Thursday. It was raining blood again.

The cirrus clouds opened up like many faceted jaws and let their hungry red drool splatter over the last planet left. Windswept plains of hair whispered in the breeze; globs of congealed meat crashed into the concrete dome that encased Noud Avery.

Stye’s condominium manager had packed her at the ceiling of Noud Avery. Property near the hemisphere’s edge was always undesirable and inexpensive due to the sound of slapping flesh. Stye rolled over and tried to muffle the noise with her pillow. It was above her. It was all around her.

Stye knew she couldn’t get back to sleep.

She slipped off the air-mattress and into a pair of pinstripe slacks. It had been awhile since her last shirt was chewed up by moths when she left it out to dry. Now she slept next to her clothes and kept all the windows closed.

Stye strapped on work boots and ran fingers through her short brown hair. Greasy.

“The water bill’s so high these days,” Stye muttered. She cupped her hands over her face. Yawned. “I’ll have to shower tomorrow.”

She kicked on her coffee machine and headed into the restroom.

“Morning buddy.”

Beside her, the bathtub remained full and stagnant, just the way her pet preferred. The gargantuan leech—who Stye really had to name soon—raised its head and blinked beady little eyes. Then it lowered back into the water with a slight undulation.

It’s growing more comfortable with me. That’s the first time it hasn’t wailed. Mark’s right about exposure therapy.

Eventually, Stye got up from the toilet. Her pet’s submerged eyes followed her out the door, then watched her pound down three cups of coffee.

This kind of caffeine isn’t enough anymore, but I’ll be twenty-one tomorrow. Then I’ll be authorized for energy drinks.

I’ll be able to undergo the bonding ritual too.

Her eyes met the leech’s. It nervously dipped under the surface.

“I know you’re starving too,” she told it. “I’ll see if I can bring you a meal tonight. After all, it’s raining blood again.”

—

Stye worked on Noud Avery’s 3rd Retrieval Squad. It was the kind of job no one wanted to do, but everyone needed. As a result... it still paid like shit, but she could afford to rent a room.

“I have to be grateful,” she told herself and her burning legs as she stomped downstairs. “I get to go to work today.”

The condominium staircase was a spiraling drill all the way to the ground floor. Occasionally she passed other tenants, who had grown used to her bare, emaciated chest and didn’t ogle. Much.

Finally she stumbled into the common room, breathing heavy, and quickly stuffed two slices of toast into her pockets on the way out the door. She passed into the waking city, fog belching from vents across the ground, and headed for the tram.

The tram’s all harsh angles, hard metal seats, and no windows. On the ride to Noud Avery’s city limits she ate her first piece of toast. Eight minutes in, her co-worker—Mark—sat on the seat next to her. Mark was a scruffy, bearded man with a crow on each shoulder. He dug a cane into the ground.

“You were right,” Stye said. “I think it’s getting used to me.”

“It? Still no name, eh?”

Stye shuffled her feet. “Come off it. You know I was never too sure which ritual to go for until now.”

“Mmm,” he hummed noncommittally. “What about Stye Junior?”

She scowled. Mark raised his hands defensively. “Sorry, it’s just not something I can help with. Names are personal. If I picked one, it’d be like tying half the bond to me. And ya know I have enough animals to look out for.”

One of the crows bit Mark’s ear. His next grin was lopsided.

—

They were the only ones on the tram when it reached their destination. The two stepped out and approached a checkpoint at the rim of the city. The warehouse-style door had been built into concrete. The doorguard stood behind shock-proof glass, an axe slung casually over his shoulder.

He’s done the cutting ritual. Guards normally have revolvers... this one must be an expert in his Rites to go without.

“Stye Logger, 3rd Retrieval,” she announced.

“Mark Rivers, 3rd Retrieval,” followed Mark.

Stye found herself pleased when his gaze slipped right past her bare torso.

“You’re clear,” he said. “Step away from the gate.”

The clattering of titanic chains and gears heralded the opening of the airlock. They stepped inside and watched the sheet-iron roll back down behind them.

