Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(81)

I hand Aramovsky the spear.

He takes it. His fear vanishes. He’s won. His mouth doesn’t smile, but his eyes do.

Aramovsky gestures to the floor, asking Opkick and me to step off the stage. We do, leaving him alone to tower over us all.

“As your new leader, I must put first things first,” he says. “The Springers have food. They had their chance to share it with us, but they chose the path of evil. They have what we need to live—so we will take it from them. Bishop, Farrar, you will drive the two spiders we have left. Take Borjigin to the spider nest. Schuster, Bemba and Zubiri, stand up.”



Zubiri stands, as do a boy and another girl, both halves. Aramovsky is sending a combination of symbols: science and management.

“Borjigin, these three are your assistants,” Aramovsky says. “Take them with you. I’ve talked to Bemba and Schuster, they think they remember working on machines. And Zubiri is our smartest young scientist—better to have her with you, solving problems that come up, rather than wasting her time in the lab. Why would we try to research a cure for red mold when we can just take food from the Springers? You will all work together to fix any machines that can be fixed. Bishop, choose three young circle-stars to go as well. Take all the remaining muskets. The rest of us will seal up in the shuttle for protection.”

Borjigin walks to the stage, his hands together at his chest. He’s almost in tears.

“What about Coyotl?” he says. “And Beckett, and Muller. Aren’t you going to look for them first?”

Borjigin and Coyotl have grown close in such a short time. Aramovsky’s expression of sympathy is so real I almost believe it. He bends slightly, leaning toward Borjigin.

“The gods decide our fates,” Aramovsky says. “Don’t worry—if Coyotl is worthy, the gods will return him safe and sound. Your duty is to give us an army of machines. And when they are ready”—he stands tall, raises the spear high, his eyes widen and his lip curls up—“we will go to war!”

The kids who voted for him jump and shout and cheer. They were afraid…Aramovsky gives them a way to attack what they fear. I wonder how many of these cheering faces will soon be dead.

I should have stabbed him when I had the chance.



Maybe I’m not the leader anymore, but I can’t let this happen.

“Aramovsky!”

My voice echoes off the shuttle walls, loud enough to cut off the cheering. He looks at me, annoyed and impatient. I’m ruining his moment; I won’t quietly go away.

“Yes, Em?”

“We can make peace with the Springers. No one has to die.”

He looks to the ceiling and sighs. “We just had a vote. Everyone heard your speech, yet they voted for me.”

“We don’t know how many Springers there are,” I say. “There could be thousands, all with guns. Even with the spiders, we won’t come out unscathed.” I look around the room, pointing at individuals. “You might die. And you. And you. And—”

The spear butt hammers down, rattling the stage.

“That will be enough!”

Aramovsky doesn’t hide his rage.

“War is dangerous, but the God of Blood will protect the faithful,” he says. “It is better for some of us to fall in battle than for all of us to starve.”

People are staring at me now, annoyed that I won’t shut up. It’s truly over: Aramovsky has their hearts and minds. I need to get it through my head that he is the leader.

But maybe I can try one more thing.

“It will take some time to repair any broken machines,” I say. “While that’s happening, let a few of us go talk to the Springers. If we can get them to show us where the food is before your army is ready, then no one has to die, right?”

All eyes swing back to him.

Aramovsky’s face twitches with hatred. It hits me—he wants war. If it isn’t for food, he’ll come up with some other reason. His upper lip twitches. He wants to kill me, right here and right now, but he can’t; if he ignores what I’m saying, he’s obviously passing up a chance to keep everyone alive.



And then how many votes would he win?

I pour on the pressure.

“The Springers might kill me,” I say. “But if I can save the lives of any of our people, I will take that risk.”

I’m leaving him no choice.

The smile slowly returns to his face. “Your bravery is a blessing to us all. Go, then—see if the gods will help you stop the bloodshed. Leave now, right now, because when we’re ready to attack I will not hesitate. Every minute counts.”

That was easier than I thought it would be. Could I have been wrong about him wanting war? Maybe there is a decent person in there after all.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I look to Spingate. “Let’s go.”

She flashes a glance at Gaston that is as loud and clear as a gunshot: Don’t try to stop me. She starts toward the shuttle door.

“No,” Aramovsky says, the word a sharp command. “You stay, Grandmaster Spingate. We may need your brilliance to repair the spiders, and”—he lowers the spear tip so it points at her belly—“we can’t risk the next generation.”

Her fists go to her hips.

“You can’t tell me what to do! I have the right to go where I want.”