The Machine towers over the city, a gargantuan maze of steel, cogs, and steam. Thousands slave away to feed the beast lumber, coal, and blood to build it bigger. No one knows anymore why it was made, who made it, or what it was meant to do. But if anyone is heard questioning The Machine, that individual can expect no mercy. Those who came before can't have dedicated their lives for nothing, they can't have! They cant! -- Anon Guest
[AN: Nonny have you watched a series called Lexx? Just asking]
The Machine was life. The Machine was home. The Machine was all. Do not question The Machine.
Bad things happen to the fools who do.
Best to keep your head down. The Machine selects the best work for your skills. The Machine shelters you, feeds you, teaches you. The Machine is family We're all a family, here. You love your family don't you? You'd do anything for family. You'd better do everything for family.
That was what Raune had learned since they could learn. They were determined to be the best possible worker for The Machine. There were, after all, rumours of prizes for the best at doing their thing.
Everyone had a friend of a friend of theirs who had worked to their breaking point and won. What they won was unclear, but they won and that was the point.
Every citizen was the life's blood of The Machine. You donated plasma once a month. You donated blood once in every three months. You contributed your zygotes to the cause. The Machine expected all to sweat, for all to fall to their beds with their muscles twitching. To eat so fast that their guts hurt because every other second was needed for work. To wash as quickly as possible, expel waste as fast as possible... to come to work sick because The Machine needed them there.
There was no time for family. No time for friends. No time for social activity. The Machine needed your every instant.
So Raune worked since the moment they could work, as hard as they could work, for every minute they had. They ran for the transit, felt guilty about liking the close touch of their fellow passengers in the crowded transports. They didn't ask questions.
Not even when their co-workers did.
"I don't get it," said Bein on the transit from work. "I'm a loader, right? Last week, I cut my hand, right? And I left some blood on a box. This week? I saw my handprint on a box I was loading. So... If all I'm doing is moving boxes around for nothing... what's the point? What am I doing all that for?"
"Don't say things like that," said Raune. Almost automatically. "The Machine has the plan for all of us. We can't see it this far down. The Machine is big, and it needs us to have faith."
"But I'm moving the same boxes around! They take a week to get back to me to move them again. I wanna know why..."
Raune bit their lip to stop the scream as the bus seat ate him. This was what happened when anyone doubted The Machine. "We must have faith," they repeated. "We must have faith."
The rest of the bus chorused, "We must have faith."
An elder took the chair once it returned without Bein. Without a single bloodstain. She said, "I have faith in The Machine."
Raune wasted a minute crying while they expelled their waste, that night. Maybe that was why they missed it. Or maybe... they got lucky.
Caer'l was in the next work booth to Raune, sorting objects rapidly into the tubes. There was a ping from Caerl's booth, and a congratulatory trumpet. Then an automated voice.
"Congratulations Caer'l Sorter, section H-23X-B5. You have won!"
Raune looked up from their work for just an instant to see what Caer'l had won. She'd won a quick mercy. The blade piercing her skull had extinguished her awareness as the machine took her carefully apart piece by piece.
The monitors said that that was retirement.
"We must have faith," Raune whispered, tears falling anyway. All that The Machine needed them for was... to be used. Work until they no longer suited their purpose. Thereafter to literally feed the machine.
They must have faith.
It was the only way to survive.
[Photo by Taton Mo茂se on Unsplash]
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