Symbols lit up the walls of the airlock. The mud on Stye’s boots vanished and her hair became slightly less greasy. Beside her, Mark’s crows preened.

“You’re cleansed,” said the guard over the loudspeaker. “Good luck Rivers. Logger.”

Stye scowled and took a sack from the wall. She was still scowling when they stepped out into the flesh meadow.

“No respect, that guard. I can’t believe it. No luck for me?”

“Mmm,” said Mark. He prodded the ground in front of them with his cane. “Stable for the next twenty meters. Cherry, give me aerial.”

The crow that had bitten him earlier rustled her feathers and flew into the sky. Stye knew Mark to be sharing in the bird’s senses.

They began to travel away from the gate. Several plump meat chunks littered the ground, all of which they ignored. The rainfall beside Noud Avery often evaluated as lower-quality due to aerial pollutants.

Every now and then, Stye reminded Mark to test the ground’s stability. Her portion of the job was to measure their distance traveled, but only half her mind remained on that task. She kept grumbling when she wasn’t speaking.

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“Pack of earworms to the east,” he informed her. She went silent. Both of them stopped walking.

Some time later: “They’ve moved.”

The two resumed their trek.

“Bat swarm on the horizon,” he told her. “We’re changing routes.”

They did so. By now Noud Avery had sunken into the horizon like a stone sun. Stye turned and squinted at it.

“Mark, we’re five hundred and four meters out. Good to harvest.”

“Alright.”

3rd Retrieval had something of a reputation. Though it was true they were a team of two that always returned from the meadows unharmed, with high-quality rainfall in tow... the rumors ballooned from there. Stye wondered how disappointed the other squads would be if they saw the actual process.

Stye stuffed the squelching red meat into her plastic sack.

“Can I keep a chunk today, Mark?”

“Mhm.”

She had long since learned to interpret his laconic responses. Stye pocketed a piece of red flesh.

Maybe I’ll name my pet Chunk.

“Full capacity,” Stye said.

Mark glanced at the dripping plastic and nodded. They began to travel back to Noud Avery. The two had an understanding. On their own, they each struggled with basic functions of the job. Together they were worth as much as a squad of seven, and more consistent besides.

I hope my pet’s Rites are useful for scouting. She watched Mark hobble along. He won’t be around forever.

At that thought, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

“What?”

“I’m memorizing your body temperature.”

...

She ate her other piece of toast on the walk back.

—

3rd Retrieval’s entire two-person squad stood in the airlock. Stye basked in cleansing runelight with eyes closed and hands splayed beside her. Mark tapped his cane.

“You’re cleansed. Step away from the gate.”

The guard’s bored voice echoed from a loudspeaker. I’ll give him one thing, he adheres to the protocol phrases. Fastidiously so.

The tram pulled up in a rickety clatter. Vents on its sides belched smoke.

Wait a minute.

“Mark, how am I going to transport my leech to the ritual hall? It’s aquatic.”

He just shrugged. “I told ya an exotic bond was a bad idea.”

She bit her lip. “I know, but...”

Mark’s gaze softened. “Look, how about this. We’ll sell some of our rainfall for a portable tank from the pet store. And don’t smile at me like that! It’s creepy.”

He scratched his beard as Stye wiped the rictus grin off her face.

—

The pet shop that Mark preferred actually resided within one of Noud Avery’s four malls. Due to limited space, the city’s commercial districts were dominated by a few titanic companies; all other businesses became subsidiaries. They rotated out based on demand and time of week. Some of the stronger brands were permanent fixtures. Lazlo’s Beastrum appeared only on Thursdays.

They had already dropped off their harvest at the Retrieval Center. The meat would be sacrificed to certain elders, whose Rites could turn flesh and blood into useful goods. Stye’s favorite was Elder Bobby, in charge of turning blood to coffee. He always passed her and Mark a pack of grounds afterward.

“Squads these days always bring in ugly, uncomfortable meat,” he would tell them. “It’s a pleasure to work with the good stuff again. Hold onto this for me, will you?”

Then he would walk away. The first time it happened, Stye had waited for an embarrassing amount of time before she realized it was Elder Bobby’s way of tipping them.

