I checked the time on my phone and saw that the trip here from Beaverton had taken less than twenty minutes. I also noticed that I wasn’t getting a signal down here. Which meant I wouldn’t be able to call my mom and tell her I was all right. Suddenly, I wanted very badly to hear her voice. Had the school called her yet? What had they told her? She had to be going crazy with worry right now.
Earlier that morning, when I’d stumbled downstairs, she’d surprised me with dinner-for-breakfast waiting on the kitchen table. Her “monstrous meatloaf” and mashed potatoes—my absolute favorite. She’d watched me stuff my face, grinning from ear to ear and pausing every few minutes to tell me to slow down and chew my food. I’d given her a quick kiss on the cheek and rushed out the door, worried that she might decide to revisit the dreaded subject of my academic future at any moment. She’d called out “I love you,” and I’d mumbled it back to her as I continued hurrying out to my car. Had she heard me? I felt like kicking myself for not making sure.
“Welcome to Crystal Palace,” Ray said. “That’s the EDA’s code name for this place.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because of that old arcade game?”
He shook his head. “No, because it’s easier to say than ‘Earth Defense Alliance Strategic Command Post Number Fourteen,’ ” he said. “Sounds cooler, too.”
As we stepped away from the shuttle, I took in my new surroundings. Hundreds of people were hurrying around the runway in what appeared to be a state of highly organized chaos. Most of them wore Earth Defense Alliance combat fatigues like our shuttle pilot, and I found myself wondering if I was going to be issued a uniform, too.
I heard a rush of air over our heads and looked up to see a procession of four more shuttles descending through the entry shaft. As each one set down on the runway and discharged its passengers, other civilians like me emerged, escorted by one or more EDA agents wearing dark suits. Most of them appeared to be holding it together pretty well. A few of them looked terrified, like lambs being led to the slaughter, but the vast majority appeared to be having the time of their lives. I took quick stock of my own emotions, and I decided I fell somewhere in the middle.
There was a loud whoosh behind us as our shuttle lifted off again, and Ray and I turned to watch it slowly rise and then rocket back up through the circular shaft to the surface.
“Follow me, pal,” Ray said before striding off toward a pair of large armored doors set into the stone wall at the opposite end of the runway. They were already sliding open to reveal a broad, downward-sloping corridor that led even farther underground.
I stopped and called out to Ray, who turned and walked back to me as the other agents and recruits began to stream past us, continuing through the massive armored doors.
“What if I decide I don’t want to enlist?” I asked. “What if I sit through this big briefing of yours and then decide I want to go back home?”
Ray smiled, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask this, too.
“Then I would remind you, Zackary Ulysses Lightman, that you are an eighteen-year-old citizen of the United States of America and therefore legally subject to military conscription.”
This possibility hadn’t occurred to me. “Wait, so—I’m being drafted right now?”
“Not really,” Ray said. “No one’s going to force you to fight. If you still want to go home after the briefing, just say the word. They’ll put you on another shuttle to take you straight back to Beaverton—a first-class seat on the Chickenshit Express.”
I didn’t respond—I was already too busy nursing my wounded pride.
“I know you, Zack,” Ray said. “You’ve been waiting your whole life for something like this to happen. Something important. Something meaningful. A dare to be great situation. Right?” He took me by the shoulders. “Well this is it, ace! The universe has given you a chance to use your gifts to help save the world. Do you really expect me to believe that you’re gonna pass it up to run home, sit on your ass, and watch the end of the world on TV?”
Ray let go of me and set off again. His footsteps echoed off the high stone walls as he passed through the open doors and down into the corridor beyond, disappearing from view.
I took one last look up at the tiny circle of sky still visible through the open shaft entrance high overhead. Then I ran after Ray.
The entrance corridor led down to a security checkpoint where a uniformed EDA corporal scanned my handprints and retinas to verify my identity, then stood me in front of a blue screen to snap a digital photo of my face. A few seconds later, the printer behind him spat out a photo ID badge with a holographic EDA crest on it, which he handed to me. Printed beneath my picture were my full name, social security number, and the words Elite Recruit Candidate.
As I clipped it on to my shirt, the corporal handed another badge to Ray. It had an old photo of Ray on it, along with: Sergeant Raymond Habashaw—Field Operative.