Page 25 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
Henri pulls the pistoblaster from his belt and fires. Duncan drops instantly. Before I can even scream, he turns the weapon on Prianka. The shot hits her, and she slumps over in her wheelchair.
I rush to her, my hands trembling as I search for a pulse. Nothing. She’s gone.
Henri stands behind me, proud of what he’s done. “Nowthat’sa job well done,” he says, like he’s congratulating himself. “You can check all you want—they’re both dead. Don’t waste your tears on her. Prianka’s finally free of the burden she carried. And you know it.”
I can barely breathe. My mind is spinning, my heart shattered.
He crouches beside me, voice low and cold. “So here’s the deal. I could kill you too—sure, it’d be harder to explain, but not impossible. Or… you run. That would make my story more believable. The jealous girl, unstable, who snapped when she found her lover sneaking into her sister’s room. You fled the scene. Tragic.”
He stands, brushing imaginary dust from his hands. “I’ll even give you a head start. Two minutes before I call for help. And don’t worry—I’ve already got my eye on someone new to take your place.”
I can barely breathe from the pain as I hold Prianka’s lifeless body in my arms. My heart is breaking. I know I’m not going to make it. How could I possibly survive out there on my own?
But one thing is clear—if I stay, Henriwillkill me. He’ll make it look like an accident, or worse, like I deserved it. I have to run. Now.
Terrified, I press one last kiss to my sister’s forehead, then force myself to let go. I turn and bolt into the forest, hoping the trees will hide me, protect me—give me a chance.
She’s gone. My sister is gone. And now I’m completely alone in the world.
But I’m not giving up. Not yet. Not without a fight.
Chapter 7.
Pherebos
“Rhooo, Wingo! You're such a pain, you know!” I shout, rubbing my foot.
“Not always! Sometimes... I sleep!” he shoots back.
Wingo may be a young adult, but he still has the reflexes of a kid. He leaves his toys scattered all over the floor in the SIL cabin. And honestly, is there anything worse than stepping on a sharp toy barefoot right after getting out of the shower?
I mean, how hard is it to just toss your toys into the drawer under your bed?
“I don’t get you! In Earth movies, the hero gets shot like five times and still chases the bad guys! You, you step on a toy and act like you’ve lost a foot!”
Don’t get me wrong, but seriously—just put the toy away! As long as I’m in charge here, you follow my rules. Simple as that.
“Fine, fine! I’ll take care of it. I bet I’d make a way nicer captain than you anyway.”
I laugh. “Oh, I’d love to see that! And how would you handle SILMAR?”
“Gnuffgnuff!” he grumbles, ending the conversation.
As I do every day, I start up a Queen playlist that fills the ship. I love Earth music, but Wingo is a huge fan of this band.“I Want to Break Free”starts playing as I finish getting dressed. I watch my little companion grab the two evil toys with his long proboscis and stash them somewhere more appropriate.
He once told me he grew a lot in a very short time. It didn’t happen right after he joined me on the SIL, but about six months ago. One morning, I found him curled up, shivering and moaning. He was bedridden for nearly two weeks before we figured out what was going on.
In less than a month, he’d more than doubled in size. His body lost its baby-like roundness, and his little trunk grew longer and more agile. That proboscis has made him much more independent on board. He uses it to open sleeping drawers, bathroom doors, even the shower. It helps with a lot of things—except anything that needs precision, like picking a movie or documentary on the control panel. So I set up a touch-tablet for him with symbols for his favorite songs. He can play them whenever he wants.
I’m grateful to the Flots for bringing me to this little being in distress. He’s smart, kind, and yes, a bit mischievous—but he’s a great companion for this journey. I think he’s adapted pretty well to the life we lead out here.
“Akifumi’s calling!” SILMAR’s patching us through to the cockpit.
“Call authorized!”
“Hello, number 215. This is number 08, ready to hear your report.”
My mentor and contact, Akifumi, confirms his identity with his voiceprint and by stating both his serial number and mine. With that, we can speak freely.
