《A Warm Welcome》

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"If I hear him complain about shit one more time, I'm lodging my boot up his ass!"

"Now, now," I say. Keran huffs ahead of me, her gaze honed on Tujo who wades through brown sludge with the biggest frown on his face. "That looks like a pretty nice pair of boots, I'd hate to see you lose one of them out of anger."

Keran whips her head around so fast the air cracks with electricity. She hisses, mouth snarling.

"She wouldn't lose it permanently," Nol says from my left. "It'd eventually make its way through Tujo's system. Though can you imagine the damage?" He wrinkles his nose and as he does, his fingers graze the flesh of my forearm sending a tingle of warmth through my body.

Keran snaps at him. "You useless-"

"Ugh," I say, cutting her off, much the way I do with Marava. Keran reverts to her arsenal of snarls and scowls. Her indignance might have been cute had it not been for the gun present in her hand. "Half-digested leather and the smell? Keran," she growls at my use of her name. "It's not worth it. Don't send your boot to such a grisly end--"

"Shut," she stomps toward me, her steps flinging sewage my way. Splatters of brown stain my pant legs. Putrid, humid air shoves itself into my nose. "Up," Keran finishes, hefting her gun so the barrel touches the tip of my nose.

At this point, her rough and tumble act is getting a little stale. All these threats she can't act upon without disobeying Della's orders. She's leashed for the time being, which means, much as she wants, she can't pull that trigger no matter how her finger dances above it.

I slap the gun out of my face as though it were a toy. "I told you before," the jovial tone in my voice is replaced by one I hope shows cool determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect them. Even if it means protecting one of their ass holes from your boot."

Keran shoves the gun back in its holster, raises her arms, and screams. It echoes down the narrow tunnel. "For fuck sake's, Della," she yells. "Let me shoot her!"

Della's answer is little more than an echo, from further in the tunnel. The Commander had taken it upon herself to be a scout, in case the Militia roamed the tunnels. "We need one-zero," comes Della's reply. This time, she doesn't seem to begrudge her sentiment. Had the Titav Commander warmed up to me? Doubtful, even though I'd just saved us from being found out. She might just be tempering the edge in her voice because she owes me one.

Keran howls and whips around. When she does, that high ponytail of hers hits my forehead. Brown water sloshes around her ankles and up her calves, spraying the other Titavs as she plows past them.

"She's probably going on ahead to find Della, complain in person," Nol says.

I shrug. "Does that work? Complaining in person? I find well-worded written complaints always get you farther."

Nol gives me a sideways glance and the corner of his lip curls into a grin. "And you know this from experience?"

I nod. "Of course. Wrote hundreds of them." I clear my throat. "'Dear Councilmen of the FUA, mind not making us prisoners in our home? The food, if you can even call M.E.A.T.s food, is disgusting. It's somehow soft enough to disintegrate on the tongue, yet has enough staying power to cement your teeth together. They taste how I imagine a sweat-soaked bed would taste after it's been doused in gasoline and burnt to a crisp.'"

Rima chuckles. Mars shakes her head, despite the softness in her eyes. Maybe shaking her head's compulsory at this point, and doesn't reflect her repulsion of me? Or maybe the repulsion just isn't as strong when compared to walking in shit water. That's probably it.

"'Dear Council,'" Quint says. We all look at him, while we continue to wade through the river of brown muck with chunks of --I don't even want to think too hard on that-- something bobbing up and down. "'Can you please stop measuring our piss and shits? Some of us have trouble pissing in those plastic cups--'" In unison, we all turn to Tujo, who's face flushes bright pink. We'd heard the stories and the complaints of the Cleaners. Tujo kicks some water and splashes the back of a Titav's pants. "'And weighing our shits? For some reason, there's a few of us who see it as a competition, and who go to great lengths shoveling M.E.A.T. into their mouths for the best results.'" We all move again, flickering our gaze to Sin, though we do it with more subtlety than we afforded Tujo.

Tujo's stature doesn't force anyone to crane their necks toward the stars. Sin's did, and couple that with the fact he could easily snap one of us in half earns him more respect. I chuckle. We knew so much about each other, and yet absolutely nothing at the same time. It was odd reminiscing with almost strangers.

"It's funny how even though the Militia is looking for us," Rima says, giving the metal tube above us a quick glance, "we still revert to talking like we used to in the Facility's halls."

Nol leans in toward me, his breath hot against my neck. "Is it how it used to be?" He gropes for my hand, and even though it's the one in bandages, he intertwines his fingers with my own, careful not to cause discomfort.

I politely unwind them and let his hand fall to the wayside. "I don't remember you being so brazen in the Facility," I whisper.

He grins. "I guess a new set of clothes, an intimate ride in a smelly trunk, and a river of shit goes a long way towards changing people."

"Well, revert back to the slouchy, hands-off approach of past No--" I shake my head. At this rate, Izzer's name changes would become second nature to my corpse. "Kellam," I correct.

