WARNING THAT SHOULDN'T BE IGNORED: institutionalized cannibalism, they live in a world where the Ark was not prepared to survive indefinitely without more supplies from Earth, so they use cannibalism to survive. This is no worse than the story Lost about the rugby team that resorted to cannibalism to survive, but by the time my story begins the taboo and self-disgust over the practice is gone and it's just the way they live.

The swirling white clouds, grey land and pale blue water, Clarke dreamed of going to Earth, but she'd failed the physical to become a Grounder. They'd done tests every year on Earth and the moon for the last hundred years, and the moon was the more practical choice for long term settling. They needed to get there within the next few months or they were all going to die. The thermal plating had been with no atmosphere for far too long. Space debris had been chipping away at it for a century. And what little metal they could get from Earth wasn't cutting it for maintenance.

But if they could colonize the moon, they'd be able to mine resources there. And while the moon had no atmosphere either it did have ground. They planned to build their home under it. They'd be safe from the sun and able to achieve what they were never prepared to do when the war happened: survive indefinitely in space. That they'd made it this long was a scientific miracle.

When the lights went off behind her, Clarke sighed as she continued to stare at Earth. Another mandatory blackout meant that she'd be sharing quarters again. She wondered who she would get this time.

The knock on her door was loud enough to make her cringe, but she peeled herself away from the window and opened the door, flashlight shining on her guest. But two people stood there and one was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen and the other was a man with a mop of long hair and a face of all angles and a nose that would have been too large for any other face.

"They're tripling up," he said as he pushed past her.

The woman offered a large smile. "With the largest of the remaining stations losing half its paneling, it means more displaced people. So sorry, but this looks like it'll be longer term than a night or two. I'm Raven."

"Clarke. Come in." Clarke stood aside and Raven walked into the cabin.

"Not too shabby, but I don't see how we're all going to fit in here. There's only one bunk."

"I work nights in medical. So I guess we'll have to sleep in shifts." Clarke cleaned off her table and folded it and her seat into the wall before pulling down the bunk. "The bunk is a decent size. We might even fit all three of us in it at once."

The man smirked. "So which are we doing? Shifts or sharing? Because if I get a vote, we'll share. I also work nights."

"Where do you work?" Clarke asked as she sat on the bunk.

"Reclamation."

"That's great. I know someone in reclamation, Monroe."

"They probably work in effects. I work in cadavers." The way he said that showed how most people viewed his position. It was like he expected a bad reaction so he said it like an attack so he got to strike first.

"I've always wondered what they did in that department," Raven said. "What's your name?"

"John, but most people call me by my last name. Murphy." He cocked his head to the side. "So what about you?"

"Didn't you hear me say Clarke?" Then Clarke got it. "Oh. I work with the cadavers too. Before they get to you, so what you do is no big deal to me."

His laugh was bitter. "I know what you do."

"I'm euthanasia and emergency. I know what I do too."

Raven's eyes were huge as she sat next to Clarke. "I've never met an Angel of Death before. How do you do it? Like the process?"

"Through an IV I put them to sleep, harvest their organs and blood, and send them to reclamation to be dehydrated and butchered."

"Are they still alive when you take their organs?" Raven looked morbidly fascinated.

"Technically, but it's painless. It's like going to sleep but never waking up." Clarke knew how people usually viewed her job on the Ark. Murphy had similar problems she was sure. He was a Reaper. And while Angels and Reapers rarely met, they worked together to sustain the rest of the Ark in a way few appreciated even if they received all the benefits of their efforts. "We should turn off our flashlights. Conserve the energy."

Murphy sat on the other side of Clarke and turned his light off. Clarke and Raven turned theirs off at the same time. The only light came from the window. Day and night were different in space when a century had passed. They worked on straight twenty-four-hour cycles split unevenly in three, but since they didn't need to worry about seasons they had a different calendar than what had been used on Earth.

"I don't know about either of you, but it's the middle of the day for me." Murphy leaned back on the bunk, finding a pillow and resting his head on it. "How should we pass the time?"

Clarke rolled her eyes and turned back to Raven. "What do you do?"

"I'm a zero g mechanic. And it's the middle of the day for me too. I guess we all got off shift two hours ago. And I think we should just talk and get to know each other to pass the time. I mean the two of you have the most fascinating jobs on this boat."

John snorted. "Oh yeah, cutting up bodies is so glamorous. I have to beat my fans off me."

"Too bad none of us are in tainment." Clarke sighed as she grabbed another pillow and leaned back next to Murphy. "We could tell some tall ones to pass the time. Because talking about work isn't something I like to do. Even people that aren't frightened off by it, find it depressing."

"Let me be the judge of that. Take me through the process." Raven lay on her side, head propped on her elbow, knees pulled up. They were on the bed sideways and there was more length than width so they weren't crowding each other yet.

"It's a little different depending on why a body's brought. Are they being executed or are they dying or are they opting out?" Clarke loved her job. Seeing people out of their lives, hearing their last words and requests, making certain their last moments were peaceful, she lived for that half of her job. While the emergency work had its own appeal, she'd much rather work with those exiting. "The dying are usually happy to go, so if they hadn't already recorded one, I take their last will and request. They've already said goodbye to family and friends, so most of the time I get to hear stories as I set up my equipment. I've taken care of the final moments of people from every profession. I ask them what they want to dream about and set up the dream sim. I give them that shot and put in the IVs. They count backwards from a hundred, but they never make it as far as eighty eight. The assisting doctors bring in anyone in need of new organs that match types and they open them up. When I'm sure my body isn't experiencing anesthesia awareness, I make the Y incision while draining their blood. Then me and the other doctors perform any transplants that might be needed and send the rest of the organs to the kitchen, blood to med storage, and the cadaver to reclamation."

