Page 30 of Seven Oars
Rosamma crawled toward him.
“How bad is he hurt?” Gro called out.
Rosamma’s hands trembled as she palpated him gently. Her powerful, handsome alien. Her sun.
“He has a head wound that’s still bleeding. I need something to bandage it with.”
Sassa hiccuped.“He’s just another alien. He doesn’t even like us.”
Rosamma looked up.“He’s hurt. He needs help.”
The women didn’t move from their positions.
It dawned on Rosamma then: when it came to Phex, she was on her own. In their fear and desperation, the others had made him a target, someone to blame for their collective misfortune.
The Cargo Hold was strewn with trash and empty containers. A hulking metal tank containing who knew what hung in one corner. Shelving units and empty storage nets clung to the walls, torn and unraveling.
If the Cargo Hold had ever stored any cargo, the pirates had laid waste to it a long time ago.
There was no first aid kit in sight.
Phex moaned again and shifted his head. His black eyes opened, revealing the third eyelid that was slow to retract. It covered half the surface with a blueish membrane. The sight taunted Rosamma with its alienness.
He doesn’t even like us.
Phex spoke, a low, growling sound, foreign to Rosamma’s ears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.“I can’t understand you. Are you in too much pain?”
The third lid finally slid aside, but she wasn’t sure he saw her—or anything. His eyes were flat and dull.
“Where are we?” he growled, this time in Universal.
“We think it’s a space station.”
“What about them?”
“The pirates? I’m not sure. They talked about securing our cruiser, whatever that means. How are you feeling?”
He ignored her question.“Who survived?”
Rosamma opened her mouth to respond, but remembered he had never bothered to learn the women’s names.
“All but one of my companions. And… you.”
He didn’t even blink.
Rosamma felt on the verge of tears.“Hang in there. I’ll find something for your wounds.”
“Leave me be.” He turned away, already sinking back into unconsciousness.
“We need to find bandages,” Rosamma whispered to herself.
A rapidly approaching sound of footsteps was as unwelcome as it was frightening.
A pirate Rosamma hadn’t seen before appeared in the doorway. He paused there, studying the women as they pressed together, forming a live, quivering ball.
Not as huge as the scarred ones, he was solidly built, with a thick length of hair piled into an elaborate, incongruous‘do. His face was unscarred, and his angular features sharp and inquisitive.
