Page 128 of Seven Oars
She lay, listening to the grinding of theoarand the sounds of revelry interspersed with the screeching“music” from the Habitat. Fawn laughed in the distance, a fixture there now, and Tutti spoke in its computer-modulated voice. It smelled of the burned-rubber weed.
Someone else came.
She stirred.“Phex, you’re back?”
But it wasn’t Phex.
He didn’t speak as he reached for her.The fabric of the protective defender shirt—Phex’s—was scratchy against her skin.
Something cold touched Rosamma’s neck, encircling it. She felt for the object with her fingers. It was metal, about an inch wide, and fit snugly against her skin, clicking as Fincros closed it.
Her eyes latched onto his face.“Is this… a collar?”
“Yes.”
Her heart twisted.“Why?”
Without replying, he scooped her up along with her blanket.
She was in his arms. Those powerful, unyielding arms that could crush bones and fix space stations. Her body nestled against his wide chest. Her aching head rested on his hard shoulder.
He carried her out of the Cargo Hold.
She caught sight of Eze and Gro, faces pinched in fear, following them with their eyes. Neither made a sound.
As she traversed the space station in his arms, Rosamma kept touching the metal band around her neck. Its sinister presence caused her anxiety to mount.
“Where are you taking me?”
She would have struggled had she had an ounce more energy. A drop more.
“Not far.”
His evasiveness ramped up the fear already twisting her insides.
“The trash chute? I’m not dead yet.”
“Not the chute.”
He opened the airtight door, and a blast of cold air greeted them—the Meat Locker.The door sealed shut after them. The lights came on, insufficiently bright.
Less was more in this case. Rosamma didn’t want to see the contents of this place. But the subdued lighting did not make the Meat Locker any less dreadful a place.
“I don’t want to be here.”
Her fingers flew again to her throat, encircled by the metal collar.
“Why are we here?”
Again, he didn’t respond.
He took several steps inside the cramped interior and dumped her, blanket and all, in front of Father Zha-Ikkel’s carcass.
Galvanized by a potent rush of adrenaline, Rosamma scuttled away like a crab, coming to a stop when her spine hit the metal leg of the rusted sink.
Fincros moved around. A length of shiny metal cable materialized in his hand. He took a small, non-threatening step toward Rosamma, holding the cable, and her heart went wild.
“No,” she uttered hoarsely and put up her narrow, bony hand, fingers splayed. Without knowing what he intended, she began to suffocate from dread.“Please, no.”
