“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.

  He was wearing an EDA uniform with the rank of sergeant. He was also standing on a pair of artificial legs, which were heavily in fashion this year. His right arm was a robotic replacement, too. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize him. His self-satisfied smirk was long gone.

  He held out a pen, along with a copy of our senior yearbook, open to my photo. Because of the war, our class had never even had a proper graduation ceremony. They had mailed us our diplomas, along with our yearbooks.

  I took the yearbook and scrawled my name beneath my photo. Then I paused a moment to study the clueless, smiling teenager in the picture. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize him either.

  I handed the book back to him. He tucked it under his lone arm.

  “I was sorry to hear about your father,” I told him.

  He glanced at his shoes and nodded.

  “Wish I could say the same,” he muttered. “The world is a better place without him.”

  He gave me a sad smile, then motioned to the statue of my father, looming over both of us. “You must be really proud of him.”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “If he was here now, I’m sure he’d be proud of you, too,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Knotcher had obviously done a lot of growing up—maybe even more than I had. I wondered if he’d heard about Casey, the boy he’d bullied mercilessly throughout most of high school. He’d died during the first wave, along with his whole family, and millions of others.

  I decided to not bring Casey up. I’m sure he knew.

  We stood there in silence for another moment, staring at my father’s statue. Then Knotcher turned to go. But first he offered me his left hand—the real one.

  I reached out with my own left hand to shake it. Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, into the crowd.

  I never saw him again.

  AFTER THE CEREMONY, the four of us went to visit my father’s grave—me, Lex, my mom, and my three-month-old baby brother, little Xavier Ulysses Lightman, Jr.—the kid whose name ensured that he would never have to pay for a drink as long as he lived.

  We’d visited my father’s tombstone many times, of course, but his empty casket had been exhumed a few months after he died, and we’d had another funeral for him. And this time, we’d filled his casket with old mementos before they buried it again. I’d put a few of his old mixtapes in there. I’d thought about burying his old high-score jacket with him, but then decided that I should keep it to give to my little brother. He must’ve sensed this, too—because whenever I wore the jacket, like I did today, Xavier Jr. was constantly reaching out to grab hold of its patches, then would refuse to let go.

  “No, J. R.!” I would tell him (he seemed to prefer these initials over “junior”). “Mine! You can have it when you’re big enough to wear it, little man.” And then he would gurgle happily back at me.

  When we reached my father’s gravesite, we discovered the ground around it piled high with flowers, notes, and gifts from well-wishers around the world, as usual. My mother added her handpicked bouquet to the pile; then we stood there in silence for a while, admiring the sunset and paying our respects.

  When we finally bid my father farewell and turned to go, I paused to admire the inscription on his new headstone, which I’d had a hand in writing:

  HERE LIES

  XAVIER ULYSSES LIGHTMAN

  1980–2018

  BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, AND SON

  HE SAVED HUMANITY FROM TOTAL ANNIHILATION

  “YOU’RE WELCOME.”

  I stood there, staring at his headstone, thinking over everything that had happened over the past year. Soon after the war ended, I’d received an offer from the EDA to take on an ambassadorial role to the Sodality, but I’d turned it down. I wasn’t interested in helping either the asshole aliens who’d devised such a horrible “test” and murdered my father—or the human powers-that-be who had lied to all of humanity for decades and nearly brought us to extinction.

  As the Emissary had promised, things on Earth were changing for the better, thanks to the Sodality’s advanced technology and medicine. My mom had to find a new nursing job for the best possible reason—we now had a cure for all forms of cancer, which had eradicated the disease in a matter of weeks. And most other diseases, too. The Sodality had also gifted us a new form of cheap, clean, fusion energy technology. It looked as if humanity had begun a new age of wonders and miracles.

  Perhaps it was my late father’s influence, but despite all of their generous gifts, I still felt mistrustful of the Sodality. In hindsight, their “test” seemed like more of a trap—one they had set and baited for all of humanity. How benevolent could the beings behind such immoral machinations really be?

  Yes, they had shared all of these technological advances with humanity, but they still hadn’t revealed any real details about themselves, or the different alien species they claimed made up the Sodality, always using the excuse that “humanity wasn’t ready for that knowledge yet” and that it was “beyond our primitive understanding.”

  Whenever I read about this in the news, I heard the echo of my father’s words: “This human understands enough to know when he’s being messed with.”

  Now I couldn’t shake that same suspicion. They had messed with us, and they clearly weren’t finished messing with us.

  How long would their generosity last? What would happen if and when it ended?

  I looked over at my loved ones. Lex. My mother. And little Xavier Jr. I wondered what sort of world he was going to grow up in—what sort of world we were going to allow the Sodality to impose on us.

  That was the moment when I realized I couldn’t stay at Starbase Ace. There was no going back to the life I’d had before, because it was gone—for everyone—along with the world in which we’d lived it.

  I couldn’t just sit on the sidelines and remain disengaged from the world. Not after everything that had happened—and everything that might be in store for humanity.

