Free Armada by Ernest Cline Page A

college and starting a career, and you—”
    â€œI’ll still be sitting on my ass all day, five blocks from where I graduated, working the same crappy retail job I had when I was sixteen?” I finished for her.
    â€œExactly.”
    I tried to look hurt. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
    â€œYou’re going to find my foot jammed disturbingly far up your ass if you don’t stop screwing around and start making a serious plan for your future, mister.”
    â€œWhen you call me ‘mister’ I know you’re being super serious,” I said.
    â€œI’m not saying that you have to go to college, honey. Join a monastery! Join the Peace Corps! Join the fucking X-Men—I don’t care what you do, as long as you do something. Okay?”
    I pretended to sigh heavily in relief.
    â€œIn that case, maybe I’ll run off and join the circus,” I said. “I could start out as a weight guesser, then maybe work my way up to operating the Tilt-a-Whirl.”
    â€œI think you might have a few too many teeth for that line of work, smart-ass,” she said, giving me a playful shove. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, ace. I just want the best for you. You’re so smart and talented, honey. You can do great things.” She looked me in the eyes. “You know that, right?”
    â€œYeah, I know, Ma,” I said. “Try not to worry, okay?”
    She frowned and continued to block my path, arms folded to indicate that getting past her wasn’t going to be that easy. But then, like a gift from the gods, my phone chimed to inform me I had a new text message. I fumbled it out of my pocket and studied its display: Urgent Reminder—Earth Defense Alliance Command—Lt. Lightman, you are ordered to log in for your mission briefing at 8pm PST.
    I also saw that Cruz and Diehl had each sent me multiple text messages, asking what the hell had happened in class, and if I was still down for our Armada mission.
    â€œSorry, Ma, I gotta run!” I said, holding up my phone like it was some sort of hall pass. “I’m late for my Armada mission—it starts in just a few minutes!”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know. Late for a videogame.” She stepped out of my way. “Go on. Go get ’em, Maverick.”
    â€œThanks!” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, which briefly inverted her frown. Then I grabbed the camouflaged Armada controller box as I ran up the stairs and then down the hall, eager to reach the safety of my bedroom and the portal to another reality that lay beyond it.
    But my mother’s voice traveled faster than I did, and her final shouted warning reached my ears before I could clear the Neutral Zone. It was something I’d heard her say countless times growing up, and usually it made me want to roll my eyes at her. But this time, her words filled me with a genuine sense of dread.
    â€œI know the future is scary at times, sweetheart. But there’s just no escaping it.”

I locked the door and pressed my back to it, and with my mother’s warning about the inescapable nature of the future still echoing in my ears, I scanned the interior of my room, for the first time feeling a sense of shame over how I’d chosen to decorate it. The posters on my walls, the books and comics and toys on my shelves—nearly all of them had once belonged to my late father. The room couldn’t even be classified as a shrine to his memory, because I didn’t even remember the guy. This was more a museum exhibit—a really sad, fucked-up one, devoted to a man I’d never even known, and never would.
    No wonder my mother avoided coming in here. Seeing the décor probably broke her heart two or three different ways.
    A small fleet of model spacecraft hung suspended from the ceiling on fishing line, and as I crossed my room, I brushed each of them with my