Page 10 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
“Of course. But for what purpose?” she replies.
“Because we have a guest on board,” I say, lifting the small ball of fur into my arms. My voice trembles slightly.
I wait a moment before placing him gently into the portside sleeping drawer. My mind is still racing, but I know I have to act.
“Don’t be afraid, buddy,” I whisper. “It’s just for a few hours, to help you adjust. You’ll be safe.” I try to send him a mental image of myself inside the drawer, hoping he understands.
He lets me close the hatch without resistance. That says a lot about what he’s been through—and about his ability to trust.
“SILMAR, restore the cabin’s standard atmosphere and adjust the drawer’s environment based on his vitals. Also, send me everything you have on his species. I need to figure out how to help him.”
“Do I need to remind you that we must leave the area immediately to avoid the incoming debris?” SILMAR asks.
“Damn it, SILMAR, you’re an eighth-generation AI. Don’t tell me you can’t handle all of this at once.”
“Pherebos, I am fully capable of multitasking. However, your safety and the integrity of the mission remain my top priorities. Bringing an unknown lifeform aboard introduces variables that could compromise both.”
“I understand the risks, SILMAR. But I couldn’t just leave him to die.”
“Understood. Initiating departure protocols while maintaining a safe environment for our guest. Please ensure he remains secure during the transition.”
“Thank you, SILMAR. I appreciate your cooperation.”
“You’re welcome, Pherebos. Proceed with caution. The debris field is dense, and we must navigate carefully to avoid collisions.”
“I trust you, SILMAR. Let’s get out of here safely.”
“Affirmative. Engaging thrusters and plotting a course through the debris field. Hold on tight.”
I let SILMAR handle the flight and turn my full attention to our little guest. I pull up the analysis results.
The last recorded entry dates back nearly two years. A Confederation ship had been exploring this region when it detected life on a small planet. Just before a massive meteorite struck, the crew managed to extract a few specimens. The planet shattered into countless fragments, and the ship was never heard from again—likely destroyed in the catastrophe.
It seems a few of these creatures somehow survived, clinging to this larger fragment—large enough to retain a thin atmosphere. If that’s true, then this little furball might be the last of his kind. It’s a sobering thought. Still, the possibility that others might have survivedelsewhere gives me hope. Maybe one day, he won’t be alone.
I keep reviewing the data. He’s a young male, though older than I initially thought. As an adult, he’ll weigh close to ninety kilos and stand nearly eighty centimeters at the shoulder. That’s no small creature. How his family managed to hide in that swamp is beyond me. According to the scan, his diet includes proteins, plants, and berries. I’ll have to figure out how to replicate that.
Four hours later, we’ve cleared the danger zone. Time to let him out.
SILMAR has gradually adjusted the air mixture in the drawer to match mine. I trigger the release mechanism. The drawer opens with a soft hiss, and two golden eyes blink up at me, cautious but alert.
“Hey, buddy. Did you get some rest?” I ask with a smile.
“Gnuffgnuff…” he replies, hopping out of the drawer and landing gracefully on the floor.
“Well, I think it’s time for a shower. You’ve turned that bunk into a mud pit. Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up. Come on, let’s get you sorted,” I say, gesturing toward the rear door.
“Gnuffgnuff!” he adds, and suddenly I see an image in my mind—me, standing with my arms open, inviting him aboard.
If I’m reading the wave of calm and gratitude that comes with it correctly, he’s thanking me. And he trusts me. At least, I hope that’s what he’s trying to say. It’sclear he’s intelligent, but we’re going to need a better way to communicate.
“My name is Pherebos. Phe-Re-Bos,” I say slowly, pointing to myself.
I don’t expect a response, so I’m caught off guard when I get one. It’s simple, but unmistakable.
“Wingododonogo!” he says directly into my mind, along with a mental image of others like him. I pause, confused.
“Wingo?” I ask, pointing at him for confirmation.
