Page 113 of Seven Oars
“Not sure,” Fawn said.“I think the Striker found his smokes and took them away. His whole stash’s gone.”
Gro’s brow smoothed out.“That answers it. If true, no wonder he flipped out.”
“Are they at the Habitat now?” Alyesha asked.
“They are,” Fawn said.“I figured I didn’t want to stick around for that. No, thank you. Not with the Striker going nuclear on Thilza. He’s really scary, that one. A living terror.” She shook her head emphatically.
Her words echoed Rosamma’s feelings.
A terror.
Anske looked at Fawn, hopeful.“Is Galan with them?”
“I didn’t…”
A loud crash echoed in the distance, cutting Fawn off.
Daphne started crying.
Unease gripped them. This wasn’t the usual letting off steam; it was serious.
They stopped all activity and listened, like people listen to a bad storm raging outside, safe within the walls of their homes.
But they shouldn’t think of the Cargo Hold as safe. Or, heavens forbid, a home.
And they knew better, of course.
Yet there was no denying an uncomfortable familiarity that had slowly grown between them and this closed-off world of Seven Oars. This place, with its perpetually grating, coughing machines and wobbly mesh floor, was turning into a quagmire that slowly sucked them in.
Rosamma, too, was“adjusting” by growing numb to the horrors, by gradually losing her acute fear of getting hurt, of dying. She was getting used to the constant presence of hulking, filthy aliens around her.
Regular beatings had become the norm.
“Why would the Striker take Thilza’s drugs away?” Alyesha wondered out loud.
“Maybe he started chasing rabbits in the Crew Quarters,” Eze said.“Or called his ex at three in the morning.”
Fawn giggled.“He’d never.”
“How well do you know Thilza, Fawn?” Eze turned on her.“From what I’ve seen, he’s as useful as a wet sock with a melted brain. Maybe the Striker had had enough of that.”
“That’s Nud you’ve described,” Gro muttered.“Only angrier.”
Alyesha sliced through the air with her hand.“Stop overanalyzing. That’s all of them.”
Anske shot her a droll look.“Even Ucai?”
“Even Galan.” Alyesha smiled sweetly.
Raised male voices and dull thuds rolled through the air. Then—another crash. A muffled scuffle. Something breaking.
“Thilza’s big,” Fawn remarked.“Even bigger than the Striker. Have you seen him standing? A real bear.” There was an affectionate note in her voice.
The women seized on it and pounced on Fawn, making her sputter and curse.
But Rosamma wondered…
Thilza wasn’t quite bigger than the Striker, but definitely his equal.
