Page 17 of Seven Oars
They had a quiet few days, floating around and doing little. There was not much to do. They slept, ate, cleaned up, and talked.
Especially Mara.
Every thought or concern, everything that went through her head, got vocalized. She didn’t need an audience; it was a comforting personal habit, like Rosamma’s tendency to touch her shawl or finger the end of her hair.
Mara’s daughter Daphne, on the other hand, spoke little. She was an odd one, Daphne. They all knew the girl had challenges, but it was her habit of staring that unsettled them. More than once, Rosamma found herself the object of Daphne’s intense, unblinking scrutiny, her eyes wide-open, her face slack and unemotional.
Mara assured them Daphne would eventually snap out of it, and she did, sidling closer to her mother like the small child she was inside. Still, it was disconcerting.
Anske prayed a lot. She tried to gather them for sermons, but her efforts never drew much of a crowd. Mara, Daphne, and Sassa listened. Rosamma did too, out of politeness more than genuine interest.
Gro and Eze effectively excluded themselves by cracking jokes that made Anske bristle.
“You, Gro, would benefit greatly from cleansing thoughts. Those tattoos on your arms—they are jail tattoos.”
“They’re prison tattoos,” Gro corrected blithely.
Anske’s nose went up.“Freedom of Life helps lost souls like you. If you pray hard, you’ll liberate your thoughts and become truly free and good in spirit.”
Anske’s words amused Gro.“I’ve paid my debt to society, so I’m already free. And I’ve never been a lost soul in my life.”
Alyesha, another one who didn’t care about being a“lost soul,” skipped prayer time in favor of working out and a strict beauty regimen.
Fawn wasn’t interested in anything except larking around and trying to attract male attention. She found Anske’s sermons and Alyesha’s exercise equally boring.
“You’ll be a glob of useless flesh by the time we land,” Gro told Fawn.
Gro also exercised. Everybody did, except for Fawn.
“You won’t be able to walk out on your own two legs.”
“I’ll plead with one of the handsome Rix to carry me. Riel, I’m thinking. He likes me.” Fawn smiled cheekily at Gro.
“In your dreams.”
“You’re such a killjoy! He finds me quite attractive.”
“Like a rash.”
Fawn stuck her tongue out.
She made no secret of appreciating Riel’s massive size and that cocky way he canted his head when he listened. Fawn always thrust her chest forward when he was near so that the alien could take full advantage of the view. And it was quite the view, ample in size and round in shape, conveniently buoyed by zero gravity.
Riel never showed any interest, but sometimes his lips would twitch at Fawn’s antics, and he’d make a lighthearted joke about her not being good at following the rules.
Gro shook her head at Fawn, giving up on the exercise argument.
Sidling closer to a vent, she lit a cigarette.
“Where’d you get that?” Fawn rushed over.
“From a vending machine,” Gro replied, deadpan.
Fawn’s head swiveled right and left, searching.“Where?”
“The Rix hide it behind the deck. Cigarettes, gum, candy. Condoms.”
“Really? What did you use to pay?”
