Page 25 of Seven Oars (Rix Universe #3)

She didn’t return to the Meat Locker despite clear signs that she should do so. It wasn’t stubbornness; it was bone-deep revulsion that Rosamma couldn’t overcome. She stayed at the Cargo Hold with Eze and Gro, pretending things were business as usual, unhappily chewing on hard, tasteless protein strips, and unraveling inside.

It’s time you went home.

Those words had upended Rosamma’s existence.

The conversation that had followed played again in her mind.

“What way?”

she had grasped his shirt, begging for answers, but getting nothing except his usual blank slate.

“Not an easy way.”

“That’s fine! We’ll manage. Will you go with me?”

He had smiled slightly.

“Someone has to take you there.”

“To Priss?”

“If that’s where your brother is.”

Ren! To see him again, to get his energy… The thought alone had made her giddy.

“But you can’t go to Priss,”

she reminded him.

“You’re wanted.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

He had caressed her face.

“I’m done here.”

“What about the others?”

she had wanted to know.

“What about them?”

“Will they go with us?”

That’s where her hope train had jumped the tracks.

Rosamma chewed and swallowed, washing down the jerky with stale water.

Fincros’ plan was not without risks, but it was a real, tangible shot—for the two of them. She could chance a daring escape with the man she loved, leaving the rest of the station inhabitants to their fate, or she could stay and share that fate.

Eze said something, making Gro laugh, a familiar sound.

Rosamma’s heart hitched. How could she leave and not take her friends with her? How could she doom them on Seven Oars?

She chewed harder and choked, coughing up a storm.

Fawn rushed in, all windblown hair and reddened cheeks.

“Jeez, what are you, sick? Stop coughing, Phex needs you!”

“Phe… Phex?”

Rosamma figured her face was about as red as Fawn’s.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He tried to disable Tutti!”

Gro’s eyes widened.

“I take it Tutti disabled him.”

“No joke! Come quick, Rosamma.”

Rosamma was already on her feet.

Nud leaned heavily against the console in the Command Center.

Phex, his shift mate, lay on the floor with blood seeping from his nostrils and ears. His eyes were open, half-covered by the inner lid, weirdly moist and unfocused.

“Here she is!”

Fawn announced.

“She can help. I’ve seen her do some mojo to help him recover. Right, Rosamma?”

All the other pirates crammed inside the Command Center focused on her, especially Fincros.

His black eyes flattened.

“Stand back, pixie dust brigade.”

“What?”

she quaked.

“You’re not touching him.”

Two clawed fingers pointed at her nose. He was bodily blocking her access to Phex.

Xorris lifted Phex’s arm and let it fall in a boneless flop.

“It done liquefied the fucker,”

he said with wonder.

“I didn’t know that glitch box could do this.”

“Me neither,”

Fincros admitted.

“That’s wild.”

Xorris stepped back, suddenly wary of touching Phex again.

In two strides, Fincros reached Nud and grabbed fistfuls of his ratty shirt. Nud groaned and swayed. He was wrecked but not liquefied, which meant Tutti hadn’t done it.

Fincros shook him like a rattle toy.

“What happened?”

“Tutti broke him,”

Nud wheezed.

“I know that, moron.”

Fincros shook him harder, which only made Nud seem less lucid, not more. “Why?”

“He tried to smash it. Broke off its flex-arm.”

Rosamma noticed the appendage lying beside Phex. It was a satisfying sight, however little purpose it might have achieved.

Nud found his footing.

“You can’t set a damn course anymore! Tutti overrides the controls for no reason.”

“What course was he trying to set?”

Fincros asked.

Nud hesitated.

“What course?”

“Away from the trading routes. We’re getting too close.”

Fincros smashed Nud’s already misshapen nose.

“Who gave you an order to change the course?”

Nud teetered backwards but managed to stay on his feet.

“It was his idea!”

“Then why did he rearrange your face, Nud?”

Fincros asked sharply.

Nud gingerly touched his nose.

“He thought I was fooling with him, not letting him change the course. Before he realized it was Tutti.”

Thilza laughed. Esseh said nothing.

Rosamma looked around.

“Where’s Tutti?”

A whiff of sour smoke drifted in through the vents.

Fincros flexed the fist he’d just used on Nud. “Fuck.”

As he ran out with Thilza on his heels, Fincros brushed past Rosamma accidentally-on-purpose and whispered, “Don’t touch.”

