The thrumming of heavy machinery pounded like a heartbeat. Constant and obtrusive. Ringing in the ears like a hammer pounding hot iron. Its din rang like a song of metal, of cogs and pistons through the smog and the scorching heat. Yet most no longer heard the song, as it had become a part of their thought, their speech, and everything.
The machine must run no matter what happens. No matter who lives, no matter who dies. Even repairs were done by shifting the work to a replica engine. The valley could not afford to lose its command over the machine and the one attached to it. Pouring red-hot iron like magma flowing down a drain, the lab assistant fed the creature through pipes and pistons.
