The floor does not lurch as you spin to look behind you, though it feels as though there should be a juddering halt, a sudden silence. There is no loss of momentum, but the block goes dark, then bright again, as the ship switches to auxiliary power. The light is red now, a dull color that reminds you of nothing you know, and you cross the distance in two sharp steps, trembling with something that might be rage and knowing, even before you see him, that you’re already too late. He hangs in his wires, one dead machine among many.

You have to step over cables to reach him. The block is a mess of them, twisting over each other in aggregated disarray, but you don’t care now what you step on and what you kick aside. When you lift him, he’s light in your arms, empty of everything and too frail without lightning to animate him. Blood smears his sign and trickles sluggishly from his eyes and mouth, golden on grey, and it feels tacky and wrong against your skin when you hold him close. A feeling like a cresting wave washes over you, lifts you, lets you fall.

will not permit