Page 67 of Seven Oars
He said nothing, and neither did she.
She hoped he could read in her expression how much she hated him. She wished him dead. She wanted him to know it before he killed her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosamma caught the blur of his raised fist and fell into the night.
Chapter 11
Someone was crying, a long, keening sound that went in all the way to the soul.
Voices. Not Universal—the words were too familiar.
The din of a strange mechanism working, scraping, laboring deep underneath.
Cold. She was so cold.
Reality gradually returned.
Rosamma was back in the Cargo Hold, with no memory of how she got there.
The dim, flickering overhead light cast wavering shadows on her fellow countrywomen’s stooped, huddled figures that radiated soul-crushing distress.
Then it all rushed in: the scene at the Habitat, Phex, the charm spice, and the desperate feeling of time running out as she watched Striker Fincros’boots walk toward her.
Rosamma rose on her elbows and spoke Sassa’s name, but only a croak emerged.
Gro rushed over.“Thank God you’re back! I thought…” Gro had to wipe her eyes as her voice hitched.“I thought he killed you.”
“I guess not.” Rosamma wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. Her head was not on right. She clasped Gro’s bony hand and looked around in a sort of dry disbelief.
The door to the shower stall creaked, and Alyesha emerged, face freshly scrubbed and drawn. She made her way to the provisions shelf and, selecting a pack of dried sweets she normally steered clear of, tore it open and chewed, standing up.
Anske was praying, tears dropping on the brightly colored geometric shapes in the book in her lap.
Fawn lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, hiccuping.
Phex wasn’t among them.
“Tell me it didn’t happen,” she whispered to Gro.
Gro looked away and said nothing.
The crushing disappointment was unlike anything Rosamma had ever experienced. It wasn’t disappointment in Phex, but in the cruel fate that had stripped them of their will and allowed the unthinkable to happen.
If they were guilty of some terrible sin, Rosamma wanted to know what it was, because the punishment heaped upon them was severe.
“And the others?” she whispered.
“The others were spared because the pirates got into a fight over who got to choose first.” Gro rubbed her knobby knee that showed signs of swelling.
“Who’d they choose?”
“Not me. I’m too old. And not Eze. Sakkas are the lowest of the low to them. They beat her, though. Nud worked her over real well.” She let out a shuddering sigh.
Eze was sleeping nearby. Passed out, rather. Her slack face was misshapen like Phex’s had been, the same grotesque mask of inferiority and pain.
“Will she be alright?” Rosamma asked, her voice still groggy.
“Don’t know. Don’t want to think about it. Can’t help her more than bring water. Ain’t got no medical supplies, and I’m no doctor.” Gro was crying.
