Page 183 of Seven Oars
Someone put their arms around her from behind—Gro, her anchor. Rosamma leaned into the embrace, depleted from her reserves in more ways than one. The sorrow was eating her alive, and she couldn’t take it anymore.
Eze sidled closer and brushed aside hair from Rosamma’s cold, wet face. Her hand, with her Sakka’s puckered and scaly skin, was warm and soothing. Fincros’touch was like that, only cool and soothing. His skin was always cool.
Of course.He’s a Rix.
“Eze.”
“What, Rosamma?”
“Help me take him down to the Meat Locker.”
Eze blanched.“Already?”
“Oh, I should’ve thought of it sooner. We’ll keep him there.”
Eze threw a helpless look at Gro.
“Hooked up next to the Father What’s-His-Name?”
Rosamma blinked at her friend.“To keep him cool. To help him heal.”
“Oh, okay.”
“What did you think?”
“Never mind.”
The next hour was spent incrementally moving Fincros to the Meat Locker. He was unbelievably heavy, and moving his lax body was hard even for the three of them.
Gro and Eze, true to form, traded dark jokes about dead weight, and Rosamma let it pass—anything to fracture the oppressive dread that had filled all of them.
He still lived. It was enough to maintain a thin, trembling thread of hope inside her.
She welcomed this new sense of purpose, of doing something for him. The cold air of the Meat Locker might not save him, but it was better than sitting and watching him waste away.
Anske slunk off at some point, surely to inform the pirates.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosamma spotted Thilza lurking in the passageway, but he didn’t approach. If he had, if he’d tried to block them from moving Fincros, she would have attacked him and kept attacking until one of them lay dead.
They settled Fincros in the corner where she used to cower, not far from the frozen leftovers of the station’s previous owner. The metal cord was still looped around the dead alien’s girth, the collar lying on the floor, open.
Gro brought Rosamma her crinkly blanket, and she bundled up next to Finn to wait.
He lay motionless, untouched by the ordeal of being dragged across the Bridge. His eyes kept bleeding.
After her sense of purpose drained away, the same stale waiting hollowed her out. She’d hoped the Meat Locker would make a difference.
She sent a thin pulse of energy into Fincros’wrist, but there was barely anything left in her. The effort made her ears ring and the room go dark at the corners.
Her bleary gaze fell on the open collar that gaped at her as if calling, promising strength.
Her body rebelled, shuddering. She was physically incapable of tying herself to that… thing.
“Rosamma.”
The world fell away.
“Fincros!” Her breath came out in shaky white puffs as she leaned over him.
