“Why?” Debbie asked. “Because it will probably be our last meal?”
“Probably,” Graham replied, giving me a grim smile as he quickened his pace toward the exit. “That’s why I, for one, intend to stuff my face.”
The Moon Base Alpha dining hall was a long rectangular room containing four circular tables made of brushed steel, flanked by matching benches bolted to the floor. Several modular food and beverage dispensers were embedded in one long wall, along with a few microwaves—but no replicator, as far as I could tell. The opposite wall was dominated by a large curved window that provided a stunning view of the massive Daedalus impact crater spread below us, like a monochromatic Grand Canyon.
As promised, an extravagant meal was already laid out on the tables, ready and waiting for us—what looked like more than enough food for several Thanksgiving dinners. One of the steel tables was covered with a silk tablecloth and set with eight place settings, complete with silver cutlery and fine bone china, and off to the side stood a row of four ATHIDs standing at silent attention, ready to serve us. A paper tuxedo was taped to each of their chest plates.
I took the last empty seat, between my father and Milo. Graham sat next to Debbie, and only then did I realize from their body language that the two of them were crushing on each other in a big way. Milo noticed it, too, and rolled his eyes, then nudged me and nodded at the two of them, then at Shin and Whoadie, who were both making furtive eye contact, too.
“This is just great,” he grumbled under his breath. “Here I thought I was being recruited for an epic space adventure, but it turns out I’m a guest star on Love Boat: The Next Generation.”
“Set course … for romance!” Shin quoted, doing such a perfect Patrick Stewart impersonation that Milo and I both laughed out loud.
Everyone began to pass dishes and serve themselves food—everyone except Debbie, who bowed her head and began to mumble silently to herself in prayer. We all froze for an awkward beat, then bowed our heads in solidarity until she finished.
Even with all of that delicious-looking food in front of me, I still didn’t seem to have any appetite. But the day’s bizarre events appeared to have left everyone else ravenous, and for a while they were all too busy stuffing their faces to talk. I cast a few sideways glances at my father, but he was shoveling food into his mouth robotically while avoiding eye contact with me.
Chén was the one who broke the silence.
“My phone is still not functioning,” he said, via his QComm’s translator. “When will I be allowed to call home and speak to my family?”
My father checked the time on his own QComm.
“An hour before the vanguard is expected to reach us,” he said. “That’s when the leaders of every nation around the world will break the news to their citizens. Once the cat is out of the bag, you’ll be able to call home. We won’t have long to talk, I’m afraid.”
“Why is the EDA waiting until the last minute to tell everyone about the invasion?” Whoadie asked. “That won’t give the world much time to prepare for the vanguard’s attack.”
“The world is already as prepared as it’s ever going to be,” my father said.
Shin nodded. “The population is already beginning to panic, judging by what’s on the global news feeds. People all over the world saw those EDA shuttles with their own eyes this morning when the shuttles were flying around to pick up essential recruits. The media has been airing and analyzing footage all day, along with information about their connection to Chaos Terrain’s videogames. The whole world wants to know what’s really going on.”
My father shook his head. “No they don’t,” he said. “Once people find out about the invasion, chaos will spread like wildfire. Civilization will start to break down.”
Graham made a derisive sound. “The EDA knows people will be more likely to stand their ground and fight if they don’t have time to turn tail and run for the hills.”
I looked at my father. He briefly met my gaze, then glanced over at Debbie, who was staring down at the countdown clock on her QComm. It was superimposed over a photo she’d set as her display background—three smiling, dark-haired boys resting their chins on the edge of a swimming pool in the bright sunshine.
“Handsome boys,” Graham said.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m worried about them.” Then she reached out and covered the countdown clock with her finger so she could still see her sons’ faces.
“What about you two?” Debbie asked, addressing Shin and Graham. “Is the EDA going to let you contact your families, too?”