Armada by Ernest Cline Read Free Book Online Page B

ATHID around 180 degrees just before he brought the huge metal Basilisk down with a single well-placed missile shot to its segmented abdomen. It exploded beneath him in a huge orange fireball, and Ray had to fire his ATHIDs jump jets again to land clear of it.
    â€œBravo, Sergeant,” I said, using his rank in the fictional Earth Defense Alliance.
    â€œThank you, Lieutenant,” he replied. “That means a lot coming from you.”
    He grinned and raised his right hand off of his mouse long enough to snap me a salute before refocusing on the battle.
    According to the readouts on his HUD, his squadron had already lost all six of their hover tanks, and both of their Titans. They only had seven ATHIDs left in reserve, and the pulsing icons on his tactical map indicated these were stored inside a nearby EDA weapons cache that was already under attack by a swarm of Spider Fighters. Ray’s squadron was fighting a losing battle at this point. The city would fall to the Sobrukai any minute now. But as usual, Ray kept on fighting, even in the face of certain defeat. It was one of his most endearing qualities.
    Ray was, by far, the best Terra Firma player I’d ever seen in person. A few months ago, he’d finally managed to earn membership in “The Thirty Dozen,” an elite clan of the best 360 players in the game. Since then, I’d seen him logged on to Terra Firma ’s servers every day, playing one high-level mission after another. And since he wasn’t burdened with distractions like school or homework, Ray could devote his every waking moment to the game, so he’d logged more combat time than me, Cruz, and Diehl all put together.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” Ray shouted, hitting the side of his monitor. I glanced over and saw that the Sobrukai were currently overrunning the surviving members of his squadron and exterminating the last of their drones. A few seconds after Ray’s last reserve ATHID was crushed between a Spider Fighter’s vise-like mandibles, the words mission failed flashed on his display, and then he was treated to a cut-scene animation of the Sobrukai’s forces destroying downtown Newark.
    â€œOh well,” he muttered, shoving another mouthful of Funyuns into his face as he pondered the city’s smoking ruins. “At least it’s only Newark, right? No big loss.”
    He chuckled to himself as he wiped simulated-onion dust off his fingers and onto the legs of his jeans; then he gave me an excited grin.
    â€œHey, guess what came in today?” he asked. Then he produced a large box from underneath the counter and set it in front of me.
    If I’d been a cartoon character, my eyes would have bulged out of their sockets.
    It was a brand new Armada Interceptor Flight Control System—the most advanced (and expensive) videogame controller ever made.
    â€œNo way!” I whispered, examining the photos and stats printed on its glossy black box. “I thought these things weren’t supposed to hit the market until next month!”
    â€œIt looks like Chaos Terrain decided to ship them early,” he said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Want to unbox this bad boy?”
    I nodded my head vigorously, and Ray grabbed a packing knife. He cut the box open and then instructed me to hold onto its sides as he pulled out the Styrofoam cube housing the controller’s various components. A few seconds later, everything was freed from the packaging and laid out on the glass countertop in front of us.
    The Armada Interceptor Flight Control System (IFCS) contained an Interceptor pilot helmet (incorporating a set of built-in VR goggles, noise-canceling headphones, and a retractable microphone) and a two-piece HOTAS (Hands-On Throttle and Stick) rig, comprised of an all-metal force-feedback flight stick and a separate dual-throttle controller with a built-in weapons control panel. The stick, throttle, and weapons panel all bristled with