Page 28 of Seven Oars (Rix Universe #3)

On the surface, the do-nothing-productive routine on Seven Oars continued unchanged. The pirates gathered at the Habitat and amused themselves with drugs, infighting, and loud “music.”

But a sense of foreboding hung over them all like a sword.

Tutti squeaked around the station with its light on but no real direction. Echoes of clashes, ones Fincros wasn’t part of, filtered into the Cargo Hold through the grating chuffing of its great oar.

Yes, unrest was in the air, and the urgency to prepare their escape drove the Cargo Hold inhabitants toward recklessness.

Esseh had caught Eze out on the Bridge and chased her to the Cargo Hold.

“It was never a problem before,”

she complained as Rosamma and Gro applied cool compresses to her bruised ribs and face.

“We always walked around. The Striker allowed it!”

“Different Striker, dumbass,”

Gro muttered, trying to mask her dismay at Eze’s new injuries.

Rosamma glanced at Fincros, who sat with his back to the wall, legs bent and spread slightly apart.

To her, he was still the Striker.

He was using lulls in his beatings to relearn how to function, to make sense of the world without seeing it. He struggled, and he made no secret about it. He made progress daily, but the climb was steep.

“The crew doesn’t trust Phex,”

he said.

“They’ll attempt to throw him.”

“Who will? Esseh?”

Rosamma tenderly smoothed silky hair from his face. She’d stopped pretending around Eze and Gro, and there was no hiding their closeness now.

“Could be. There’s going to be unrest.”

“Phex is strong,” Gro said.

“Strength alone is not enough. He lacks the drive.”

Fincros settled firmer against the wall, his eyes blinking out that inner third eyelid that signaled stasis. Rosamma knew the signs. She’d given him a little energy, and it comforted her to see him resting.

Gro stirred.

“I think I’m starting to regret that our former Striker kept Phex alive. Whatever was that for?”

Rosamma smiled.

“It was to watch over us. And as a backup pilot.”

Gro’s eye bugged out.

“A backup pilot? What the hell…”

Rosamma shrugged.

“A trained Rix defender is the best there is.”

Eze gazed upon Fincros’ still form with pity.

“Your Fincros is a shitty boss, Rosamma. Took in a high-value employee and abused him.”

“That,”

Rosamma said with regret, “was to break him. To make him one of them. And he did carry a bit of malicious intent—he couldn’t resist testing him the way he himself had been tested when captured.”

Eze let out a guffaw.

“I wonder if he’s happy with how it turned out.”

*****

When Tutti showed up with orders for Fincros to report to the Habitat, he rose without protest.

Rosamma watched him with mounting worry.

“Tell that thing to go away. It listens to you.”

“No reason to. They know where to find me.”

He reached out to locate the wall and followed it to the entrance.

Rosamma took his hand in hers.

“I’ll take you.”

They arrived at the Habitat together.

It was thick with tension.

Phex sat in the Striker’s chair, his back ramrod straight.

He’d always been a by-the-book kind of guy. Nothing wrong with that, except the pirates didn’t have a rule book. And Phex struggled with improvisation.

Now, he was sitting in a chair that was too uncomfortable for him, and it showed.

Finn used to own that shit, chair and all.

Xorris and Nud shifted uneasily. Galan left Anske’s side and joined them, tense and alert.

Only Thilza was the same, blitzed out and uninvolved, slouched in a corner with Fawn curled beside him.

The elephant in the room was the body sprawled on the floor. Rosamma glimpsed a lax hand and unmistakable facial scars.

Fincros stumbled over it and stopped.

“Who is this?”

he asked the new Striker.

“Esseh.”

“What’d he do?”

“He fucked up.”

“I see.”

Fincros smiled precisely because he didn’t see, literally or figuratively.

Phex’s fine eyebrows drew together. He understood Finn’s wit, but didn’t appreciate it. Never had.

