Page 13 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
So that’s it. That’s what excites him. It was never about my mother. It was always about me.
I force myself to say it out loud, to strip away any illusion: “If I understand correctly… either I become your companion, and Prianka and I go with you to Jaga-18 where she’ll have access to a sarcophagus… or we go to Jaga-11, where she’ll die without care.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his face before he nods.
“I’ll give you time to think it over,” he says smoothly. “You have three days. But I’m not a monster, Ileana. With me, you’d have an enviable position—governor’s companion. You’d be free to care for Prianka however you like. I think the choice is pretty obvious. But I won’t rush you.”
“Obvious?” I scoff, bitter. “You’re asking me to agree to be with a man older than my mother. A man I don’t love. Just to save my sister’s life?”
His expression darkens. His fists clench, and for a second, the polished mask slips. Then he exhales, smoothing his features into something softer—something almost tender.
“Don’t be so harsh,” he says. “Surely you’ve noticed I’ve been smitten with you since day one. You’re beautiful, Ileana. I know I’m more experienced, and I understand you don’t love me—yet. But I’m patient. You’ll come around. All I’m offering is security. For you. For Prianka. Think it over.”
He steps forward and presses a chaste kiss to my forehead before turning and walking out, leaving me alone in the silence.
Maybe I misunderstood.
Maybe when Henri said “companion,” he meant it in the official sense—someone to stand beside him at ceremonies, to share quarters, to play the role. Maybe he didn’t mean anything more.
But the moment I let myself entertain that thought, I know I’m lying to myself.
He’s right—I’m not naive. I’ve seen the way he looks at me. That gaze has always made my skin crawl. This wasn’t a suggestion. It was an ultimatum.
I need space. I head to the small relaxation and meditation room, hoping no one will disturb me. I just lost my mother. That should buy me a little solitude.
The room is simple—three large armchairs facing the outer wall of the base. I glance at the viewport, then sink into one of the chairs and let my eyes drift toward the stars.
The vastness of space stretches out before me—silent, endless, beautiful. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now. The only thing that doesn’t ask anything of me.
Henri was right about one thing: the choice is obvious. I can’t give up access to the regeneration sarcophagus. Prianka is my priority. Always has been.
I know how rare those devices are. How tightly regulated. How every cycle counts. But Prianka has always been an exception. Her bones snap like dry twigs. Sometimes they tear through muscle, even graze organs. She’s alive because of those machines.
If going to Jaga-18 is the only way to keep her alive, then that’s where we’ll go.
And when I think about it… maybe this isn’t so different from what women have faced for generations. My biological mother and my adoptive mother were both of Indian descent. In their culture—and in many others on old Earth—marriages were arranged. Love wasn’t always part of the equation. We saw it in the films Prianka loved to watch. Stories of women who made peace with duty. Who found strength in sacrifice.
Maybe I can do the same.
On Earth, in so many civilizations, alliances were forged not out of love, but necessity—practical, financial, political. Marriage was often a transaction, nota romance. I’ve seen it in the history files, in the documentaries Prianka loved, in the old films she made me watch over and over.
Of course, I would’ve preferred something else. A choice made freely. A connection built on affection, not obligation. But I don’t have that luxury. I have three days to decide.
Except… I already have.
The truth is, the decision was made the moment Henri laid out the terms. I can’t let Prianka suffer. I won’t let her die—not when there’s still a way to keep her alive. Even if that way costs me something I can never get back.
I’ll go to Jaga-18. I’ll play the role he wants. I’ll endure whatever I have to. Because Prianka is worth it.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a way to reclaim something of myself along the way.
Ileana, fourteen weeks later.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Prianka shrugs and smooths the plaid blanket over her knees.
“Yeah. I’d rather sit here in the quiet and enjoy my last evening here. If you don’t mind.”
