Page 27 of Seven Oars (Rix Universe #3)

After Nud and Xorris dumped Fincros in the Cargo Hold, Rosamma huddled next to him and fed him her energy under the watchful gazes of Eze and Gro.

It took Fincros a long time to regain consciousness.

He was weak and disoriented. His right ankle swelled up ominously, and he couldn’t stand on his own.

He still couldn’t see.

Rosamma also fed him small chunks of over-processed poultry that he slowly chewed on the right side of his mouth. The left side was devoid of teeth, courtesy of Esseh’s fist.

“They’ll grow back,”

he muttered, more worried about his broken foot and damaged right shoulder.

“When things go to shit, I want to be able to move.”

Eze glared.

“And where do you think things are now?”

“In balance.”

His tone was dead serious.

“Phex will keep it that way if he wants to survive.”

“I’m not sure we should care if he survives,”

Eze remarked.

“If he dies, a lot of our problems will disappear.”

“This station needs a crew to run it. Someone has to make decisions. That’s him, because I’m done.”

Fincros made like he wanted to shrug, but the gesture was quickly aborted.

“He asked for it.”

Rosamma murmured, “Not to be contrary, but it was more like he was captured and had no choice.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.

“We all have a choice, stardust. He’s the Striker now, and he’d better learn how to strike.”

“He will, unfortunately. He’s a defender.”

“Trust me, it’s not the same.”

He closed his ruined eyes.

“That’s right, you’re apparently also a defender,”

Eze said drily.

“Just like Phex. Yay.”

Fincros said nothing for a long moment, then muttered, “Better.”

Rosamma’s eyebrows inched up.

“I see your sense of entitlement is intact, at least.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Phex’s bloodline is humble; mine was distinguished.”

“Oh, my. Does it matter?”

“A great deal.”

Rosamma chuckled despite herself.

“What were you doing on Sir-Sar with your distinguished bloodline?”

“I was captured in a pirate raid by Leithis, the Shadow Flyer’s father,”

Fincros said evenly.

“Huh. You make it sound very straightforward.”

“I don’t know how it sounds. I’ve never talked about it,” he said.

“That’s okay,”

Rosamma touched his hand lightly.

Instead of staying still, he caught her fingers and wove them in an intricate knot unique to the two of them. Rosamma was keenly aware of Eze and Gro watching.

“Maybe you do need to know,”

he finally said. He knew there were other women in the room, listening.

“I was born on Enzomora into a defender clan of great distinction, the seventh of nine children and the youngest son.”

He stopped as if gathering his thoughts on to tell next.

“You must have been precious to your family,”

Rosamma said softly.

She wanted to hear his story, yet the beginning of the life he’d just revealed was so bright that she dreaded to know the events that had led him to where he was now.

“As any child, I was precious,”

he agreed.

“I was also willful and unruly, full of myself. By the time I reached the transition age and entered my defender training, I was a cocky little asshole who got in fights with fellow cadets and didn’t do well in training.”

“I don’t believe it,”

Rosamma smiled, looking down at him fondly.

“But maybe I do.”

“It’s true. I coasted on the fame of those who came before me. My father was a Chief Commander, the highest rank before the ruling class. My oldest brother was a decorated defender who was made a Lieutenant at a young age. My other two brothers were rising in ranks equally fast. Me—I barely passed the program requirements.”

“I suspect what you lacked in achievements you more than compensated for with confidence.”

Rosamma patted his chest, picking up the measured beating of his hearts.

He cocked his head.

“Up to a point. I did pass my defender training, but not at the top. That was a disappointment for my family.”

“Did you fly defender missions?”

Eze asked.

“Never got to. I had just entered flight training when my father was entrusted with establishing an outpost on a remote planet that had negotiated Rix protection. He was to set up a base there. It was a great responsibility. A rewarding assignment. He had decided we should all spend a year of our lives in service to those people.”

His tone changed subtly, bitterness entering his voice.

“I take it you didn’t want to go,”

Rosamma murmured.

“C’mon now. I wasn’t interested in another year on the ground, on a remote shithole planet asphalting an airstrip for helpless little aliens.”

“And your brothers?”

Rosamma asked.

He sighed then.