“I wouldn’t be flippant if I were you.”

He delivered the warning in the clipped tone Rosamma knew all too well. Except, it had ceased to frighten her. Too much had passed since they lifted off from Meeus.

“Or what?”

Fincros kept smiling.

“What are you gonna do? Kill me?”

Phex’s frown got deeper. Strong, unbending Phex—and fragile. One step away from breaking.

“We keep veering off the course I keep setting,”

Phex said to Fincros.

“Where are we going?”

Finn cocked his head, genuinely curious.

Phex didn’t flinch.

“That shouldn’t concern you. What should concern you is that the station’s not following the course set in the Command Center. I suspect this Tutti droid. Can it override set commands?”

Fincros shrugged.

“You know it’s been acting up.”

“What are Tutti’s programming codes?”

Fincros kept his smile beatific.

Phex rose from the chair and crossed the room, skirting around Esseh’s corpse. His movements were lithe and perfectly coordinated. A fine specimen. A strapping male.

On the outside.

Alas, he wasn’t special.

“If we crash and burn, we’ll crash and burn together,”

he said through clenched teeth. Or at least, Rosamma thought he did. Suddenly, it was suddenly hard to understand him.

“Why’d you kill Esseh?”

Fincros asked in a voice that carried the question like the desert wind, with sand and grit, rusty from misuse.

They spoke Rix.

It must be the first time in many years that Fincros spoke it.

“He wanted to sit in my chair,”

Phex said, motioning behind him.

“You should’ve asked him for Tutti’s codes,”

Fincros switched back to Universal.

“He knew them.”

Phex narrowed his eyes, popping that inner lid out. His healthy, deep, black eyes. Curse him.

“He can’t be the only one.”

“Of course not. Ucai knew them. Keerym, too. And guess who else?”

“Fuck you,”

Phex spat.

“Kill me now—lose control of this place forever.”

Fincros was no longer smiling.

Phex swung at him, but it wasn’t a serious attempt to injure. Finn sensed the movement and caught the blow.

“You brought it on yourself, defender,”

he taunted Phex.

“Don’t call me that!”

“I would call you Striker, but you’re failing at that too. Here’s a lesson to help you out.”

Fincros turned to Phex, locking onto his position.

“The only guy who could control Tutti is hanging in the Meat Locker. Unless you can revive him, your dumb ass has to learn to run this station despite the robot. Your crew will help. No matter how angry they make you, you can’t kill them all off. Got it?”

This time, when Phex hit him, he meant it.

“Give me the codes or Rosamma dies,”

he growled. As usual, it was Risana with him.

Pivoting, he charged Rosamma, banking on Fincros’ inability to track him.

Well, well, well.

And thanks to Rosamma’s energy infusions, Fincros was plenty strong.

They clashed like they had before, two angry, combative males. Fincros’ lack of eyesight was a brutal handicap, but he embraced it.

No, he wasn’t as smooth and precise as he used to be, but he managed a few effective punches. His sheer determination made him a force of nature.

“Bro, what?”

Fawn gawked.

“He’s not blind?”

“He is,”

Rosamma snapped at her.

The other pirates looked just as confused.

“Get Eze and Gro,”

Fincros ground out, wrestling with Phex, and Rosamma realized he was speaking to her.

Her breath caught. “Now?”

“Now!”

Now, now, now…

She backed out and ran down the passageway, calling their names.

“Come to the Bridge! Now!”

Eze and Gro flew from the Cargo Hold like bats out of hell, pulling on extra layers of clothes as Finn had told them to do. Eze held Rosamma’s gun in her hand as she headed for the trash chute panel. Gro began pulling out space suits and helmets.

Rosamma stalled, not knowing what to do. They had always planned to leave together, but now, Fincros was under attack in the Habitat.

“We’ve got to get him out of there.”

“Let’s do it,”

Gro agreed.

Nud stepped in their way.

“What’s your rush?”

