Numbers

Scars

"Okay, I've got this all figured out," says the zealous Garde sitting in the passenger seat next to me. "We hit the Academy, meet up with Nine and Marina, tomorrow I'll give some kind of speech to the HGs, maybe upgrade on some Legacies..."

This is the first time in... I think ever... that I've heard John say more than a few words to anyone. That's including me, and I'm his partner. I guess since it's opening day at the Academy, and our MogPro kill list has just been halved, John is in better spirits than the sulking teenager I've had to mother for a while. Which, considering our past, hasn't been all too difficult.

"Maybe we can swing by the beach and surf," John continues his San Francisco bucket list. I wonder how long he's been holding this in—it was a five-hour flight down here. "I haven't been surfing in two years. Can you believe that?"

"I believe it," I reply quietly, knowing damn well why he had to leave Florida, and what my associates had to do with it. So it's my turn to be the quiet one now. "You know that once we leave here we'll have to get back on the job."

"Yeah, I know," he slouches back in the seat a bit, the animated boy I don't think I've ever seen before, starting to evaporate. "Can you believe that we're almost done?"

"Well, seeing as it took me about a year to put a bullet in half the names on that first page, I don't think we're anywhere close to being finished."

"Well," John says in a mocking tone, "seeing as I'm about to get a myriad of new Legacies, I'd say things are looking great."

"Right," I sigh quietly, placing my elbow on the window to my left. We're driving to the Human Garde Academy, zipping by prodigious sequoias on either side of the solitary road. The trees cast massive shadows over us, interrupted by burning rays of the setting sun. This was was what I expected after Victory Humanity Day—watching the sun fall beyond the ocean, sipping a beer with my nephew—not a year and a half later with a depressed alien teenager. Someday we'll be able to enjoy things like this without holding our heads above the sea of death we swim in.

"Something on your mind?" asks John.

"I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be powering up on so many Legacies so quickly."

"So... do you think it's better to fight MogPro with the limited arsenal I have? Or maybe we should just go up against the Foundation naked. You think that's a good idea?"

"Do I think it's healthier than loading up on abilities you've never seen or experienced before? Yes, I do."

"The Elders gave me these Legacies because they knew I'd need to use them to protect people," John scoffs. "I doubt that it'd interfere with my health."

"You told me that your Legacies came from Lorien. Meaning they're a natural trait. So doesn't that mean that some of them might be considered defects?"

"I was born to have Ximic. Just like Six was born to have invisibility—Novis, I mean."

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you sure you were born to develop certain Legacies?"

John throws his hands up in frustration and leans back in his seat, turning to watch the redwoods zip by us. After a while he starts to drum his fingers on his armrest to the music on the radio. Just when I think I've lost him again, he begins, "Ever since I could remember, I wanted to develop my Major Legacy and fight the Garde. And I get one of the most powerful there is. How do you explain that?"

"You once told me that you could never decide which Legacy you wanted more, right?" I ask. "You were always stuck hoping for shooting lasers out of your hands, but you also wanted your father's elemental thing—Sturma, isn't that it?"