"How many transplants are normal?" Raven asked.

"Not many. The most I ever saw were two. But usually there aren't any at all and the organs all go to the kitchen. Except the intestines. Those go to reclamation to be emptied first."

"I have so many questions, do you mind? Either of you because I want to know what Reapers do too." Raven sounded like a kid wanting another ghost story.

"Reapers don't do much. Those intestines that need emptied is the worst part though. But all that shit goes into sewage so you can have water an hour later. If shit is good for anything, it's hydrating this fucking hell hole. I always resented that Angels didn't have to do it. But I guess you're falling over by the time you're done with your part."

"I do, on average, two bodies a night, so yeah." Clarke pulled her legs up so her knees were bent and her feet were perched on the edge of the bunk.

"I do one a night, but cutting them up isn't a breeze either. The skin and meat are easy enough if your knife is sharp, but dislodging all the joints? That'll leave you sore if you don't stretch first. And I don't want to talk about gristle. That's what mincemeat is made of."

"Ewww!" Raven made a face the other two couldn't see. "That shit's nasty."

"It would be a centimeter better if I didn't have to dehydrate it first, but by the time the kitchen gets it, it's practically rubber powder. At least the dehydrated meat tastes good and is chewy in that good way." Murphy smiled because he never got to be this honest about his job without recrimination. He liked this and inwardly hoped the three of them could just live together from now on. His only friend was the other Reaper, Mbege. Another John which was why most people called them by their last names. "What's it like to walk in space?"

"It's floating, and I never wanted to do anything else." Raven sighed. "I wish my boyfriend wasn't in lockup, I miss seeing him after every shift."

"How long's he been in the Skybox?" Clarke asked.

"Five months. He'll be reviewed in a week." Raven sucked up her tears. "Clarke?"

"I'll take good care of him if he comes to me."

"What's different about executions?" Raven needed to know this.

"It's different for every one of them. For some they don't go down without a fight. That's the first thing I had to master, giving a shot to a body that's thrashing around. If they fight, I sedate them and have to guess what they want to dream about while I harvest them. If they fight I don't get a last will and request. I had bodies come in after they poisoned themselves so they'd be mostly useless to the rest of us. They suffer the most because I can't sedate them or give them peaceful dreams. The law forbids it. But if they cooperate, I can make them comfortable, take a will and request, and give them any dream they want. I could go on for hours about the outliers that don't fall into the three normal camps but for as much as I take pride in seeing people in their last moments. Executions, no matter how they cooperate or don't, are hard. I don't like taking life that isn't already dying or wants to die."

"Then why do you do it?" Raven asked.

"Because I understand why we can't keep them alive. And only the worst offenders get executed. Killers are the majority of them, but sometimes we'll get rapists and pedos that refuse castration. Given our dwindling resources, we can't keep everyone alive. What did your boyfriend do?"

"Illegal spacewalk."

"From Russia? That guy? Oh damn, he's the reason Russia's uninhabitable." Murphy half laughed, half groaned. "That could go either way."

"They had five months to cool down," Clarke pointed out.

"But Russia just tipped over the edge six hours ago; that will affect the outcome of his review if it's only a week away. And they were talking about reviewing the Skybox altogether, thinking about using it for residency rather than prison. That might push up his review."

"What if he didn't do it? What if he was covering for someone else?" Raven asked.

"He'd get demoted and let go, but then that person would be executed for sure," Clarke said. "Why? Is he covering for someone?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Raven felt tears prick her eyes. She was relieved that they couldn't see her.

"What was his job?" Clarke asked with a suspicion bludgeoning every thought.

"He was going to be an Earth Skills teacher."

"They'd demote him to Bee if he's lucky or sewage if he's not. They'll never put him in a position to influence children." Clarke bit her lip for a second. "And you're a zero g mechanic. With Russia down, we'll need you to help with the reclamation of the metal. We need that to help settle on the moon. When Russia went down, it shaved ten months off our survival time. We have to colonize the moon now if we're going to survive."

"My mother worked in sewage," Murphy said. "It wasn't so bad. The machines do most of the work. The worst part was when the machines needed maintenance, then she'd get her hands dirty and come home smelling like someone just took a shit on her. Now my dad was a Bee, and he said it was hard work manually pollinating all the flowers and crops on this clunker."

"I stand corrected. My parents are an engineer and doctor and both politicians, so they'd never have a clue about any of that. Career choosing Bees have a passion for it though, so I assumed it to be the better job."

"Met a lot of Bees, have you?"

"Killed a lot of them."

"What have you killed more, Bees or Pit Bosses?" Murphy asked.

"Bees. They make up over half the population. Pit Bosses while disgusting, rarely get executed. They usually get tagged and sent to janitorial services." Clarke twisted, unable to get comfortable. "Anyone getting tired?"

"Actually, yeah, I am kinda tired." Murphy sat up and tossed his pillow to the head of the bed.

"Ah, yeah." Raven sat up too.

Clarke rocked to sitting and leaned in to whisper in Raven's ear. "Don't turn yourself in. We need mechanics more than we need Bees or sewage workers right now. I can also put in a good word to my parents."

"How do I not think about it?" Raven asked her voice low and raspy.

Taking a chance, Clarke kissed her and when Raven responded, she pulled her until she straddled her lap. "Sorry, I shoulda asked first."

"We'll overlook it this time. You up for this Murphy?" Raven asked, snaking her arm around his neck.

"Looks like we're sharing the bunk," he murmured as he pulled up to his knees to meet her kiss.