The Ambuloks

Ren

As Ren gingerly placed the needle of her record player onto a worn album, a small smear of soot stained its arm. The rest of her father's old album collection leaned against the desk of her work station about two centimeters from collapsing into a heap. As scratchy music blurred out the heavy machinery in the caverns next to her workshop, she gazed at her work for a moment with an unusual affection. The music's jaunty and jumbled tune played, and her features relaxed in intense concentration as she worked under the dim light.

Ren didn't usually mind that mess or grime covered her station. Almost everything in London was coated in a dark blanket of grease. The Spiral had named the Production Levels, where Ren worked, after the center of automata and industrial production from the Old World. The old city in England was so notoriously dirty that smoke had blocked out the stars. Names were often carried from before the world split, maybe in a feeling of nostalgia, and the Spiral was no exception.

Ren had lived in the dark and dirt of the Spiral for so long that she barely noticed. The breath that left people's lips was dark from their soot covered lungs. Even by London's standards, though, her station was disgusting and would never pass inspection. She'd need to come in early one morning and tidy it before she got reprimanded.

Ren hummed along with the familiar tune as she worked on a little automata equipped with wings and a letter clutch. It was supposed to fly messages specifically for the Grounded Council. It was perfect. Small, aerodynamic, and bird-like, a newer, faster model, and it was Ren's design. She was engineering it on request from her station manager for the council. Their work was of the utmost importance afterall, and it had to be timely. It was supposed to be an honor to be chosen for their work. Ren had been tempted to botch the job.

As Ren attached the Refined Coal Reserve, witnessing the gears turning for the first time and watching the first stream of dark smoke trail into the air, she could almost forget who it was for. The bird was beautiful- too beautiful. A small while ago it had only been spare bits and now it was a wonderfully, animated creature. Ren tenderly trailed the buzzing metal with only the tips of her fingers and looked on with a strange sense of love reserved only for machines and never for people. It was easy to imagine a heartbeat instead of gears and blood instead of coal. The automatas Ren made felt alive, and sometimes she had to remind herself they weren't. That was something else, something special, and Ren kept that secret to herself.

Behind her, a cough reached into her sanctuary.

"Ren," a person said with a knock on the door.

She brought herself out of a trance to twist her head back towards Benny, her old trainer, now her supervisor. He stared at her with an ambiguous raised eyebrow and leaned heavily in the doorway.

"You're really in your own little world when you're working, aren't you, girly?" he scoffed. "You should pay more attention. That's how you lose your fingers. I should know," a wheezy laugh escaped him with ease, as he wiggled his stubbed fingers and winked, grinning at her.

"Sorry," she responded, glancing back towards the bird. She wanted to get back to work- her fingers were itching to be occupied.

"I've come to talk to you about something," Benny announced, as he stepped into the mess surrounding her work station.

"Oh?" she asked while her attention ran elsewhere.

"It's important," Benny said.

Ren's ears were drawn into his voice. The tense undertone reverberated and raised those instinctive little hairs on the back of her neck. He had Ren's attention and she listened. Turning to look at him, she watched his careful motions and heard the secrets in his eyes. What was that urgency in his words? His clothes were much too formal for everyday. He had come from leadership- or he was going.