Esseh followed them more slowly, shouldering away Eze and Gro.

“Hey, are you gonna, like, heal Nud?”

Fawn looked at Rosamma.

“Nud?”

“Well, both of them,”

Fawn said, impatient.

Her tone and her assumptions vexed Rosamma.

“I’m not a healer,”

she said, sharper than she meant.

“Oh, but do something!”

Fawn whined.

Rosamma closed her eyes briefly, then glanced at Nud, sagging against the console. She definitely wasn’t spending herself on him.

Coincidentally, Nud happened to be blocking the golden panel. If he moved, even just a little, she could try to reach it. Tutti wasn’t here to prevent her.

Love, yearning for freedom, and bone-deep weariness pressed at her throat. If she sent out that signal, who would hear? Who would she save and who would she doom?

Tearing her gaze away from the console, she knelt beside Phex.

His third eyelid slowly pulled back, and he moved his head. His cracked lips parted.

“This is hell.”

“I can imagine,”

she said drily. She had almost no compassion left.

“Need… help.”

“I bet you do.”

Businesslike, she sent two short bursts of energy into his limp hand.

A deep breath of relief raised his chest.

“Thank you, Rosamma.”

Leaning closer, she listened to his breathing, finding it even and deep. The blood seepage was slowing down.

“What would I do without you,”

he murmured, barely distinct.

She wanted to laugh.

Oh, his affinity for her was real. Sure, he appreciated her, always there for him, at his beck and call, a kind, funny creature.

What would I do without you? She also thought, but it wasn’t him she had in mind.

*****

The smoke was still there, but it wasn’t increasing as Rosamma made her way to the Dome. By the time she got there, she was short of breath and so lightheaded that everything was wavering.

She settled by the window, contemplating a visit to the Meat Locker. Objectively, it would do her some good. Yes, she needed to go. Not right away, but soon.

Fincros and Thilza must have contained whatever outbreak Tutti had created. If they hadn’t, they were all going to die soon, in which case she wouldn’t need the Meat Locker anymore.

It wasn’t a very appealing thought, but the idea of not seeing Father Zha-Ikkel again was comforting.

Or you can escape and go home to Ren like Fincros wants you to.

The familiar conflicting feelings roiled inside Rosamma as she gazed at the stars, waiting for Fincros to come find her.

When he did, she felt his weariness. Not physical, but emotional.

“Tutti’s gone crazy,”

he said.

“It took itself to the Service Block and plugged into the station’s main system. Damn near fried the circuit boards.”

“Why?”

Rosamma asked.

“Good question.”

“Can you fix Tutti?”

He shook his head gravely.

“Thilza and I have tried many times.”

Her shoulders slumped. The station was doomed, and the end was nearer than any of them had anticipated.

Fincros didn’t miss her slump.

“I told you not to give energy to Phex, and still you ignored me.”

“I didn’t ignore you, Fincros,”

she said, also tired.

“But I can’t just watch him die.”

“He wasn’t about to,”

he said tersely.

“He’s already out and about, clashing with Esseh.”

“I’m sorry.”

She was, for spending herself on someone who didn’t appreciate it and evidently didn’t even need it.

“Phex’s been part of us since the beginning. A captive.”

Fincros moved his wide shoulders, restless.

“He still is.”

“I know he technically is, but is that how you see him?”

She turned to face him, probing for answers.

As usual, his face was unreadable.

“That’s how he sees himself.”

His words made her even sadder, because she agreed with his assessment, at least in part.

“To us, he was a protector,”

she said reflectively.

“Whether he really was or it was our wishful thinking, I’m not sure anymore… Why did he try to turn us away from the trade routes? To go where?”

His attention wasn’t on her. She knew he could see her with his superb peripheral vision, but it was his way of avoiding an argument.

“Finn?”

she prompted when he wouldn’t say anything more.

“Back to the galaxy edge. The warp, where no man goes. Where there’s… nothing.”

He turned his head a fraction, and the weight of his stare got heavy. Too heavy for her today.

She dropped her eyes. “I see.”

But almost immediately, she looked back up.

“You can’t hide in here forever. Can’t he see that? This Tutti situation… This station’s old. And the food’s running out.”

Fincros grunted.

“Guess he doesn’t care.”

She dropped her eyes again.

“It was our failed attempt at sending a distress signal that broke him,”

she said.

“After Sassa…”

She cut herself off as her eyes fixed on Finn’s scarred face, her heart cracking all over again.

