The crowd swelled forward and I lost sight of her. I spotted Cruz and Diehl a few seconds later. They’d managed to push their way to the front of the crowd and were standing a few feet away from the two Secret Service types, who were now standing guard in front of the shuttle, holding the throng at bay with the force-field-like power of their buzz cuts and Ray-Bans.
“Zack!” Cruz shouted when we made eye contact. “What’s happening? This is crazy!”
Diehl shoved him aside and tried to lunge in my direction, his arms flailing like a drowning man. “You lucky bastard!” he cried. “Tell them to take us, too!”
Then I found myself inside the shuttle, in the jump seat directly across from Ray and his two suited companions. The hatch slid closed, silencing the roar of the crowd. Following Ray’s example, I buckled my safety harness across my chest and pulled it tight.
As soon as he saw that I was safely strapped in, Ray gave a thumbs-up to the lone pilot sitting up in the cockpit, who was wearing an honest-to-God Earth Defense Alliance uniform. For a few absurd seconds, I caught myself appreciating the attention to detail this dude had obviously put into his cosplay. Then he completed the shuttle’s ignition sequence and fired its engines.
As we ascended, my internal monologue went something like this: That isn’t some guy cosplaying at SobruCon IV, Zack. To me, he looks like a real-life EDA pilot, in a real-life EDA uniform, who is currently piloting the real-life EDA shuttle you appear to be aboard. So, let me see now—multiply by two and carry the one—hey, that’s really weird, but if my math is correct then THE EARTH DEFENSE ALLIANCE IS FUCKING REAL!
I pressed my face to the curved window beside my seat and gazed down at my peers and teachers, still gathered in front of the school far below, already shrinking to the size of ants as we zoomed upward in a surreal blur of speed.
But when I closed my eyes, it didn’t even feel like we were moving. No g-forces were pushing me back into my seat. The shuttle wasn’t even shimmying or vibrating from turbulence as it climbed through the atmosphere.
Then I remembered—according to Armada’s backstory, all Earth Defense Alliance ships were outfitted with reverse-engineered alien technology, including a Tr?gheitslosigkeit Field Generator, which created a small inertia-cancellation field around a spacecraft, by “harnessing the aligned spin of gyromagnetic particles to alter the curvature of space-time” or something. I’d always assumed this was just more phlebotinum-powered pseudoscientific handwavium, concocted by Chaos Terrain’s writers to make their game’s impossibly kick-ass outer space dog fights seem mildly plausible, just as Star Trek and Star Wars used “inertial dampers” and “inertial compensators” so that Han Solo and Captain Kirk didn’t get squished into heroic jelly every time they made the jump to light/warp speed.
I clamped my eyes shut again. It still felt like I was sitting in a car idling at a red light. So much for Sir Isaac Newton.
A dense layer of clouds obscured the stunning view, and I finally managed to tear my eyes away from the window. I turned to face Ray. He was still smiling. His two stoic companions remained stonily silent and expressionless.
“Nice jacket,” Ray said. But unlike when Knotcher had commented about it, there was no sarcasm in his voice. He leaned forward to admire the patches running down both of my sleeves. “I used to have a few of those Activision patches, you know. Not easy to get.”
I stared back at him in disbelief. He was making small talk with me, as if we were still behind the counter at Starbase Ace. As if he hadn’t just turned my whole notion of reality upside down and inside out.
I felt a wave of anger. Mild-mannered, middle-aged Raymond Wierzbowski—my employer, close friend, and surrogate father figure—had clearly lied to me about a great many things. The deceitful bastard obviously knew what was going on—and had for quite some time now.
“What the fuck is happening right now, Ray?” I asked, unnerved by the amount of fear in my own voice.
“ ‘Somebody set up us the bomb,’ pal,” he quoted. “Now it’s time to take off every zig for great justice.”
He chuckled softly. I wanted to sock him in the face. Instead, I started shouting.
“Where did you get an Earth Defense Alliance tactical shuttle? How can this thing even be real? And where is it taking us?”