As Nol's about to lay some witty retort at my feet so I can kick it back and continue our volley of quips and strained, awkward, red-faced glances and brief touches, a hand grips my shoulder and yanks me away. Quint's face comes into view, along with a mass of his brown hair, as he nods toward a bag floating past where I'd been standing a moment ago. Something shakes inside it.

"Could be rats," he says. I nod and move from him slowly. Aviary rats were notorious scavengers and oftentimes called the 'plagues' of the urban, larger scaled Aviaries. They'd grown fierce over the years and feral, their teeth and claws always sharp, their taste for human flesh newfound and ravenous. If a colony of rats was near, we could count ourselves among the dead.

"What if it's cats," Rima says, her eyes following the bag as it continues to float toward the end of the corridor. Whatever's inside doesn't make to move which helps put our minds at ease. "You know it's against regulation to have pets inside the Aviaries but people smuggle them in any way." She lowers her head. "I've heard drowning an animal is better than what the sanitation policers do to them. They toss them in the sewers or the furnaces while they're still alive."

Tujo pats her on the back in broad, gentle arcs as if sensing the onset of Rima's tears. "I don't think those were cats. Or rats for that matter."

She nods.

"I've heard the low-levs talk," Mars says as she pulls Quint into her. I must have been standing in his space far more than she was okay with. "Some babies get sent here. Unwanteds, Curseds. You know, the defective ones."

In the silence she's caused, Marava takes the time to flip her hair, as though baby murder talk was as casual a conversation topic as the weather. "Even if they're healthy, some families meet the quota, and then accidents happen."

"Accidents only happen when they're not taking their prescripts," Nol says.

Marava narrows her gaze. "I know." She runs a long nail over her cheek and down her neck. "Not everyone's blessed with their own Dispensary station though. Some communal ones, especially in the lower Sects, end up broken for days at a time. Could chalk up about 45% of unwanted births to Aviary mismanagement, but they'd be idiots to admit their folly. And besides, people forget. Shit happens."

There's another moment of solemn silence, as we all watch the bag float out of sight, and then, Tujo bursts into laughter. "Shi-shi-shit," he struggles to speak between bouts of hysteria. Tears form at the corner of his eyes.

Marava scowls. "What's el idiota going on about?"

Quint grins which seems to agitate Marava more. She stomps on ahead.

"Shit happens," Tujo finally manages. Rima whaps him on the shoulder, while a smile settles onto her face.

Quint chuckles. "Poor Novia." He stares at her back, not at her hips though she's decidedly swaying them more than the situation calls for. "She's still awkward as ever."

"Shit happens," Tujo says again. He stomps his foot in the sewer water and something, apple-sized, near black in color, bobs to the surface.

I make it a point not to notice it more than I already have and return my attention to Quint. "She had to know her words would set off Tujo. I mean," I point to the water, "Shit happens."

He pats my shoulder. "I think she did."

I raise an eyebrow. "So she said it because?"

"Because she felt the tension her words had spurred. So, feeling bad, she--"

I put a hand up. "Feeling bad?" I shake my head. "She's a lot of things, but I doubt she's ever felt bad for anyone else in her life."

Quint chuckles. "It took me a long time to understand her," he leans in toward me. "Then again, it took me a long time to understand you."

I flinch. "You did not mean to compare her to me right now--"

"Think what you want," he picks up his pace as Marava's silhouette grows small. "About me," he corrects. "But don't misunderstand her. She only ever cracks puns for the benefits of others."

In her own way, Marava was being kind. Is that the bullshit Quint expected me to swallow? Still, her words did ease the pall that had come over us. Be it, a pall that she created by steering our conversation down a macabre avenue, but it dissipated with each of Tujo's guttural chuckles and that had been because of her. Guess Marava had it in her to do something right after she'd single-handedly made everything wrong.

When our group turns the corner, the last of Tujo's laughter is stolen from his lips. I halt, without needing someone to command me into doing so. Keran stands below a grate, artificial moonlight dappling the skin along her arms and face. Her expression is one of horror and the sharp lines created by the play of light and shadow only seem to etch that terror into her further.

At first, it looks like she's being pelted by rain. Aviaries occasionally scheduled rain, to help with Sect morale or to clean the streets when the Sanitation department was stretched too thin. It'd make sense if it'd been rain. But, on closer inspection, what's splattering Keran's face, what's running down her cheeks in droves and soaking her civilian t-shirt isn't clear liquid. It's colored a deep crimson and is accompanied by an outpouring of shrill screams and gunfire.

Rima whispers, "Oh, god."

I reach for her, take her quaking hand in my own. Gods were what the Council members were supposed to be, what we'd been trained to be, but I had no idea what to do, what words I could spew, what lies to weave to alleviate Rima's worry, or the sudden feeling constricting my chest.

"In every moment of your waking day, you are to be whatever the citizens of the FUA need you to be," Mistress Anthony had taught us, but right now, I couldn't find it in me to obey. All I could do was watch on as blood rained down from above.