Stye zoned back into the present. Mark prompted the titular Lazlo, an old man with rich mocha skin and a slow grin.

“A portable terrarium? Yea... we’ve got a couple that might work. I bet you’ll want a sling for it, too? Since it’s gotta hold water n’ such. Don’t want to be carrying that with your bare arms.”

Mark nodded.

In a shockingly short amount of time, Lazlo had set her up with something that was half backpack, half aquarium. Stye slung it over her shoulder and thanked both of them profusely.

“Of course. Lemme know how it goes, okay? This is a recent product n’ I haven’t gotten to test it myself too rigorously.”

This did not fill her with confidence, but she managed a smile.

—

Stye was panting and wheezing by the time she’d made it up to her apartment. She hadn’t anticipated how much weight the modest glass box would add to her climb.

Still, she’d made it.

“I’m home!”

Her leech peered out at her from the bathtub. It swam a little closer to the edge as she approached. She saw its bulbous tail wagging.

“You smell the meat somehow, don’t you? Yeah, alright. I got it for you anyway.”

Stye reached into her pocket and produced a chunk of rainfall. She tore a strip free and tossed into the water. Her pet swirled, lashing around the raw flesh and gnawing it apart with its circular mouth. Smacking and slurping sounds reverberated over the bathroom tiles.

Stye smiled without baring her teeth.

“Good!”

Her pet ate voraciously, like every bite could be its last. Stye had to respect that kind of bullish, mannerless joy.

“Pig. I’ll call you Pig. It’s a nice match for my name, don’t you think?”

She fed Pig four more strips of meat. Each time it mauled the treat, she called out ‘good’. Stye hoped it had begun to associate its meal with the word. The bit of rainfall she’d brought with her had already reduced in size by about a third.

“Okay, Pig.”

She held up a slice of meat in the air where it could be seen. “Stop.”

The leech swirled excitedly. She commanded it twice more before it began to understand she wanted something else from it. The leech turned pleading eyes on her and went very still. Does Pig think it’s cute? Oh well. This works.

“Good stop!”

She tossed the meat to it and watched it viciously turn on the meal. Fresh blood oozed into the water and diluted.

Stye repeated this three more times. Then, without preparing another treat for Pig, she took a deep breath.

If Pig’s learned this already, it’s truly a genius.

“Okay, Pig. Stop.”

Pig went still.

She lavished it with praise and the remaining slices of rainfall. The whole time, her mind whirled. It’s so intelligent... This is a boon for training, but it also means I can’t guarantee that my bonding will proceed as it did for Mark. If I rush into the ritual without thoroughly gaining Pig’s trust, there’s a chance, however slight, that the bond will fail. It’s not just a dumb animal. It’s exotic. It’s clever.

Stye sighed. Now that she was out of meat, training Pig more might be counterproductive. She headed out into the kitchen and reheated some mashed potatoes. They tasted like warm air.

“Goodnight.”

Stye took off her pants. collapsed against her mattress, and was asleep in seconds. She dreamt of the crater.

—

The crater was a dent in a meadow of flesh. Water had collected in it; though it might’ve been pure at some point, the sweat of the land had turned it brackish. Several small leeches swirled in its dark depths. Fireflies glittered over the surface and skated on the water.

Stye sat at the edge of the crater. The first time she’d been here in life, Mark was also with her. That memory had been reinterpreted by the dream. Now the sky was sheer black and she was so, so alone.

Mark did not turn to her and inspire her to follow his path, for he was completely absent. Instead one of the leeches in the pond flopped out onto the shore and turned eerily familiar eyes on Stye.

“You chose me,” it told her. “Why? Why not any of my endless siblings? Why not one of the glimmering fireflies, or other beauteous things? Why did you decide to work in Retrieval?”

Stye gulped. “I could’ve been anything, but... You were lagging apart from the others. It reminded me of myself.”

The leech wore Mark’s face now.

“Mhm,” it said. “Perform the bonding ritual today. I’ll acquiesce. Inside, we three are the same kind of meat.”