It was finally there between them: Sassa’s pale fingers grasping the golden panel, Finn’s powerful, final swipe…

“It was a slaver ship,”

he said, his tone wooden.

“Phex knew the risk of revealing our station to them. He made a bad decision.”

Rosamma gripped the end of her braid so tightly her fingers cramped.

“What was he supposed to do, as a captive?”

“Wait,”

Fincros said simply.

“Flagging that freighter was a suicide mission. If he wanted to go down with guns blazing, that was his choice. He wanted us, the pirates, dead—fine. But you, all of you, Rosamma…”

He had to stop, his hard, cold facade slipping, giving her a glimpse of vulnerability.

“You may not think there’s a fate worse than staying on Seven Oars, but there can be.”

“Like what?”

she whispered.

“True torture. Harvesting your tissues for food and profit, piece by piece. Your defender didn’t care about that. But I couldn’t let it happen.”

Rosamma’s chest ached with a gnawing, restless tightness.

“We didn’t realize that,”

she whispered, but Fincros’ expression was impenetrable once more, the cracks in his facade sealing shut.

“But he did,”

Fincros said succinctly.

“He chose to have you involved.”

His alien face with sharp, angled cheekbones held an ascetic aspect.

“No matter all our motives, we can’t change the past, Rosamma.”

“What if I can’t move on from it?”

she asked quietly.

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t form.

“That’s all in your mind. We already have.”

She rested her forehead against the glass, her head too heavy for her shoulders. So much grief, unnecessary loss, sadness. Lives ruined. And for what?

Suddenly, her thoughts veered in another direction.

“Wait, you said… Why were we headed toward the trading routes?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to, as it dawned on her then.

“You set that course, didn’t you?”

He inclined his head.

“Through Tutti. It responds to my commands. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes…”

Rosamma repeated, her brain too woolly to process all of that.

“If Father Zha-Ikkel hadn’t been so difficult, it would have responded more.”

She gazed at him.

“He knew how to operate it?”

“That was the reason I kept him alive,”

he admitted.

Just like that, the warmth drained out of her, replaced by something close to resentment.

“You tortured him, didn’t you?”

The trisected eyebrow arched.

“He didn’t have to suffer. But no, he wanted to be stubborn to the end.”

She sighed.

“We’d still be at it if I hadn’t gotten tired of prying information out of him. The bastard was exhausting. So I ended him.”

He sounded miffed.

Rosamma turned on him.

“Why is it so easy for you to kill?”

Her vehemence took him aback.

“Don’t, Rosamma,”

he warned her.

“No, tell me. I want to know.”

“That’s what I am,” he said.

“And do you like being this way?”

A deep emotion akin to sorrow, or maybe regret, pulsed out of him before he shut it away.

“Doesn’t much matter what I like if I can’t change it. Kind of like changing the past.”

She felt him withdrawing. He wouldn’t tell her anything else or answer any questions.

Ruined, ruined man.

Her head spun in circles, and she sagged against the window.

He lowered himself to the floor beside her.

By now, she knew every scar on his body, and he had many of them. The burns were the worst-looking, but they weren’t the deepest.

He had led a rough life. Even by an outlaw’s standards, it was very violent.

Her fingers found and kneaded his shoulder lightly.

She loved the feel of his skin, dusted with a sprinkling of downy fuzz under his shirt. The resilience of the muscle made her mouth water. She wanted to bite him. She had, more than once, when he drove into her, sparing nothing of his powerful thrust.

His sheer power intoxicated. He had so much of it, and all was hers to touch, to taste, to take inside. She knew how he tasted—musky, male, erotic. He made her wild and animal. His body roused primal urges she hadn’t known she was capable of.

And he was right, her wishes didn’t change what he was.

“Your time is running out,”

he murmured into her ear.

“Do I need to kidnap you to make you go away from here?”

So casual. So… piratical. He would, too.

“Please don’t.”

Her vision blurred, and she felt like the bottom was falling out, and she was dropping into a helpless void.

“Oh, Finn… What choice do I have?”

“You don’t have any choice, stardust.”

His voice was gentle.

“I won’t let you die.”

She wiped her tears, but fresh ones came.

“I gave you time to come to terms with it,”

he said quietly,”

but when I say it’s time, you’re going to go.”

Rosamma flexed her hands on his chest.

“No, give me this much. I want to make that decision.”