Nud had never liked any of the women, except for Fawn, whom he liked only marginally for sex. He’d seen no reason to keep them alive. And now, there was no Striker Fincros to rein him in.

Clearly reaching the same general conclusion, Eze raised the gun and shot him point-blank.

The laser burned a golf ball-sized hole right through his skull. It smelled awful. When Nud fell, his tissues were still smoking.

“Holy hell, this thing is strong,”

Eze breathed.

Gro was flabbergasted.

“Did you switch it to the lowest setting?”

“Oh, crap. I forgot.”

She yanked Rosamma by the arm, dragging her into a run and tearing her gaze away from Nud’s lifeless body.

In the Habitat, Phex was getting the upper hand because Xorris had joined him, forcing Finn to defend himself against two opponents.

“Freeze!”

Eze brandished her gun.

“Or I’ll shoot!”

Xorris jumped back, but Phex didn’t flinch.

“You wanna shoot? Do it. Fire away. End it now!”

Eze aimed.

“Have you lost your mind? You’ll kill us all!”

Anske threw aside the Holy Guide and lunged, grabbing Eze’s gun wrist.

“Let go, you fake nun.”

“Stop! What the fluff are you doing?”

“Cleansing my mind from pirate rot, goob.”

“Phex’s not a pirate!”

“If it quacks like a duck…”

Galan joined Anske, and he alone outmatched Eze, Gro, and Rosamma combined. They swarmed him, but he was too strong, and Anske wasn’t helping.

Fawn laughed from across the room, a shrill, crazy sound.

Xorris circled back, reengaging Fincros.

The Habitat snapped to life in its usual, inglorious way, with screaming, cursing, and banging. Bodies collided in chaos.

This was never part of our escape plan, Rosamma thought wildly.

But maybe Fincros had implied it. After all, this was how it always went down on Seven Oars—and always would, until the lights went out.

Eze squeezed off a shot.

Xorris scattered and Anske hit the floor, legs splayed and jaw slack.

Galan clutched his arm and howled as the smell of fried flesh stung the air.

Eze and Gro were already in the passageway, waving frantically at Rosamma.

“Finn!”

she called out.

Fincros lunged toward her voice, dragging Phex along. He couldn’t shake him.

“Come on, Finn. I’m here!”

He dropped and rolled, finally slipping free. He came to a stop at the protruding threshold—he remembered it. Another heartbeat, and he was on his feet, stumbling over it and slapping his hand on the wall. A panel slid from the wall.

A door!

“Go!”

he shouted at Rosamma.

She couldn’t.

Phex had her.

“Finn!”

she screamed.

She kicked and twisted, to no avail.

The door was closing inexorably, sealing the pirates—and her—inside the Habitat.

She stopped struggling, catching one last look of Fincros in the passageway. “You go,”

she whispered.

“Rosamma!”

She’d never heard panic in his voice, but it was there now.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye.

Still sitting on the floor, groping Fawn’s thigh, Thilza straightened his leg and slammed his boot into Phex’s ankle.

Phex stumbled. His grip on Rosamma slacked.

With an almost inhuman effort, she shot across the threshold and fell into Fincros’ arms.

The door slid shut.

*****

Eze had already pulled out the spacesuits.

“Now comes the fun part,”

she said, exhaling like a fighter prepping for a sparring match.

The suits were one-size-fits-all, shapeless onesies, gray, and they reminded Rosamma of body bags. They reeked of chemicals embedded in the material to repel radiation.

There were only two.

“They are safe to use,”

Fincros assured them.

“Thilza and I did a lot of work on the outside of the station.”

Yay.

Eze slipped into the first one and strapped on the supply backpack, connecting its cords and wires.

“Ready.”

She didn’t sound all that ready.

Gro handed her the helmet. It had a screen on the inside, projecting all kinds of information: pressure, oxygen, temperature levels.

