“That’s not really a plan.” Alf pointed out. “Not a good one anyway. How do you even intend to do that?”

  “To burn her body? Easy.” Tove grinned, and Alf just rolled his eyes. “Alright,” she continued, “I’ll explain.” She pointed at the chair. We waited. She kept pointing.

  “Still not hearing a plan.”

  “That is the plan. It’s not complicated.” Seeing our continued incomprehension, she actually used her words this time. “This machine is controlled by the person sat in that chair. If I sit in the chair, I can give it some sort of order to stop, empty the soul tanks, cease functioning or whatever. Simple.” Our faces stayed uncomprehending, but the root cause had shifted from not understanding the methods to not understanding the logic.

  “Tove,” Nalfis said, “do you not see how that might be a poor idea?” She tilted her head.

  “How?”

  “Well I hate to be crude, but look what happened to her.” He pointed at Astrid.

  “Look, she was attached to this for months, and during times of super super super high stress and danger, while she was exhausted and abused. She was also a child. I’m well-rested, very wise,-”

  “Don’t sound very wise to me,” Alf muttered, and I silently agreed.

  “-and I’ll only be hooked up for however many seconds it takes for me to shut it down anyway, so I won’t even be in for long.” She seemed set in her plan, even though so many different things were telling me this was a terrible idea. “I’ll be fine. Besides,” she got a bit more serious, “we owe it to these literal tortured souls to set them free into the afterlives.” We all shuffled uncomfortably, since she was a bit right. Technically, none of us had any real responsibility to do that, but we also didn’t want to think about just how horrific it must have been, trapped in there all this time. Also, I like to think that we were nice enough people to do the right thing for its own sake, not just for reward. Reward was a welcome benefit though, if it was available.

  “So I’m going to do this either way, before that pathetic excuse for a man slithers back up here and threatens to punish us for doing some good in this world. Alf, if you’d do the honours.” She nodded to Astrid, and Alf clearly got the point. He walked over, kneeling so he was adjacent to her body, intoning a similar prayer to the one I’d heard earlier. He closed his eyes, before putting one hand on her chest and clasping his holy symbol in the other.

  Before I could even ask what he was doing, the hand he’d lain on her chest flared with light, as bright and radiant and golden as the dawn. By the time I even had the idea to close my eyes, the light had already faded, leaving me blinking away sunspots.

  When my vision cleared, a thin pile of fine white ash was all that remained. All that remained of a person who I still thought, still knew, was similar to me in so many ways. A young, tormented woman altered by Gnomish technology. A girl forced to grow in ways she should never have had to. My heart ached with the injustice of it all. The memories I’d been given played in my head – memories not just from her, but about her.

  I could remember her as each of the names she was known by. The wide smile and boundless compassion of Astrid, with her upturned eyes, short hair and that contagious, silly, giggling laugh. The unshakeable conviction of V-87, determined to protect all of us no matter the cost to herself. And the devastating power of ?-3, almighty and terrifying and utterly wasted. All of them were gone now. Gone forever and all that was left of her was a pile of ash on the floor of the room where she’d fucking died and all there was left to remember her was me and all there was left to be done was make sure nobody could ever, ever do this again to any of us or anyone else and if that meant destroying something that should have ended centuries ago then so be it and if anyone got in the way of that then they would need to be removed and…

  I knew the thoughts weren’t mine. They were an echo, an aftershock of these foreign memories. These were the ripples of the rock thrown into the pool of my mind, but I let them play out regardless. The righteous anger, the unbearable, soul-splitting grief, the rage at my own impotence – I allowed myself to feel all of it, to carry these emotions on behalf of whoever it was who had known her. Astrid deserved to have all this and more felt on her behalf by someone, and if that someone was going to be me then so be it.

  There was a finality about her impromptu cremation that had brought this all roiling to the surface. It was like the sadness you feel at a funeral. You already knew they were dead, but now you must confront the undeniable fact that they are truly gone, and the hurt reopens. This had been her funeral, and she had transitioned from ‘dead’ to ‘gone’. My tears ran freely but quietly, and while I’m sure everyone noticed, they were at least polite enough not to say anything.

  Tove moved over to the chair, placing a hand on one of the armrests. “How do we think this works?” We all inspected it, me rubbing away tears with the back of my sleeve. I was going to get dehydrated at this rate.

  It was a fair question from her. There were several straps, which had all been attached to Astrid when we arrived, encompassing the arms, legs, and head. Tove being a Dwarf, her proportions were fairly different to a human, but at least similar in height to a teenaged human. “I can only guess,” Nalfis said, “but I think it is just the headpiece you’ll need. See how it has these additional rings?” We all looked, seeing the copper wires that had been inlaid in bands on the inside of the leather strap. “It isn’t on any of the others,” he continued, “so my guess is the remaining ones were…” he trailed off, face twisting uncomfortably.