“They saw it as my father did, as a compassionate and noble mission, befitting their standing. There were no objections from them. And when I acted out one more time, they took me behind the city wall and gave me a proper thrashing. I was still nursing a bruised rib when we lifted off.”

He was growing tired, and Rosamma didn’t think he would continue, but he did.

“It was the first serious beating I’d taken from men whose strength and skill were superior to mine in every way. It shocked me. I still remember the helplessness and the choking outrage at how unfair it was for them to assault a weaker opponent.”

Fincros smiled without humor.

“If I had only known then how timely their lesson would be…”

“Still, they shouldn’t have been rough with you. They were your brothers,”

Gro remarked.

“As a beating,”

Fincros countered, “it was nothing compared to what came after. Nothing at all…”

The Cargo Hold’s oar scraped and chuffed in the ensuing silence. The sound was now as familiar to Rosamma as the singing of birds had been on Meeus. As the squeak of the front door when Ren would come home at night. As the rustle of book pages…

Those sudden memories were a kick in the gut.

They had all lost so much that keeping on, some days, seemed impossible.

“The outpost was expected to receive a robust defender regimen,”

Fincros continued, “and my father wanted to arrive early to set things up. Our family left ahead of schedule.”

“Wait, your whole family went?”

Rosamma asked.

“Yes.”

She shrank back a little.

“The pirates had found out about the Rix outpost and struck before the defenders could arrive. They didn’t expect us early. They’d already wiped out the locals and were still killing them when our cruiser landed. There’d been no warning…”

Fincros took a shuddering breath.

“We fought them. The last image I have of my father is him with a weapon in his hands, firing and shouting for my mother and sisters to take cover. My oldest brother was already down. Spilled blood on the weird blue grass… the sharp smell of burning plastics… I was shooting without aiming, screaming at my father to lift off… Then there was an explosion. The next thing I remember—I’m bound inside a space fighter, on my way to Sir-Sar.”

Fincros’ calm voice didn’t dull the horror of his tale. Rosamma felt it in her bones, the violent chaos of the raid, the desperation of the Rix family caught in the middle. It was all too easy to imagine. She’d lived through a pirate capture—with him on the other side.

“My mother and I were the only survivors.”

Air whooshed out of his nose on a hard exhale.

“Before we got separated, she begged me not to die. I had no choice but to give her my word, knowing I had no real power to keep it. When times got tough, when I felt feral and ready to end it all, I clung to that promise. It kept me from the edge, even after she died giving birth to a child forced on her.”

“Oh, Finn…”

“I had never seen her again after that brief moment on Sir-Sar. I heard one of the chiefs claimed her for her perfect lineage. He wanted a defender child…”

“Did you know that chief?”

“I knew who he was. Never had a chance to deal with him before he got killed in a raid.”

He flexed his fist until the knuckles cracked.

Anske chose this moment to appear. She threw a venomous look at their group clustered around Fincros as she made a defiant progress to the food supplies. Her decisive stride and rigid posture dared the Cargo Hold occupants to stop her.

It had never occurred to Rosamma that they could bar a fellow woman from accessing food or water, but apparently, Anske allowed such a possibility.

“Hi, Anske,”

Rosamma said gently.

Anske looked up in surprise.

“Hi, Rosamma.”

She took food items from her spot on the shelf and turned to leave.

“Are you taking food for Fawn, too?”

“No. Why would I?”

Rosamma disregarded Anske’s unfriendly tone.

“Where is she?”

“No idea.”

Anske paused to give Fincros a look that was… triumphant.

“I’m glad this one is down for good. It wasn’t right what he did to Galan. Nearly bashed his head in.”

Gro harrumphed.

“Galan’s head needed bashing. All of their heads, for that matter.”

Predictably, that set Anske off.

“Now, Galan can’t concentrate. It’s hard to teach him anything.”

“That… is not because of Striker Fincros,”

Eze said aloud what Rosamma was thinking.

“How would you know? And he’s not the Striker anymore! Got what he deserved. Phex was rightly incensed when I told him he smooched our saintly Rosamma right under his nose.”

Rosamma half-rose.

“You knew?”

“Hard not to.”

Anske shrugged.

“Not much privacy in here.”