Eze fumbled with the controls, getting them to work. The seconds dragged.

Fincros placed his hand over Rosamma’s, drawing her attention to how tightly she was gripping his bicep.

“We’ve got time.”

“What if they find a way to open that door?”

“It’s a fireproof door, not easy to open. We’ve got time,”

he repeated.

Rosamma pushed the second spacesuit toward Gro, whose eyes turned glassy.

“You should take the next turn, Rosamma. You’re way better than me with logistics.”

Rosamma shook her head.

“We agreed. Please, let’s not waste time arguing.”

She unfolded the suit and began stuffing Gro into it. Gro stood by meekly, not helping.

“You’re worried about the pirates breaking down the door,”

Gro tried again.

“I’m not. So I can wait here while you go. Save yourself the nerves. That door’s stronger than it looks. Now that I’m thinking about it, they may never get out. And if they don’t, someone should probably open it for them.”

“You don’t know how to open that door, my friend.”

Rosamma sealed the suit’s flaps around Gro’s butt.

“Maybe I don’t need to go with you. Fincros said the capsule’s only for two people, and I…”

Fincros found the helmet by feel and plopped it on Gro’s head, cutting off her stream of consciousness. Screwing the knobs tightly, he pressed his face to the glass.

“Remember to stay tethered.”

He shoved her toward the open chute.

“There are rails that go along the sides,”

he shouted at Eze to be heard through the helmet.

“And the capsule’s airlock is small! Must get in feet first.”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

Eze climbed into the chute after Gro. It was a tight fit. They nested there like two giant infants in the womb, with their big round helmets and saggy rompers with sealed flaps and three-claw mittens.

Following Fincros’ signal, Rosamma activated the trash chute. The aperture began to shrink.

“What if something happens to their spacesuits?”

she wrung her hands.

“It won’t.”

“How can they call for help?”

“They can’t.”

His voice softened.

“It’s a risk we take. I’ve gone on spacewalks many times. It will be alright.”

The airlock hissed shut with a final seal.

No fear, only faith, Rosamma chanted in her head.

It helped very little. Dread chilled her to the bone. One mishap, and they were doomed.

Behind her, the muffled banging sounds let them know that Phex and the crew weren’t taking kindly to being sealed off in the Habitat.

Despite everything, it unsettled Rosamma.

“Can the pirates ever open that door?”

She called them pirates out of habit, but was that still accurate?

Anske and Fawn were more like… pirate-adjacent.

And Phex? Despite becoming a Striker, he’d never looted a thing. In fact, as a defender, he used to be the opposite.

Then there was Fincros—a real pirate, but also a real defender—now a part of Rosamma’s distinctly non-pirate group. So, was he still one? And if he was, did that make her, Eze, and Gro pirate-adjacent too?

Her head spun trying to process it all.

This place, Seven Oars, took things that should have been simple and mashed them into a cluster of contradictions.

“They’ll find a way to free themselves,”

Fincros said, unconcerned.

“Once Thilza runs out of dope, he’ll figure it out. And Tutti’s covering the autopilot at the Command Center.”

A bang from inside the chute made Rosamma jump.

“Open up, stardust,”

Finn said gently.

Rosamma performed the sequence of commands he had taught her.

“I hope it’s Eze with the spacesuit.”

“The chances of it being someone else are slim.”

Inside the helmet, Eze’s head bobbed up and down. She was smiling.

“Well, I guess it went well,”

Rosamma muttered.

“Spare me the details, why don’t you?”

Then it was her turn.

She suited up: the onesie, the helmet, the pack. Once connected, she could talk to Eze through the comm.

She glanced at Fincros. Her lips moved, a declaration of love that he couldn’t see.

The tricky part—activating the chute aperture and then diving inside while wearing the spacesuit—was as awkward as could be expected.

The chute swallowed them, pressed their helmets together. Then the pressure dropped, and they became weightless.

