Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(58)

“We can’t leave Visca,” I say. “We have to go get his body.”

Bishop shakes his head. “We don’t know where we are, and the enemy is out there in the jungle.”

“The pigs ate Latu,” I say. “I won’t leave Visca to be eaten by animals.”

Bishop leans close to me.

“You’re wounded and in no shape to fight. We’re heavily outnumbered. Our enemy knows this terrain so well they herded us where they wanted us to go. We try and find that clearing again, we probably die. In the shuttle, you’re the leader. Out here, from now on, you listen to me. Understand? I’m not going to lose anyone else today.”

Maybe he’s right. If I hadn’t walked to the fire, would Visca be alive? Is this yet another death on my hands? Maybe. But my decision also led to finding the purple fruit.

Kalle and Borjigin return, burdened down with armfuls of guns and dangling bags. I take the fruit from my pocket. It’s half-squashed, leaking amber-colored juice. I hold it out to her.

She snatches it, runs her bracer over it. We all watch. The jewels flash different colors, then gleam a shade of pink.

Kalle smiles.

“It’s safe to eat,” she says.

At least Visca didn’t die for nothing.

“I saw that pile of fruit,” Kalle says. “We should go back for it.”



Bishop shakes his head. “With as many people as we have to feed, that little pile won’t make any difference. We have a fruit for Spingate to study, but it doesn’t matter if we don’t get it back to her.” He spreads his arms, indicating the jungle. “Besides, we don’t even know where we are.”

Everyone looks to the surrounding trees, as if one of them might suddenly tell us directions. We sprinted through the jungle for I don’t know how long. Visca was our tracker, our guide.

Bishop glances up at Coyotl, who looks so gallant standing tall on that machine’s back. Bishop walks to one of the other spiders, stands between two gore-splattered legs.

“Hello, I am Bishop. First name, Ramses.”

He remembers his name? Ramses. What a beautiful word.

“We need to get back into the city,” Bishop says to the spider. “Can you take us to the landing pad?”

The spider’s body lowers until the metal belly clangs lightly against the broken tiles.

Bishop moves closer. On the side of the spider, I see three metal rungs…like a ladder. He steps onto them, swings a leg over the yellow and brown ridge, then stands tall atop the machine’s back.

Parts of the Xolotl only worked for certain people. Parts of the shuttle only work for Gaston, for O’Malley, for Smith, for me. These machines…they answer to the circle-stars.

“We’re going home,” Bishop says. “Everybody, mount up.”





Three spiders stride through the jungle. Long legs keep them above the dense underbrush. Their yellow, brown and green coloring fades into our surroundings. They rattle, whine and vibrate in a way that doesn’t seem right. If the machines were newer, not so beat up, I imagine they would be as silent as the circle-stars they were made for.

The ruins pass by. Blurds of all sizes buzz through the canopy. Some trees grow impossibly high, their wide, dark-yellow leaves drinking in the light. The same vines that cover the city’s buildings dangle from tall branches. Late afternoon sun filters through, making leaves glow with a fuzzy warmth.

The beauty of Omeyocan takes my breath away.

The dense underbrush gives way: we find ourselves on the bank of a wide river. Tall trees rise up on either side, forming a deep, living, yellow chasm that borders angry water. Blurds skim the surface, dipping in to snatch up this planet’s equivalent of tiny fish.

Ahead of us, the riderless spider doesn’t slow. Long legs plunge in and the machine turns downstream. The spider that Bishop and I ride follows, metal body half-submerging, leaving us just a bit above the roiling surface. It’s almost like riding in Grampa’s canoe during summer vacation.



Grampa’s canoe.

A Matilda memory. I remember Grampa’s laugh, his stubbly face. The canoe was red, and always smelled of old fish. It seems so real…like it isn’t Matilda’s experience at all, but mine. How can that be? I was created on a spaceship.

And yet…I remember how Grampa liked to tinker with old, useless antiques he called watches. He liked to show me the little bits and parts inside that fit together just so.

If Grampa were here, maybe he could fix these rattly machines.

I glance behind us, at the limp-legged, whining spider that carries Coyotl, Kalle and Borjigin. Like me, Kalle looks everywhere for any sign of the purple fruit. Does it grow on trees? Perhaps on a kind of smaller plant we haven’t seen yet? Borjigin’s eyes are closed, his head nestled against Coyotl’s neck. Coyotl’s arm is around Borjigin’s shoulder, but he stares straight ahead, eyes scanning the riverbanks.

The way they sit together…

Like Spingate found Gaston, I think Borjigin and Coyotl have found each other.

I wish Bishop would put his arm around me like that, hold me tight. It would be nice to relax into him, not have to think about all the things, all the time.

“See any fruit?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Neither have I. After Smith looks at you, we can take the spiders out and cover more area. But if we don’t find the fruit, Em…”