  “Just to keep her trapped in place,” Alf finished. Nalfis nodded, and Tove spoke.

  “In that case, don’t use those ones,” she said, before positioning herself in the chair and looking expectantly at all of us. “Well?” she asked. None of us wanted to do this, and I don’t think any of us thought it was a good idea either. Still, she was determined to go through with it, her expression set in the picture of stubborn conviction (which I would come to learn was a favourite of hers).

  “Astrid must have been able to hear those around her while in control of the machine, in order to receive orders,” Nalfis reasoned, “so perhaps she had some ability to communicate as well. Tove, your only objective is to pass along the order that this machine is to shut itself down and release the stored souls, correct?”

  “Correct,” she nodded.

  “Is there any reason for that to take longer than a minute?”

  “Probably not.”

  “In that case, I suggest that if you are attached to that machine for longer than a minute without leaving yourself, or if you become unresponsive, we will remove you regardless of the current state of the machine. Agreed?”

  “Fine,” she reluctantly conceded.

  “Alright then. I don’t know what this will feel like, or how you want to prepare, but tell me when you’re ready.” He grabbed the edges of the strap, holding it above Tove’s head as she closed her eyes. She took out the beaded cord I’d seen her using when we’d first heard the Colossus (and didn’t that feel like an age ago now), and twisted it into different shapes, murmuring quietly as the beads, which I could now see were some sorts of rough crystals, pulsed gently. A few deep breaths later, and clutching the string tight in both hands, she nodded. “I’m ready.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Nalfis looked at us two, winced apologetically, and placed the circular strap on Tove’s head. A lot of things then happened, very quickly.

  A jolt of electricity, like a static shock, had Nalfis drop the headpiece. A short, loud hissing sound came from the chair, followed by a clunk. If I’d known the word then, I’d have called it pneumatic. Tove’s eyes snapped open, but they were glassy and unfocused, stretched wide in shock or pain. “Tove!” Nalfis yelled. “Tove, what’s happening?!” Her mouth opened, and a few tortured words came out, but they weren’t a response.

  “Eoin… Prince… Dwarden… Dendallen… Talani… Elvenden…” she rasped. Each word was barely audible, scratched out in a flat, emotionless monotone. An ear-splitting CLANG echoed up through the hatch, and we heard Eoin cry out in surprise. A second one echoed it as our trapdoor slammed shut on its own. “Shit,” Nalfis spat. “Shit shit shit SHIT!” At the height of his panic, there was another change: we stopped. The Colossus stopped. The rhythmic up-and-down motion (don’t) ceased, and everything went quiet. “Did she manage it?” Alf asked. We looked at her, still and quiet in the chair, breathing heavily, and dared to hope. That hope rarely lasted, and now was no different.

  “Dwarden… Prince…” and so on, she continued. This time we acted – or we would have. Instead we were all thrown from our feet as the floor lurched underneath us. The head was rotating, and being unprepared, we all fell over like idiots on an ice rink, skidding into the wall in a big pile. It was honestly quite funny in some ways, but we were a bit too stressed to appreciate it.

  “What the Hel’s going on?!” Alf shouted.

  “We’re spinning!” I replied.

  “I BLOODY WELL KNOW THAT,” he raged, “WHAT I’D LIKE TO KNOW IS WHY!”

  ‘How should I know?’ is what I chose not to say, because I’m diplomatic like that. We all tried to push back to our feet, but were stuck to the wall like socks in a washing machine, and had to wait for it to stop turning. When it did, we ran back over, desperately trying to get any sort of reaction out of Tove. She remained unresponsive, repeating her strange litany, and with sweat starting to bead across her forehead.

  “I’m taking her out!” Naflis decided, reaching for the headpiece. There was another crash from below, muffled by the trapdoor but still audible, this time the distinctive sound of smashing glass. We ignored it in favour of helping Tove. Nalfis grabbed the strap, which had tightened around her head and was now refusing to be pulled off (still don’t).

  He prised his fingers between her head and the leather, trying to create a gap. Squeezing his hand into it, he got a couple of centimetres deep (I swear this isn’t deliberate) when there was a sudden, loud crack. His entire body jolted as the smell of burning hair filled the room. Lightning crackled, arcs of it searing up his arm and across the whole of Tove’s body, cascading down from her head as the lifted part of the strap tried to recomplete the broken circuit.

