Page 202 of Seven Oars
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.”
