Regi schooled his emotions before he could say something unforgivable. Even Vk and Thet’thec had rather judgmental expressions. “In general,” Regi said slowly, “avoid killing suspects. However, when your ship is disabled and you are clinging to the edge of a black hole, never kill the person with access codes to the only functioning ship.” Regi could hope for a second pirate, but that hope was small. Once they had determined that an army didn’t lay in wait, Regi suspected they would have only one pirate on board. After all, that would be enough to disengage the boarding locks when the pirates returned. And it would maximize the number of crew available to raid ships. Maybe they would be lucky and find some gravely injured individual in the med bays.
“Don’t kill the person with the codes. That’s a good rule,” Wayi said in a tiny voice.
“Yes, it is.” Regi strode down the hallway, his aggravation crawling under his skin. He turned the corner and a moment too late, he registered the damaged floor panel. He tried to stop, but the deck was slick and his toe caught the edge of the bent grate. Regi threw his arms out in a desperate attempt to catch himself. He couldn’t.
With a pained crack, he hit the floor. He sucked in a breath and regretted it when his ribs protested vehemently. He had cracked one or two, if he hadn’t broken them altogether. He lay staring at the curved ceiling and wondering what he had done to catch the attention of the gods. At this point, he couldn’t imagine any other explanation for such misfortune.
“Regi, are you hurt?” Wayi asked, her voice far too loud given they could still have pirates in the area. “Regi?” Warm fingers tried to pull him up, and Regi cursed in three different languages.
“Oh dear.”
“Get Bevit. Tell her to bring supplies to stabilize a bone.” Regi gritted his teeth against the pain, and a fang nicked the inside of his lip.
“Oh dear.”
He really wished she would find something else to say. Anything.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and then she ran back toward the ship.
“Thet’thec, guard her,” Regi ordered, and he hurried after.
Once they were gone, Vk crouched at his side. “How bad?”
“Cracked ribs, at least.”
“From tripping?” Her voice verged on amusement. If she believed in the gods, if any of the rest of the crew believed in the gods, Regi would have a painfully honest conversation with them about the inherent danger of being near a god-touched Kowri.
Instead, he managed a weak, “Bad luck. Get me my weapon.” It had slipped out of his grasp when he’d fallen. Vk brought it back, and Regi checked it for damage. The computer reported function within parameters but the handle had a chip in it. “Check the end of the corridor and watch for any other crew,” Regi ordered.
Vk studied him, her expression disbelieving.
“We know there are no pirates the way we came, and if you’re at that end, no pirates can come at me. Just clear the rooms as you move.”
“We can wait for others.”
“We’re hovering near a black hole, and we don’t know if there’s another pirate with his finger on a self-destruct. Time matters, move as far as you can while keeping me in sight, and I’ll watch your back.”
Vk wrinkled her long nose until the whole thing looked like a crumpled sock. But then she stood. Regi watched her, but he let his mind wander paths he had not dared since he’d abandoned the Empire. When he’d left, he had dedicated himself to Poque, Lady of wanderers. Under her auspices, he could travel where he liked, even if his mother, the exalted favorite of Otutha, forbade him.
Sometimes he didn’t know how his fathers dealt with her. She thought she had a right to arrange the universe to her liking.
He stilled his mind, the way he’d been taught in theology class as a child. Breathing slowly, he tried to open himself to his god. He mouthed the words, “Poque, Lady of wanderers, I dedicate myself to you.”
If Poque was watching, that was an invitation for more bad luck, but at this point, luck had led him to the edge of a black hole. It couldn’t get much worse, and he needed the gods’ second blessing. He thought he felt a woman’s cold fingers brush his soul, appropriate given Poque was a goddess of the cold season. Cold season gods had too little respect for the fragility of life. Or maybe they wished to cure the universe of its pesky habit of breathing. Either way, they were the most dangerous of all the gods, which is why so many feared to take Poque’s path of wandering.
Then again, droves of young people tried to pledge themselves to another cold season god—Gavd, god of justice. The temple rejected most, which was a small comfort to Regi since he was among that number.
Half convinced he was hallucinating, Regi thanked his goddess for her presence and focused on the ship around him. If a god’s blessing had tripped him and broken his ribs, then opportunity was within reach and he needed to find it. The walls were dull metal, unremarkable in any way. Evenly spaced doors opened into dormitory-style rooms, like the one where the pirate had been hiding. These exterior rooms were most at risk of breach, so this was where the low-ranked crew would live. Narrow storage rooms would lie under the hull, but asteroids sometimes penetrated that far. High-ranking crew or guests would be closer to the core.
The broken decking hid no contraband beneath it. The compartment under the grate was a few inches deep and crammed with conduits and wiring that engineers would need to access for repairs. Regi had grown up hearing his mother curse Otutha for presenting only problems, but for the first time, Regi understood his mother’s frustration.
Poque had faith that Regi would solve this problem, but that faith might have been misplaced.
Since he couldn’t see anything, Regi ran his fingers over the nearby decking. Because of how he’d fallen, his fingertips brushed the wall, but he couldn’t properly reach it. After checking to see that Vk was safe, Regi pushed his broken body several inches closer. The pain nearly made him black out.
“Regi?” Vk called.
Regi waved her away. “I’m fine. I was lying awkwardly, and I moved.”