“And you told Phex? Why?”

Anske’s face twisted.

“Didn’t seem fair that Alyesha ran away like she did with Keerym and didn’t give a flying jack about us. She’d also smooched Keerym in secret.”

“You thought I’d run off with Fincros?”

“Exactly.”

Anske hefted her provisions.

“Don’t tell me that thought never crossed your mind when you were with him.”

Rosamma just stared at Anske.

“Got nothing to say?”

She gave Rosamma a cold sneer before walking away.

“What was she about?”

Fincros asked after Anske left. He hadn’t been able to follow their conversation since they hadn’t been speaking Universal.

Rosamma lowered herself to the floor, stunned.

“She was the one who told Phex about the Dome. He didn’t find us by accident.”

Fincros’ clawed fingers were gentle when his hand found her hair.

“Of course not. Someone tipped him off. Now we know who.”

“But Anske…”

The clawed fingers pressed against her lips.

“It isn’t important now.”

Eze cleared her throat.

“That bitch was afraid you’d run off like Alyesha. Stupid twat.”

Fincros turned to the sound of her voice.

“She was right. Only Rosamma didn’t plan it. I did.”

Now Eze and Gro were stunned.

Rosamma wilted.

“None of it matters now.”

Fincros shifted slightly.

“We’re not giving up. There is nothing to be afraid of. Learn the lesson, dammit. Let go of your fear or die.”

“I don’t want to die!”

Rosamma wailed.

“That’s right. It’ll be alright.”

“How?”

“Different.”

“You can’t see!”

“Others can.”

That brought Rosamma short. “Who?”

“A slight change of plans.”

“What plans are those, exactly?”

Eze asked, cautious now.

Fincros turned his red, sightless eyes to Eze.

“Can you help plot a course, Sakka?”

Eze hesitated.

“I can. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Suspected. That’s all we need. Rosamma will handle the controls.”

Rosamma blinked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He gave a small smile with the right side of his mouth, where his teeth were intact.

“I will tell you what buttons to push, and you will push them.”

Gro found her voice.

“What buttons, Striker? The pods are locked in the docks.”

“We have another pod,”

he said and then added, “but there’s a catch.”

*****

The periods between recharging against Father Zha-Ikkel were becoming shorter and shorter, and the amount of energy Rosamma was able to retain during those sessions was growing smaller and smaller.

That made sense, since Rosamma kept pushing her energy into Fincros whether he wanted it or not.

Still, she wasn’t as effective as she used to be.

Fincros sensed it and resisted, but when she put her hands on his eyes, it eased him greatly, so he allowed small infusions.

When she went to the Meat Locker once again, he dragged himself after her.

“I like the cold,”

he explained.

She was glad to have him there while she spent agonizing hours linked up to Father Zha-Ikkel. His presence beside offered more than comfort. He had become her soul.

Still, she shuddered when the chrome lever opened with a clanging sound.

There’s no fear, she told herself. Just a body. Dead and harmless.

She sorely needed sleep. Before settling in, she hovered her hands over Fincros, pausing above his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Finn. I’m so, so sorry.”

It was a litany she repeated often and would always repeat. Her life had split irreparably into the before and after.

“Don’t be. What do they look like now?”

“They look… raw,”

she admitted.

“Deep red. The gashes, though, are turning gray, like scars.”

“More scars. Doesn’t make much difference.”

“Don’t say that. It’s okay to be upset. It’s fine to show sadness. It’s normal, Finn.”

“Normal for whom, stardust?”

he asked gently.

“You don’t have regrets? You don’t wish things were different?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking. What’s happened, happened. Nothing can change that.”

Rosamma cried for him because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t understand what to cry for. Maybe, in that way, he was lucky. With no regrets. No crushing weight of the if-onlys.

“If I could give my life for your eyes, I’d gladly do it,”

she whispered.

He found her face by touch and cupped it, rubbing his hard fingers over her cheek gently.

“I’d rather have you next to me and see nothing,”

he said, “than see the world without you in it.”

His words choked her up anew. She placed her hand against his poor eyes, wishing with her entire soul she could cure him. He needed medical help. Oh, to have a doctor take a look at him! If only she could get to Ren, he’d know how to find help.

Ren.

