He hit Play on the footage again, and I watched in silence as the Glaive Fighter completed its self-destruct sequence and detonated.
“Bravo, IronBeagle,” the admiral said, giving me two sarcastic thumbs-up. “By some miracle no personnel were killed by that explosion,” he said. “But we lost over five hundred brand new ADI-88 Interceptors.”
I winced. That was a lot.
“I did shoot down more enemy fighters than any of the other pilots,” I said.
“True,” he said. “But your little screwup did more damage to this base than the enemy’s sneak attack managed to.” He frowned at me. “Whose side are you on?”
I didn’t have a response for that. The even-tempered disappointment in his voice was somehow far worse than the bawling-out I’d expected. “Those drones took years to build, at a cost of millions,” he said. “But that’s just money. To humanity, they were priceless, since we’ve run out of time to build any more of them.”
“But, sir—how was I supposed to know about those automatic security blockades?” I said. “That was never a part of the game. In Armada, the Sobrukai never tried to fly one of their fighters into an EDA base through its drone launch tunnels.”
“That’s because we didn’t think there was any way for the enemy’s fighters to get past the launch tunnel security blockades.” He sighed. “Apparently, no one believed one of our own pilots would be dumb enough to tail an enemy ship making a suicide run into our drone hangar.”
“It’s not fair to pin that on me,” I shot back. “I’ve never even been in combat before—and I never wanted to be! You brought me here and told me we were being invaded by aliens about ten minutes before they attacked this fucking place! I’m a high school kid! I’m supposed to be in school right now!”
The admiral nodded, raising both hands in a calming gesture.
“You’re right,” he said. “I apologize. This isn’t your fault.” He smirked. “Not entirely.”
His answer threw me. I didn’t respond.
“The EDA always knew the risks of using a videogame simulation as the sole method of training civilian recruits,” he said. “But under the circumstances there was no other option. It was the only way to locate and train millions of average people to operate combat drones in a short period of time without anyone knowing it. Your act of insubordination today—and its disastrous aftermath—are inevitable results of putting an unstable, undisciplined civilian like you on the front lines. But you’re one of our most gifted pilots, so in your case, I was told the benefits would outweigh the risks.” He let out a weary sigh. “Obviously, that turned out not to be the case.”
He paused, giving me another chance to speak up in my own defense. I didn’t take it.
“If you act without thinking in an Armada dogfight, there are no real consequences,” he went on. “Your player ranking drops a few places and the game gives you a canned cut-scene lecture that you promptly ignore.” He leaned forward. “But things have changed. This isn’t a game anymore. We can’t afford any more mistakes like the one you just made. Understood?”
“So does this mean you’re not going to court-martial me?”
“Of course not,” Vance said. “We need you, Lieutenant. Once the Europan armada begins to arrive, we’re going to need every able-bodied human being on Earth to take up arms and help us fight them off. And that may still not be enough.”
His gaze drifted back up to the countdown clock mounted on the wall above his desk, and mine followed: 7 hours 02 minutes and 11s remaining. I glanced down at my QComm and saw the countdown mirrored there. It was hard to believe the attack and subsequent battle had all occurred in less than an hour. I watched the seconds tick off.
“But this was your first and only warning,” the admiral said. “You screw up like this again … you’ll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong.”
I stared at him in surprise. He glared back at me for several seconds, then gave me an almost imperceptible smile. I suddenly realized who I was talking to—Admiral Vance was also Viper, the Armada pilot currently ranked in fourth place, just above Rostam. Viper was also the name of a character in Top Gun, the film he’d just quoted.
Until now, I hadn’t known that Viper and Admiral Vance were the same guy. This little detail had yet to be revealed in the Armada’s ongoing storyline—which now seemed to have spilled over into reality.
The admiral was still staring at me, waiting for a response. His grin was gone.
“Do we understand each other, son?”
I winced at the admiral’s choice of words.
“Yes sir,” I said through clenched teeth. “But I’m not your son.”
He stared at me for a moment; then he smiled and nodded.
“I know,” he said. “You’re Xavier Lightman’s kid.”
We locked eyes.
“You look just like him,” the admiral said, matter-of-factly. “You fly like him, too.”
The office seemed to be spinning now, whirling around me with increasing velocity.