“There’s no decision. Only your consciousness.”

“And it’s a big deal! How will I live with myself if I know that I abandoned my friends? They might get eaten when the food runs out!”

“By staying, how can you make it better?”

“Please, not today,”

she begged.

“I’ll decide tomorrow.”

He wrapped his strong arms around her thin, heaving shoulders.

“That’s fine. Tomorrow. But remember, the days have become precious, and we’ve already wasted a number of them.”

He was caressing her back, and she leaned into him, only dimly aware of what he was saying. Precious days… Numbered.

“I promise,”

she said, over and over.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Hush now, your eyes are going to leak out.”

Was he really afraid of that? She gave a watery giggle.

Silly alien. Her joy, her love, her starlight. If it was an illusion, it was a powerful one.

“When we go to Priss, what will you do?”

she asked, gazing at him as if he were one of her stars.

”Stay with you.”

He smoothed her hair, shifting her braid and caressing the nape of her neck.

“Truly? Forever?”

He smiled faintly.

“What else is there for me?”

She clung to him, wanting this imaginary world to keep growing.

“Where will we live?”

“Somewhere. In a house. Would you like that?”

Images danced in her head. A window glowing with a mellow light in encroaching darkness. The smell of blooming peonies in a garden. She and Finn.

Maybe even a family.

Silo’s disparaging words, spoken so long ago in their doomed cruiser, came back to her: Tana-Tanas will breed with anything.

Could she? Breed with Fincros? Oh, what a sweet dream.

She almost kissed him on the lips, but restrained herself. It was embarrassing, the force of her desire for this alien. But they fit. It felt right. She wanted more of it. She wanted it all.

In the distance, Tutti’s voice spoke in soft tones. The robot was close by, on the Bridge.

Then the door to the Dome was pushed open with a force that splintered the flimsy slats.

Fincros’ black eyes flattened, going hard like fresh coal. His heartbeats went from zero to sixty in under a second, pushing his dark veins to the surface.

Phex filled the doorway.

“I trusted you,”

he spat, his bulk blocking the entrance more solidly than the door had.

“I never betrayed your trust,”

Rosamma parried shakily.

Anger pulsed off Phex in cold gusts, thrumming every nerve in her body that had gone taut.

“Is that why you’ve got no energy left? Wasted it all on his dick?”

He lunged.

It happened too fast for a scream.

She had been sitting in Fincros’ lap, squarely between them.

Fincros shoved her aside as he jumped to his feet, his body taking the worst of Phex’s first killer blow.

Still, she caught a glancing hit and cried in pain. Finn’s attention flicked to her, just for a heartbeat. And in that insignificantly small moment, Phex’s clawed hand raked across his face, full force.

Blood spurted like a geyser.

Fincros staggered.

Rosamma screamed.

Footsteps pounded in the passageway, the pirates swooping in like vultures, drawn by the fight and the screams.

But she didn’t look to see who came, not when Phex was being feral, his emotions full out of control.

It was an angry fight.

Finn fought back in silence, choking on the blood that poured down his face. His swings lacked their usual grace. His blocks often failed. Blows landed.

He appeared disoriented.

The pirates behind Rosamma’s back were strangely silent.

A sick feeling overcame her when Rosamma realized he was going to lose this fight.

With another hard blow that he couldn’t block, he went down, and she knew: he was fighting blind.

A hard freeze settled over her soul.

Phex kept pounding on him, hard, no matter that he was already down. He danced around Finn’s body, kicking viciously, hitting his bloodied face. He wouldn’t stop.

He wasn’t going to.

Not when Fincros’ movements grew slower and feebler.

Not when they stopped.

Something in Rosamma snapped.

She hurled herself at Phex, clinging to his arm, screaming at him to stop, to have mercy, to remember his defender's honor.

He swiped her aside.

She hit the floor, scrambled to her feet, and threw herself over Fincros, inhaling the sharp tang of his blood, slipping in it.

Phex kept kicking, half his blows finding her.

It hurt. Oh, it hurt.

She clutched Finn’s beautiful, blood-soaked hair, holding tight, her nose against his scarred cheek. If Phex killed him, she’d go too.

There was a shuffle of more feet and stomping.

Then Phex was finally shoved back.

Thilza dragged her off the fallen Striker. She tried to fight, but it was useless.

“Is he dead?”

someone asked.

Phex shook free from restraining hands. Still breathing heavily, he stepped to Fincros and, hooking the tip of his boot under his chest, rolled him over.