  Her back arched, lifting her bodily off the chair as she screamed silently, head still locked in place as she writhed, screaming silently. The band snapped back into place as Nalfis fell back, wincing at his dead arm and scorched fingers. Tove slumped back down, the final sparks dissipating, leaving patches of burnt skin and the smell of ozone.

  “Dendallen… Talani… Elvenden…” her voice was even raspier now, vocal chords burning and chafed. Before Alf or I could even help Nalfis back up, we were all flung off our feet again.

  “For fuck’s saaaaake,” Alf groaned as he slid with me along the floor. We were now rotating back in the opposite direction, turning to the right, across the original line and further still.

  “Why are we changing course?” Nalfis gritted out.

  “I don’t know, it’s like she’s changing her mind!” I replied. “What’s she talking about anyway?”

  “People and places,” Alf said, “important ones.”

  “Important how?”

  “Important to her.”

  “In what way?!” I cried. “Good or bad?” He furrowed his brow.

  “Bad, mostly,” he decided. “Unpleasant memories.” We’d finally stopped turning, leaving us sprawled on the metal floor, bruised from the impacts. “What are you thinking?” he asked. I wasn’t really sure, but I had the faintest germs of a thought. I looked out of the windows, hoping for inspiration.

  The sight was an inspiring one certainly, towering hundreds of feet up, gazing for miles and miles and seeing the dawn break on the far-distant horizon. If nothing else it was helpful for getting our bearings. “We’re facing east,” I called out.

  “Is that important somehow?” Nalfis asked.

  “Not sure, but we were definitely looking north before.” A thought occurred. “She’s given it new orders,” I said.

  “What?”

  “New orders!”

  “How? Look at her, she’s catatonic!” I didn’t know how, but that didn’t matter. There shouldn’t have been a right turn.

  “This machine has been patrolling the outskirts of a destroyed city for nearly 1000 years,” I explained, “because those were its last orders. And that city is that way.” I pointed out to our left, back in the direction we had just turned away from. “This thing hasn’t needed to make a right turn in all that time, and now here we are. I don’t know what is happening in her head right now, but something has changed.” Tove was still murmuring in her chair, each word barely a whisper.

  “We still need to get her out,” Alf prompted, “this can’t be good for her.” The idea of getting zapped by lightning didn’t really appeal, but luckily, I had a secret weapon. “You two need to be ready to drag her out of the chair, ok?” They nodded, taking positions nearby and at least trusting I had a bit of a plan. I moved next to Tove, and took the glove off my right hand, exposing the mostly-wooden appendage. “Why didn’t we fucking start with that?” Nalfis complained.

  “It’s not like we knew it was going to shock you,” I answered, “and I’m not very strong.”

  This was the only idea I really had, and I even knew it was a bad one. Just because the hand was mostly wood, that didn’t mean there weren’t ways for this to backfire, including the fact that there were plenty of metal bits that were probably waiting to conduct every volt they could straight into my heart. Still, in for a penny…

  “This is probably still going to zap her quite a lot,” I said, “but it’s better than leaving her trapped, right?”

  “I think I can fix the ‘zapping’ regardless,” Alf said, “so I would very much agree.”

  “Likewise,” came Nalfis. “Will you count us in, Indy?” I nodded, steadied myself, gave the countdown, and darted in with my right hand.

  Helpfully, the backwards fingers meant I could go in from underneath, and try to lift the strap upwards. Even through the prosthetic, I could feel hundreds of static shocks, and my upper arm was going frighteningly numb. The great advantage of a fake hand though is that there are no nerve endings or muscle groups that can be overridden by other electricity. I had defeated biology, and my hand stayed firmly grasped on the headpiece.

  I lifted it in the quickest motion I could, snapping my wrist up. Lightning spilled out once again, rushing along her body, down into Alf and Nalfis as well, who were already pulling her out of the chair. There was a sickening schlick sound as something was withdrawn from flesh, and I saw a small spike retract into the chair near the base of the spine, bloodied.

  The rest of them had spilled onto the floor in a heap, fingers twitching occasionally from residual shocks, but the men otherwise unharmed. Tove was unresponsive, but she was at least breathing. Alf’s hands began to glow again as he held them above Tove, moving them around her head and frowning. “She’s almost unhurt physically,” he said, “but there’s something not working properly upstairs.”

  “Can you fix it?” Nalfis asked, hints of desperation breaking through his voice.

  “We’ll let her rest for now,” he said. “That’s usually a good first step with these. There’s nothing I need to do or can do for her body, which means this is up to her mind.” He rolled her into something like a sleeping position, propping his bag under her head and then dusting himself down as he stood up. He gave a weak but hopeful smile, looking down at her. “And there are precious few people I know whose minds are stronger.”

  Sammy xx