Rosamma started wheezing almost as soon as the outward lock opened and she floated into open space.

Eze reached out and secured her tether to the chrome railings. Rosamma clung to them as she gaped at the stars. She was really there. Out in it. One of them.

She felt naked, exposed, and somehow belonging. The Universe. Everything and nothing. The beginning and the end.

But her oxygen was thin.

Eze tugged her tether, pulling Rosamma toward the service capsule. Pitifully tiny, it hung next to the hulking space station, tied to a stowage platform—a tin can, vulnerable and defenseless, meant only to orbit the station and assist with repairs.

Rosamma’s wheezing was getting out of control. The stars in her visor developed halos and glare.

She floated in headfirst, only to get pulled out by the leg, flipped around, then pushed back in—flattened like a grocery item at the bagging counter.

What would I do without Eze?

The lock sealed after her, cloaking her in darkness. But the starlight lingered on the backs of her eyelids, flaring and flickering.

She wasn’t doing well, but that knowledge was a faraway abstraction.

Her helmet came off. Gro’s dear face appeared, the skin pulled tight across her cheekbones.

“Are you drunk?”

Her voice was rough with worry.

“I don’t know.”

Hands worked to strip off her spacesuit.

There were sounds, movement, lights. She was pushed deeper into the cramped, weightless interior of the capsule.

Gro kept talking.

Time passed.

The little door opened again, admitting Eze, and, finally, Fincros.

The capsule, the size of a small van, instantly felt overcrowded.

“It’s her energy,”

Gro’s desperation rang clear.

“She about lost all of it out in space. Why didn’t we think that could be a problem?”

“How could we have known?”

“I know, I know… Come on, Rosamma. Breathe. Stay with us.”

Fincros made an impatient gesture at Eze.

“Give me my bag.”

Untying it by touch, he pulled out an object and thrust it into Rosamma’s arms.

“Hug this to your chest and don't let go. Use the zapper to boost the energy block. You know the drill. We need to haul ass.”

Rosamma found herself cradling Father Zha-Ikkel’s neatly severed femur still wrapped in chunky tissue.

Gro yelped and backed into the wall, knocking her head.

Eze recoiled.

“When did you get that… taken?”

she asked Fincros, eyeing the leg with revulsion.

“When you were unscrewing the nozzles.”

“Okay! Thank you for not asking me to unscrew that, too.”

“What nozzles?”

Gro asked.

“Later.”

Fincros’ massive shoulders sagged.

“I hoped we wouldn’t need it.”

Rosamma touched his hand.

“You knew me better than I did.”

“Knowing you is my job.”

She hugged the leg tighter, inhaling its musky decay.

“Just… let us go.”

*****

“They got the signal,”

Eze ripped the headset off.

“They are expecting us!”

It was hard to believe that after two agonizing weeks in this tiny capsule, they were on their final approach to Priss.

A true miracle.

“About time,”

Gro grumbled.

“The shit bag’s full.”

“Then stop shitting every day,”

Fincros snapped.

Gro spread out her hands, jostling Rosamma.

“We eat every day!”

“Exactly.”

Rosamma hid her face in his chest, hiding a smile. She’d been holding on by a thread, so weak she could barely speak. The festering limb she carried around like it was her own had deteriorated and stopped helping.

Paloma, Ren—they were alive. They were well.

They were waiting.

To make Priss accept them more readily, Fincros posed as Phex when contacting them.

They’d sort that out later. Claim miscommunication, static, whatever. Rosamma couldn’t imagine anyone would give them a hard time at that point.

The joyful stress of reaching the end of their harrowing adventure threatened to send her into oblivion, but Fincros wouldn’t let her drift. He coaxed her back into consciousness for the landing. It wouldn’t be long now. Hours, not days.

Because Priss had no real atmosphere—just an engineering marvel of an air bubble—their little capsule wouldn’t burn up on descent. But they had no landing gear. They would have to jump out into some sort of a net being prepared for them right now.

