Armada

“I built the Armada,” it said. “And this entire time you were fighting against yourselves.

“The Sodality has been monitoring your species’ radio and television broadcasts for as long as you’ve been transmitting them into space. But we didn’t begin to take a special interest in humanity until 1945, when you created your first nuclear weapon and then used it for warfare against your own kind. At that time, we used all of that data we had collected to create a detailed profile of your species and ascertain its evolutionary strengths and weaknesses. In 1969, when your species became technologically advanced enough to reach another world, in this case your own moon, you became a potential threat to the other members of the Sodality. And that was when I was sent here, to deliver the Test.”

“So it was a test, after all?” I said. “What for?”

“A test that we use to gauge whether or not your species is capable of existing peacefully within the Sodality,” the Envoy said. “It was initiated when your probe first discovered the swastika on Europa’s surface. We selected a symbol that your culture most associates with war and death, and then we re-created an enormous replica of that symbol on the nearest celestial body in your solar system with conditions capable of harboring intelligent life.

“We knew your discovery of such a symbol would eventually prompt you to send another probe down to the surface to investigate its origin,” the Emissary said. “As soon as your probe landed on Europa, the next phase of the test began. I simulated a standard first-contact scenario for your species, in which a cultural misunderstanding leads to a declaration of war.”

The machine’s declaration didn’t ring true to my ears, but I was in no mental condition to start a debate.

“You built all of those drones yourself?” I said. “And you controlled them in combat?”

“Affirmative.”

“So this entire time, it was just you?” I said. “One artificially intelligent supercomputer pretending to be a hostile alien race for the purpose of testing humanity’s character?”

“In very simple terms, yes. That is accurate.” The machine paused. “It was your time to be tested. The Sodality found it necessary to ascertain how your species would handle a common first-contact scenario with a neighboring civilization. As I said, it was a test. The Test.”

“Your ‘test’ killed millions of innocent people,” I said through clenched teeth. “Including several of my friends. And my father.”

“We are sorry for the losses you have suffered,” the Emissary said. “But know that many other species have passed the Test with no conflict or loss of life.”

I was nearly sobbing now. “What did you want us to do? What were we supposed to do?”

“There is no right or wrong way of taking the Test,” the Emissary told me. “Using human psychological terms, it was a projective test, rather than an objective one. It presents the subject civilization with varying sets of circumstances intended to gauge your capacity for empathy and altruism, and your ability to act and negotiate as one collective species. It allows the Sodality to see how your species navigates first contact with a species of similar temperament.”

“Isn’t there an easier way to do that?” I asked. “One that wouldn’t have involved killing millions of us and trashing our whole planet?”

“The Test reveals things about a species that cannot be ascertained any other way—what your Earth scientists refer to as an ‘emergent property.’ ”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was almost too upset to form thoughts or words.

“You should not feel too remorseful about how the Test played out,” the machine said. “Your species’ primitive warlike nature made a certain amount of conflict inevitable, as it often does. Regardless, your species should be pleased with the outcome. You passed the Test.”

“We did?”

“Yes. The result was uncertain for a while, but you did well at the end. Many species lack the ability to defy their own animal instincts and allow their intellect to prevail. Such species are usually declared unfit for survival, much less membership in the Sodality.”

“So you’re saying that if I hadn’t destroyed the Icebreaker, you would have exterminated the entire human race?”

“Correct,” the machine replied. “But thankfully you made the correct choice, and knowingly disengaged from the cycle of warlike escalation with your imaginary enemy. That is why I’m speaking to you now. Once the Test has been passed, the Emissary makes contact with the individual most directly responsible, to inform them that their species has been invited to join the Sodality.”

“How many other civilizations are there—in the Sodality?”

“At present, the Sodality has eight members,” it replied. “Your species will be the ninth, if you accept our invitation.”

“How do we do that?”

“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 in a state of traumatized disbelief, talking over everything that had just happened to us. 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.