  When I got back home that evening, I took out my QComm and dialed my friend Dr. Shostak. I told him I had decided to become one of Earth’s ambassadors to the Sodality after all. In time, I hoped my new job would eventually put me in a position to learn the truth about our new alien benefactors’ true motives.

  For the time being, I intended to try to follow Master Yoda’s timeless advice—to keep my mind on where I was, and what I was doing. And to do everything I could to protect what was now most important to me. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. After all of the things that had happened to me, after everything I’d been through, I no longer found myself staring out the window and daydreaming of adventure.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are times when writing a novel—or just living your life—can make you feel like you’re waging a one-person war against increasingly insurmountable odds. I’m grateful to have had a lot of wonderful people on my wing and watching my six during the writing of this book. My sincere thanks and appreciation go out to:

  My younger brother Eric, for inspiring me and this story. And his son, my enviably named nephew Talon, for teaching me about the unique brand of courage that can stem from being the son of a soldier.

  My best friend, Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, for her love, life support, and constant encouragement throughout our long friendship, and most especially during the writing of this novel. I couldn’t have done it without her.

  My beautiful and brilliant daughter, Libby Willett-Cline, for inspiring me every day to be a better father, writer, gamer, and human being. And her mother, Dr. Susan B. A. Somers-Willett, for helping me raise the coolest kid in the world, and for bringing her into it in the first place.

  I am also extremely grateful to my long-time manager, friend, and Hollywood partner in crime Dan Farah (aka “The Jersey Jedi”), and to my fantastic literary agent, Yfat Reiss-Gendell, along with Kirsten Neuhaus, Jessica Regel, and all of the other miracle workers at Foundry Literary and Media.

  I also want to extend a special note of thanks to my tireless, brilliant editor, Julian Pavia, who deserves a Medal of Valor from the Earth Defense Alliance for his contribution to this work, and for putting up with me during its creation. And thanks also to Sarah Breivogel, Jay Sones, Jessica Miele, Molly Stern, Maya Mavjee, Robert Siek, and all of the other super cool cats at Crown Publishing.

  I owe a Wookiee Life Debt to the amazing artist Russell Walks for creating the EDA insignia, and to the brilliant Will Staehle and art director Chris Brand, for creating our incredible front cover.

  I am extremely grateful to my friend Wil Wheaton, for once again lending his voice and his talent to my story. Thanks also to Amy Metsch and Dan Musselman at Penguin Random House Audio for their work on the audiobook.

  Mad props to my astrophysicist pal Dr. Andy Howell, for his attempts to help me get at least some of the science in this story correct. (Whenever it’s not, know that it is because I chose to ignore Andy’s suggestions for my own twisted ends.)

  I also need to thank:

  Mike Mika, for allowing me to benefit from his reality distortion field and for helping me transform the fictional videogames in my novels into the real thing, one line of code at a time.

  Katherine Europa Welch, for her awesome middle name, her wicked web design mojo, and for answering my endless questions about working in the modern videogame industry.

  Bruce Aptowicz, for sharing his expertise in the surprisingly perilous profession of working in wastewater treatment.

  Astronaut Kjell Lindgren, for giving me a guided tour of NASA, for sharing his patriotism and enthusiasm with me, and for taking the cover of my first novel up in outer space. I want to be him when I grow up.

  The late, great Aaron Allston, for giving me advice on this story and for his work that helped inspire it. He is missed, and always will be.

  My humble thanks and gratitude also go out to George Lucas, for creating the mythology of my youth and for filling my young heart with a deep yearning for adventure among the stars, and to Steven Spielberg, for the role his work also played in inspiring this story and for buoying my spirits while I was writing it with the life-changing news that he had chosen to direct the adaptation of my first novel. Nothing gives you the courage to dream big dreams like one of your lifelong heroes deciding to quite literally make one of your biggest dreams come true.

  Speaking of dreams come true—I also want to thank Scott Stuber, Jeffrey Kirschenbaumm, Alexa Fagan, and everyone at Universal Pictures, for believing this story would also make a great movie and for making so many of the movies that inspired it.

  For their advice, assistance, encouragement, and friendship, I am also eternally grateful to Craig Tessler, Matt Galsor, Trevor Astbury, Deanna Hoak, Elena Stokes, Jack Fogg, his father, Tony Fogg, Zak Penn, George R. R. Martin, Patrick Rothfuss, John Scalzi, Erin Morgenstern, Felicia Day, Daniel H. Wilson, Richard Garriott, Jeff Knight, Chris Beaver, Mike Henry, Harry Knowles, Dannie Knowles, Giovanni Knowles, Aaron Dunn, Chris Nine, Phil McJunkins, and Jed Strahm. And to Hildy, my canine Girl Friday, who lay curled at my feet during the writing of this book and the last. Cave lupum.

  I also wish to extend my sincere gratitude to Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, Dr. Stephen Hawking, Dr. Jill Tarter, Dr. Michio Kaku, Dr. Seth Shostak, and the late Dr. Carl Sagan, for inspiring my lifelong interest in science and the search for extraterrestrial intelligence, and for allowing me to pay tribute to their work by giving them each a cameo in this story.