“Look out. See?”

Gro’s head bobbed near the tiny porthole displaying a mass of gray rock.

“Yes, I see. Finn, we can see Priss! You did it! I love you. Love you…”

He cradled her, pressed her close, whispering into her ear, “We’ll always be one.”

“We are one.”

She let her eyes close as Eze began the final approach under Fincros’ guidance.

The capsule jolted hard when it pierced Priss’ atmospheric bubble. They dropped on the floor and laughed, welcoming the return of gravity.

“Can I open the hatch now?”

Eze asked.

“Go ahead,”

Fincros allowed.

“Get the gun ready.”

Rosamma stirred.

“Why? They aren’t our enemies.”

“Habit,”

he said simply.

It would be hard, she knew. With his past, there would be problems. But they were together, and they weren’t alone. They’d find a way for him to win his freedom.

The hatch lowered, revealing dull overcast skies. A gust of wind rushed in.

Rosamma fought tears as Gro and Eze laughed—a happy, excited sound.

More sounds came in: the whoosh of the capsule’s mechanisms, the voices below. People were preparing to receive them.

Rosamma pressed herself tighter to Fincros.

“We’re finally home.”

His arms came around her, firm and secure.

“You’re my home.”

The capsule hovered at its lowest point, three stories above the ground.

“I see him! Your brother’s here, Rosamma!”

Gro stuck her head out and waved like crazy.

“Hello! Hello!”

There were answering cries. She heard Paloma’s voice hollering her name.

“I wish you could see them. Oh, Finn, they’re here!”

“It’s all good, stardust. Almost there.”

They held hands.

A safety net was stretched tight like a trampoline beneath the capsule’s hatch.

Gro’s smile vanished as she peered down with apprehension.

“Shit, I hate heights.”

Eze gave her a pitying look.

“After all we’ve been through, now she’s acting all retarded? Do you need a push?”

“No! Don’t you dare. But… you can go first.”

A warning note entered Eze’s tone.

“We set an order. You go first, then Rosamma, then Fincros, and me. Don’t start.”

“We can change the order. Why does it matter?”

Fincros scowled.

“Okay, okay.”

Gro took a shaky breath, closed her eyes, and plunged out with a haunting cry that cut off the moment she hit the net.

“Rosamma! Jump! Piece of cake!”

Gro’s voice floated up, now full of confidence.

“Come on, Rose! We’ve got you!”

Ren. Ren!

Rosamma’s legs trembled as she stepped to the door. Her vision was blurry, but Ren’s tall form was unmistakable in the crowd below. She’d agonized about seeing him again, and here he was.

Thank you, Universe.

Fincros’ arm around her waist steadied Rosamma. Eze moved deeper into the capsule to give them room.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, his arm tightened, became a vise.

“You will find me when it’s safe. Stay true, stardust. No fear.”

Alarm washed through her like acid.

“No. Finn, no…”

He pushed her out.

She flailed, clutching at air, refusing to believe, refusing to let go—and fell with an agonizing scream.

The net bounced her. She thrashed, trying to rise. Someone got in the net with her, his presence solid and as familiar as her own, but not welcome.

Throwing her head back, she glimpsed Fincros in the capsule’s opening. His sightless eyes were opaque as the hatch rose and closed.

She screamed and screamed, fighting Ren with Father Zha-Ikkel’s putrid leg even as he force-fed her his energy.

The capsule began to lift.

“Don’t shoot!”

Gro cried to someone on the sidelines.

“There’s another person in there!”

“That wasn’t Phex.”

Ren finally wrestled the leg away from her.

“What happened, Rose? Who is he?”

He’s not Phex. He’s not Phex.

All she could manage was a keening cry.

The capsule popped through the gray bubble of Priss’ fake atmosphere and vanished from sight.

“Hush, sis. We’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re home.”

But she wasn’t.