Page 215 of Seven Oars
From now on, they always would.
“If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to lose my nose to frostbite.” Eze sniffed.
“Fincros?”
“No, the driver. I sure hope we won’t see Fincros behind the wheel!”
Rosamma exhaled. Her journey, it seemed, wasn’t quite over yet.
“Maybe I should go look for him?” Rosamma said, hefting her bag, mindful of the medicine inside. She would need to arrange for refills to be sent later, but she wouldn’t worry about it right now.
“Best you stay where the driver expects to find you, or Fincros will skin him alive.”
Eze only meant as a figure of speech, but still.
Rosamma stayed put.
Finally, a vehicle on skis pulled up on the other side of the fence.
“Name’s Chet,” Eze informed Rosamma as they walked toward the gate.“A local character. Fincros uses him for deliveries, so he must trust him a little.”
The man exited the contraption and waited, his feet encased in heavy fur boots. He nodded at Eze, eyes downcast, opening and closing his hands in oversized mittens.
“That her?” he asked without looking at Rosamma.
“Yes, this is Rosamma. Come on, don’t just stand there like a tree.” Eze bossed him around, motioning to the bag. Chet took it and loaded it into the back of his vehicle.
“Well, this is it.” Eze turned to her.“I can’t go past the fence. Goodbye, Rosamma. And good luck.”
They hugged.
“We will meet again, Eze. We have to!”
“Won’t say we won’t.” Eze smiled her shy little smile.“Get that Rix sorted out first.”
Eze jogged back to the freighter, fleeing the cold and unwilling to drag out their goodbyes.
It was for the best. Everything would work itself out.
Rosamma felt at peace.
She went through the gate and climbed into the contraption—a cross between a truck and a snowmobile. As Chet got it moving, the soft top started flapping in the wind, letting blasts of cold air inside.
“This truck looks custom-made,” Rosamma remarked to break the ice with Chet while ducking away from the worst of the draft.
“I made it myself,” he replied with pride, confirming Rosamma’s guess.“We’ve got no industry on Megroyara. Though they opened a textile shop just the other week, so now we can make fabric from the sea-worm larvae.”
She had to strain to follow his colloquial version of Universal.
At first, because of his craggy face—and especially the ears sticking out from beneath his fur hat—Rosamma assumed he was a Tarai alien. But when he smiled, she realized he was human. An older man, weather-beaten, he looked as rough and unyielding as the landscape of this harsh place.
“That’s wonderful.” Rosamma snuggled deeper into Eze’s parka, a more than welcome hand-me-down. Even then, what had seemed overly warm on the freighter was now barely adequate.
Chet noticed.“It’s a bit fresh, but you get used to it.”
They drove through a patch of woods that loomed dark and forbidding in the darkness and emerged… on a seashore.
The road ran alongside a cliff, and beneath them, a mighty ocean spread far and wide, its dark waters rippling under the aurora. The shimmering colors reflected in muted glints on wave crests. White surf lapped lazily at the rocky beach, washing off patches of snow. Chunks of ice bobbed on the swells. It was cold, deep, awe-inspiring—and alive. Beautifully, hauntingly so.
