Page 80 of Seven Oars
So were the other women. And Phex. And the evil pirates. So was everyone.
So was everything.
Memories of her life on Meeus came pouring in.
Her dear Uncle Zaron. His club, Atticus, with its crazy, fun performances and bitter drinks that he swore were posh and sophisticated. The club was a haven for so many, but not for her.
She remembered vividly her little apartment with books and mismatched crockery she was fond of collecting. Many items had come from Zaron, bartered from the aliens passing through Atticus, some wondrous and weird artifacts.
Ren and Paloma.
Her heart ached. Had they made it to Enzomora? What were they doing now? How was Ren?
She wondered if Lyle had gotten better. Cricket would be by his side, fighting everyone who stood in the way of his well-being. If only determination alone were enough.
Rosamma stayed glued to the glass for a long time, staring at the stars, lost in thought.
A distant crash sounded, but she ignored it. Another fight.
The“music” started up again in the Habitat. Smoke wafted in, sour and revolting as always. She ignored that too.
She wished to stay here forever. Oh, she wished for so many things…
Lowering the shades back down to cover the boundless expanse beyond, Rosamma returned to the Cargo Hold.
*****
“Don’t worry about it,” Eze mumbled with her misshapen mouth after Rosamma had shared how little she could find in the way of medical supplies.“I look worse than I feel.”
Rosamma frowned.“You can’t know what you look like. We have no mirrors.”
Eze smiled, then winced.“I can imagine, from what he looked like after the thrashings.” She pointed at Phex.
“What now?” he snapped, clearly annoyed at the women for discussing him in a language he didn’t understand.
For once, he looked presentable, certainly better than Eze. The swelling on his face had subsided, revealing his chiseled cheekbones. His eyes had returned to dark pools of stoic resolve. A cut on his temple would scar, but it only added to his warrior good looks.
The scene in the Habitat flashed across Rosamma’s mind: his veiny, flexed arms; the gleeful, crude shouts of the pirates; Sassa’s pale, bruised skin…
She looked away.
She didn’t blame him for his actions there. If anything, she blamed herself for not giving him more energy to break the effects of the spice charm.And she blamed the pirates, of course. In particular, the Striker who had orchestrated the whole thing and then knocked her out to keep it going.
He couldn’t have known about her energy, could he?
But the shrewd beast must have guessed she was helping Phex.
Ogre.
The Striker was already guilty of so much that it hardly warranted a special distinction.
Still, it was difficult to look at Phex now and not think about Sassa.
She wondered what he truly felt. There was a subtle change in him that was impossible to deny: an acceptance.But of what?
It made Rosamma uneasy.
“I took a better look at the weapons the pirates keep in the Crew Quarters,” she said, turning her thoughts to more immediate matters.
