NOW THE TUSK computer’s panels glowed an orange red.
“This is the color of the Legions of the Light,” the computer reported. “The color of confidence and creative power. Your color.”
“Who are the Legions of the Light?” I asked.
“Those who bravely battle against Zeboul, the forces of darkness. The Legions of the Light are bathed in the warmth of the sun.”
“Okay,” I said, eager for a little backup of my own, “where exactly are these warm and glowing legions? I could definitely use an army right about now.”
“Wherever you find negative energy you will also find its positive opposite. The two must always be in balance for the universe to maintain its equilibrium. This duality explains how you could come from Alpar Nok to protect the universe while others could come from the same planet to destroy it.”
“And Number 1 is trying to tip the scales, once and for all, toward Zeboul and darkness?”
“Such is the hypothesis.”
In other words, the computer didn’t really know.
“But,” the mechanical voice continued, “The Light is powerful. For centuries, it has inspired the Alien Hunters of the Alpar Nokian Protectorship. It has moved earthlings, such as Bahā’ Allāh, Mahatma Gandhi, and Abraham Lincoln to seek out the better sides of human nature. It is the force that will communicate to you through Xanthos and Mikaela, your spiritual advisors.”
Wait, Mikaela was my spiritual advisor, too? I nodded, soaking it all in.
“May I help you with anything else at this time, Graff?” asked the computer.
“No,” I said, without telling the thing I wasn’t my dad. “Thanks.”
I sat there for a moment, staring at the Tusk computer, which, having answered my questions, had flipped back to televising twelve different kinds of soccer being played on planets scattered across the universe.
“You remind me so much of your father,” said a gentle female voice behind me.
I turned around.
It was Mikaela. The girl from the train. And the one who would help me save the world.