Page 5 of Seven Oars
“She smokes cigarettes,” Gro informed the room from her bed without breaking her contemplation of the stained ceiling.“And ogles the guards in the spaceship depot’s lookout tower.”
“I do not!” Fawn’s face flushed.
Eze rose, alarmed.“You can see the lookout tower from here?”
“Not from here,” Fawn denied hotly.“You have to walk a bit…” She cut herself off abruptly, realizing what she’d given out, then fell into sulky silence.
“Stupid twat,” Alyesha said with feeling.
Fawn’s chin lifted defiantly.“Why are you always so rude?”
“You can’t stay outside!” Mara piped up.“What if someone sees you?”
“If you can see the lookout tower, the guards can see you,” Anske stated the obvious.
“It’s wooded as heck. What can they see?” Abruptly, Fawn had had enough. Her round face tightened with anger.“Yo, bitches, how about y’all back off? You’re not my keepers.”
Sassa shook her head with vehemence.“You put our trip in danger! Yes, we’re your keepers. We’re all each other’s keepers. If you don’t like it, then you’re out.”
Fawn sputtered, outraged. Angry shouts erupted. Someone tried to shush the argument. Daphne buried her face in her mother’s armpit and wailed.
Rosamma became lightheaded. It happened sometimes when she got agitated and her heart rate spiked, requiring an energy boost to stabilize her system. She always ran low on energy. Alas, her imperfect Tana-Tana part, the part she shared with Ren instead of owning it whole, refused to do what it was supposed to do.
Some space traveler she was.
She sank onto her mattress.
The door to their cabin opened without a sound.
The argument went on, and amidst its heated intensity, the other women hadn’t immediately noticed the change.
He stepped inside first, bending to clear the doorframe. Well over six feet tall, maybe even over six and a half, a strapping Rix alien. His otherworldly features were austere and uncompromising.
Rosamma couldn’t look away. She thought he might be handsome. He was too alien for her to decide in the few seconds that nevertheless stretched impossibly long.
Two more followed, equally tall, equally armed, dressed in the same dark-blue shimmering bodysuits. They flanked the door, silent as statues, taking in the cabin’s interior—and the argument threatening to descend into a catfight—with their large black eyes, unreadable and devoid of whites. Like built-in opaque lenses: information flowed in, but no emotion came out.
Gradually, the shouting died down. One by one, the women turned to stare.
“Who here is waiting for a flight to Priss?” the First One, the leader, asked the room. His Universal was broken and thick with an accent, but his low voice was clear.
No one answered, shocked into complete silence.
Then Rosamma raised her hand.“All of us. We’re all going to Priss.”
Cursing her weakness, she pushed herself off the mattress and stood.
Folding her hands in front of her, she bowed her head slightly.
“What you ask, may you receive. What you seek, may you find,” she said to the Rix in Universal, using a formal greeting that signified friendship and goodwill. Her voice came out thin and strained. She had never hated showing her weakness more than now, before all of them, but especially him.
She moved her hands through the ritual gestures.“Here, the light shines upon you, and peace awaits you. We’re with you, by your side, always.”
“Yo, what are you doing?” Fawn whispered loudly.
Someone hissed at her to shut up.
The Rix were not impressed. Or maybe they were. Their stony faces revealed nothing.
