Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(78)

Spingate’s wide green eyes blink. She’s shocked. So am I, so are all of us. We’ve never seen Gaston this angry.

She knew about the baby before she and I set out to find the Springers—but she hadn’t told him. Maybe she didn’t because she knows him better than I do, because she knew he would have fought against her going.

“We’ll send Beckett,” I say.



Gaston lets out a long breath. “Thank you for understanding. I…it’s not that I don’t want to do what you ask, it’s just that…well, I have to keep Spingate safe.”

That word, yet again. Safe—how can anyone still believe it exists?





I spent the rest of the night, the morning and most of the afternoon in a med-chamber, getting my broken fingers fixed. They still hurt, but nowhere near as bad. I can grip the spear properly again.

Bello got out of her med-chamber before I did, but I planned for that, telling Farrar to watch her closely.

I’d hoped to come out of medical to answers, but that didn’t happen. Spingate found nothing to prove that Bello is a Grownup. Neither did Smith. Science and medicine have failed me, so I’m trying the only thing I can think of—having my friends see if they can spot anything weird.

Almost everyone is in the coffin room, listening to Bello tell of her escape. People want her story to be true. Of course they do—they want a future that is nice and neat. They want to believe that the Grownups’ overwriting machine is a failure, and that we don’t have to worry about evil creatures in orbit preparing to erase us.



The kids, especially, hang on Bello’s every word. Not counting her, there are eighteen teenagers left in our group, people who were with Bello on the Xolotl. Beckett and Coyotl are at Bello’s ship, leaving sixteen of us. At my subtle instruction, the teenagers don’t just listen to Bello, they watch her, looking for any indication she is not who she says she is.

And besides—a good story is a welcome distraction from our growing hunger.

At least I know Bello won’t try anything with all these people watching. Farrar will make sure she doesn’t go farther into the ship, or go off by herself outside.

When Beckett, Coyotl and Muller return, I’ll have more information. If Bello’s ship could be flown by autopilot—that’s what Gaston calls it when a ship flies itself—or if Brewer could have guided it down remotely, that means Bello might be telling the truth. I’ll let her join us, but I’ll make sure she’s never alone.

If it turns out her ship can’t be flown without a pilot? Then she’s lying; she’s a Grownup. I will lock her in one of the shuttle’s storage rooms until we figure out what to do with her. We’ll have to treat her like a prisoner. We’ll have to question her.

A nagging voice in my head tells me, Just lock her up now…or have her killed, immediately…it’s the only way to be sure.

It’s not my father’s voice this time, it’s Matilda’s. And to some degree, it’s mine, too.

The only way to be sure…

I force myself to look away from Bello. If Matilda were in my shoes, she’d kill Bello, but I am not Matilda—I will find another solution.

Like the rest of us, I want Bello’s story to be true. I want that desperately. Not just because I love her—the old her, anyway—but because if she’s telling the truth, I can go look for Barkah. My people are hungry. If that continues, I know Aramovsky will make a move. I think I have one day left before he does, maybe two.



I remember Barkah’s anger at seeing Bello’s ship. Did he react like that when our shuttle came down? Probably. His grandparents, or great-grandparents or even farther back than that, must have seen the first ships from the Xolotl release the war machines. To the Springers, perhaps ships mean death.

But Barkah had never seen actual humans before. None of his kind had. They’d only seen machines. Not that encountering people has been that much better for the Springers—my kind leaves a trail of death wherever we go.

Bello finishes her story by describing a daring run down a dark corridor, chased by horrifying Grownups. She reaches her lumpy ship just in time, is shot out of the Xolotl to safety. It’s like something out of a storybook—it would be unbelievable if the same thing hadn’t happened to us when we took the shuttle.

When she’s done, people applaud. The kids scream with delight. They ask her to tell the story again. Blushing, Bello agrees.

Once is enough for me.

I walk outside. Night is falling. Bishop is at the base of the ramp, his axe in his hands. A spider stands on either side of him, guarding the shuttle.

For a few moments, I just watch him. He’s dressed in his black coveralls. I take in his broad shoulders, the way his neck muscles flutter when he turns his head. He hasn’t been to Smith’s white coffin to have his numerous scratches repaired. Under that black fabric are scars that bear witness to our struggles.

I think of the way he looked in the Garden, when he stood under the bright lights with nothing on but tattered pants. I think of how he looked when he threw my spear at the pig. I wanted to touch Bishop’s skin then. At the pool, I did. I’d like to touch him again, kiss him again…



I shut my eyes, give my head a hard shake. Now is most certainly not the time for such thoughts.