Page 122 of Seven Oars
“And this,” he added, identifying another rare metal.“Both are conduit enhancers.”
She nodded once.
He removed his finger.“What are you shorting?”
She took a shaky breath.
Talking to him about her life was disconcerting enough. Sharing details of her energy cycle would give him knowledge she’d rather he didn’t have. Besides, it was too intimate.
“I have an energy deficiency because of my half-Tana-Tana nature,” she admitted, against her better judgment.“The alloy in my bracelets helps my energy spin around instead of escaping. But only for a short time.”
He grunted and turned back to the spool.
“Go on. Put the wire in.”
Holding her breath from strain and concentration, Rosamma slid her hand inside, careful not to let her bracelets get in the way. It took her a few tries, but finally, the clip clicked into place.
With a quiet breath of relief, she withdrew her hand and sat back on her heels, looking at Fincros expectantly.
He gave her noGood job!She got no thanks either.Surprise, pirates didn’t believe in positive reinforcement.
Instead, he attached the spool to a piece of the machinery on the floor that looked like it was made of cast iron.
Then, without warning, he hefted the entire thing.
Rosamma couldn’t imagine the appliance’s weight under normal gravity. In this increased pull, it must’ve been like lifting a small vehicle.
And Fincros was not at his strongest.
His body flexed, ropey veins popping along his arms and back, streaking across the puffy, bluish-red splotches of his recent bruises, a gift from his comrades.
He grunted, trying to shove the part into place.
Then he swayed.
Slowly, his arms slackened, his grip gave out, and the part crashed back down, hitting the mesh floor like a boulder near Rosamma’s toes.
Belatedly, she scrambled away.
The Striker braced one arm against the wall. His eyes closed, but he opened them again as if by sheer force of will.
The wound at his side started bleeding.
He might not survive this,she thought, perturbed.
“Fincros,” she called him softly by his name.
He blinked slowly, as if surprised to find her sitting on the backs of her heels at his feet. He seemed puzzled about where he was, period.
In the next breath, he slid down to his knees beside Rosamma.
His head hung low, hair and skin saturated where Rix didn’t normally sweat.
She watched him lose the fight with the heat and his own body, her emotions a knot of contradictions.
Inevitability and hope.
Awe and fear.
