Page 63 of Seven Oars
His face betrayed nothing—no anticipation, no lust. Not even interest.
Nud, Xorris, and Galan began dragging the women into the center of the room.
Galan yanked the book from Anske’s hands.“What’s this?”
“A Holy Guide book.”
“Yeah? Where’s it guiding you?” He roughly flipped the stiff, glossy pages, pausing to inspect the colorful shapes that emphasized different commandments.
“It’s guiding all of us,” Anske whispered in a broken voice.
“Where to?” With one hand, Galan gripped her neck, dislodging her bra bandage, and squeezed.“Tell us where you’re trying to take us! What’s your navigation plan?”
Anske’s eyes bulged. Her face flushed as she gasped, struggling to speak.“Your mind… to open your mind… to be a better man.”
Galan let her go.“Like I need that kind of guidance. I’m a good man already.”He smoothed the filthy shirt stretched across his chest.
“I can show you,” Anske wheezed from the floor at his feet. Fresh blood trickled down her shoulder.“We can go… together. To see the light.”
Galan stood over her, the Holy Guide in hand, his brain grinding through the concept of“seeing the light.”
The pause stretched.
Nud elbowed Galan aside.“Move, dipshit. Stop wasting time on fuckery. We could be touching pussy instead.”
“Party time!” Xorris yelled, laughing like a demented hyena.
Thilza took a drag.
“Let’s start with this one.” Massar pointed at Rosamma.
Then his cool, punishing hands were on her, groping her thigh, her stomach, kneading the flesh, pinching the skin.
Without warning, he toppled Rosamma, pushing her onto her side. Her legs parted in the process, revealing… everything.
She closed her eyes, tears of fear and mortification tracing warm tracks down her cold cheeks.
There was a sound of male disgust.“What’s this? Blood? Coming fromthatplace?”
“I thought a little bit of blood was your thing,” Striker Fincros said to Massar from his chair.His dry, low voice was bone-marrow chilling. Every inch of Rosamma’s skin contracted at the sound of him.
She pulled her legs together and curled in on herself.
Massar’s answering chuckle was demonic.“The blood I let.”
“Tutti. Do a scan,” the Striker ordered.
Man-made saggy breasts emerged from the smoke-fog as Tutti whirred up close. The robot’s eyes rolled up and down, one faster than the other, scanning Rosamma.
Extracting a flexible third limb from a back compartment, Tutti aimed a long, thick needle at her neck. A piercing white light flashed as the arm arched, puncturing her skin.
“Species undetermined,” it announced in its fluid female voice.“Female physiology consistent with warm-blooded, high-reasoning species. Capable of gestating. The likelihood of pregnancy is unknown due to the taxonomic ambiguity. Biomarkers are weak.”
Tutti tucked the appendage away and withdrew.
The weight of multiple pairs of Rix eyes was heavy on Rosamma. She breathed the cold, pungent air through her nose. In and out. In. And out.
“Biomarkers are weak,” Ucai repeated.“Is she sick? Tutti!”