“I believe that’s mine.”

He tore at his defender shirt with rough hands.

Rosamma lunged again, but Thilza caught her.

Her powerful alien lay still, his face completely obscured by the red mask of blood. Nothing would save him now. He would’ve called it a fitting end, dying in a fight, a harsh stop to a brutal life. Some such bullshit she didn’t subscribe to.

Phex had managed to wrangle the garment off Fincros, but lingered over his body, his own head hanging low. Suddenly, he crouched and wiped the blood from the tattoos at the base of Finn’s throat.

Then he cursed. Violently.

“He is a defender.”

His voice rising to a roar, he repeated, “He’s a fucking defender!”

He slowly straightened from his crouch, his eyes no longer flat but madly brilliant. They absorbed every pirate crammed inside the Dome.

“Did you know?”

he demanded.

“We’ve always known,”

Thilza said calmly.

“How can he be one? Tell me,”

Phex snarled.

“His life, his story.”

It was Thilza’s way of saying that conversation wasn’t on his mind, but that if Phex wanted another fight, he’d oblige.

Which was saying something, because Thilza rarely fought.

Phex fisted his hands, then relaxed them, as if grasping for control.

“I nearly killed a defender,”

he said hoarsely.

“Would it have mattered if you knew?”

Thilza asked.

“Yes. Yes! You’re all sick fucks.”

“You got that right. Striker Phex.”

Rosamma jerked at his words.

Phex’s chin went up.

“Don’t want it. Don’t care.”

Thilza laughed, an ugly sound.

“Then why the fuck did you maim this one?”

Phex backed away from Fincros, from all of them. Then, turning sharply, he left the Dome almost at a run, as if he wanted to escape himself.

Xorris scuttled after him, followed by all the others.

Only Thilza remained.

He let Rosamma go and joined her in wiping blood from Fincros’ face. His huge hands were surprisingly tender.

“His eyes are shot to hell.”

He sounded choked up. “Fuck.”

“He’s broken everywhere,”

she sobbed, refusing to believe what had just happened.

“Do you want me to take him to the Cargo Hold?”

Thilza offered.

His words drove it home. It was real.

“I don’t know,”

she whispered, feeling as fragile as a fresh crust of ice on the lake. One little step, and she’d shatter and flow away in waves of pure sorrow.

“Should we move him?”

Thilza slid his massive arms under Fincros and grunted as he lifted him.

“Better put him where your females can help make him comfortable. He needs it.”

*****

In the Cargo Hold, Gro and Eze helped Rosamma lay Fincros on a mat and prop him up to approximate Rix’s natural stasis position. Rosamma didn’t know if he was in stasis or unconscious, or if they were one and the same. She only knew it was bad.

“It’s all because of me. If only I hadn’t met him at the Dome. If only Phex hadn’t discovered us…”

If only she’d gone away when he asked and not wasted precious days…

She sobbed, repeating her lament over and over until Gro took her hands firmly and forced her to look up.

“None of it is because of you. Look around. We’re in hell. They are demons.”

“Finn’s not a demon,”

Rosamma hiccuped.

Gro squeezed her hands.

“They all are, baby. The difference with Finn is that he seems to understand it.”

Rosamma only shook her head in denial and tugged her hands free from Gro’s. Her hands were her tool. Fincros needed them.

Afraid to lose control of her energy, she avoided more intimate touch. With a trembling hand, she wrapped her fingers around his thick wrist, noting how limp and lifeless it was.

She was losing him.

“Please, Fincros. Please, Universe.”

She let her energy slip into him. It worked, but it wasn’t perfect. Once again, her inability to channel energy into Fincros puzzled her. It was not a problem with others like Phex, but with Finn, it was all or nothing.

She couldn’t give him too much. For starters, she had very little. And if she gave it all and died, who would take care of him?

With her other hand, Rosamma searched for his heartbeats and found them weak. Only one heart appeared to be beating, struggling.

Despair was thick and sickening.

Finn and she weren’t even dots in the Universe. Their entire existence felt pointless. They would never leave Seven Oars. It had become their home, and soon, their grave.

A yawning chasm of hopelessness swallowed Rosamma whole. She clung to Fincros’ hand until dizziness overcame her.

He didn’t stir, but his strange Rix nostrils fluttered faintly as he breathed.

Through the hopelessness and despair, he breathed.

Not today, Universe. Not today…