If only they could escape, she’d go to Priss and look for him.

She stopped herself.

No, no more ifs.

When they escaped.

Nothing scares me. We will escape. There is a way. Godspeed.

Realizing Fincros had gone very still under her hands, she promptly removed them from his eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

His voice held a peculiar note.

“Place your hand over my eyes again.”

Rosamma complied, uneasy.

“Now remove it.”

They repeated the process several times.

She was now fully awake.

“Can you see?”

“I can’t see your hand, no.”

“What is it, then?”

“There’s redness.”

“In your eyes?”

“When you put your hand on me, there’s a pulsing redness.”

Rosamma sat up, staring at him.

“I wasn’t sending energy just now.”

“I know.”

“Do your eyes hurt?”

“A little. The tissues are healing.”

It must be excruciating for him to have sensations in his eyes but not the proper vision.

Without warning, she leaned over and kissed him.

“I like when you do that…”

he murmured against her mouth—then froze. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“It’s your body heat.”

“What heat?”

“The pulsing redness.”

Slowly, he took hold of her braid and squeezed hard like it was his lifeline.

“I can detect thermal waves.”

*****

They practiced Fincros’ vision for several days, just the two of them, keeping it a secret.

His success was limited. Instead of Rosamma’s form, he could only make up a muted red blur amid the grayscale fog his world had become.

The fervent hope that not all had been lost that flickered inside Rosamma was slowly dimming.

Fincros thought differently.

“It’s good enough,”

he told her.

“Once the tissues fully heal, it will improve more.”

“You still can’t see actual objects,”

Rosamma said, forlorn.

“That I can detect heat is a miracle. Your miracle, stardust.”

“You suffer because of me.”

But he didn’t want to hear that.

“I fucked up and took a hit, that’s all. It happens. But look at me, I still have my head and my skin. Phex is a lousy Striker. Too squeamish. Too defender.”

Rosamma’s mouth quirked.

“Are you saying he needs Aercer to train him out of it?”

“He wouldn’t survive Aercer.”

His arrogance was undefeated.

“You don’t think so?”

Fincros tilted his head, considering.

“Phex is too easy, too predictable. Aercer liked mind fucks. He kept me alive because I was hard to manipulate. It was a game to him, the one he eventually lost.”

Rosamma gave him a wan smile he couldn’t see.

“I wish I had your blind conviction in our success.”

“An interesting choice of words,”

he murmured.

She blanched and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry. Oh, Finn, if only a medical doctor could treat your eyes! Many nations have advanced medicine.”

He soothed her with his touch, the gentle caress unobtrusive and welcome.

“My eyes were ripped up. Their inner mechanics are broken, Rosamma. Some things are simply not fixable.”

She wasn’t ready to give up.

“Enzomora has good doctors, doesn’t it? That’s where they took Lyle, the Shadow Flyer. He was in terrible shape, but Commander Aeshac believed they could help him.”

“I don’t know who Commander Aeshac is…”

Rosamma interrupted, “He’s a Commander of the Rix Defender Force.”

“Yes. So, I was saying, there is no way in hell I am coming near Enzomora, Commander Aeshac, or the Rix Defender Force. Reason being, I’d rather be blind than dead.”

Rosamma hesitated.

“Don’t you have family there?”

“Distant family. That’s another reason. I’ve debased myself beyond all hope. It’s better they think I’m dead.”

He got up and moved around the Meat Locker, teaching himself new ways to navigate. He bumped into Father Zha-Ikkel and swatted him, annoyed.

Watching him stumble was pure agony, but he refused Rosamma’s help. He had to learn. There was no going back.

Following his orders, Rosamma also moved around the room and performed simple tasks like bending or sitting down, at first close by, then farther away. He tracked her, but his eyes spasmed, the ruined muscle trying to focus like it once had. It hurt him. The gashes were too raw, the eyes too red.

Finally, Rosamma placed her hands on his eyes and sent energy. And sent energy, and sent, until he gently removed her hands. She cried when he did.

“Why are you crying?”

Fincros asked her, baffled.

“Because I’m sad! What a mess this all is.”

“A mess, yes. But there’s meaning in it.”

“What meaning, Fincros?”

“Life.”