Page 65 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
It’s exactly how I remember it from two years ago, the last time I was here—right before I crossed paths with Wingo. This is where I lifted a sensitive list from a guy named Farid. I just hope he’s not around… or that he’s forgotten my face.
But honestly? I’ll do whatever it takes to get the information I need to find Ileana.
Until the auction, I don’t think she’s in immediate danger. Her captors will want to keep her healthy—she’ll fetch a better price that way. But the sooner I get her back, the sooner I’ll be able to breathe again. My breath has been shallow and erratic for days now.
When Wingo and I step into the bar, the place goes dead silent.
The room is packed—Humans, Vendors, Sadjims, Penubians, and all kinds of Coalition smugglers. This isn’t some quiet little backwater like the one Ileana used to dream about. These people? They’d sell their own kin for a few extra credits. No question, our entrance has them on edge. Me—the only known Asgarnian in this quadrant—and Wingo, who doesn’t even look like he belongs in this galaxy. I can see it in their eyes: they’re calculating whether we’re worth the risk of capturing.
But luck’s on my side. I spot Rick in the back, slouched at a table.
I make my way across the bar. The crowd parts slowly, eyes following me. I stop in front of him.
He’s exactly how I remember him—massive build, hairy shoulders, arms spilling out of a filthy, reeking outfit. He’s sitting with a guy who looks just like him. With any luck, this one’s just as dim as the first.
“Prick! My man! So good to see you. How’ve you been?”
Both Humans stare at me with the alertness of a pagurod at sunrise. And if you’ve ever seen a pagurod in the morning, you know there’s not a whole lot going on upstairs.
“It’s Rick. Not Prick,” he corrects me, sounding unsure.
“Oh, right, sorry. I’m terrible with names,” I say, chuckling.
He stands up and offers a handshake. Just as I expected, he’s thrilled by the attention. Everyone’s watching now—even the guy next to him. He’s the one who knows an Asgarnian traveling with some weird alien creature. This is his moment of glory.
Without waiting, I sit down at their table. Wingo curls up at my feet.
Around us, the tension eases. Conversations pick back up.
“This is my brother, Nick,” Rick says. “Been a while since we’ve seen you around,” he adds, eyeing me with suspicion.
“Rick and Nick,”Wingo snorts.“Gotta love parents who put zero effort into naming their kids. Their aura’s weird, too. Like… muffled.”
“Don’t say it—I know. You don’t like them.”
“Hey, if I can’t speak my mind anymore… It’s like they’re sharing one brain between the two of them. You feel me?”
Unfazed, I nod politely to Nick and launch into a convoluted explanation.
“You know how it is, Prick—uh, Rick. One grain of sand in the gears and suddenly you’re neck-deep in trouble. So I’ve been laying low, trying to stay off the Confederation’s radar for a while.”
“Hey, was it you who sold my brother those landing struts?” Nick asks, squinting at me.
“Could be,” I reply casually. “Back in the day, I scavenged a few old Confed wrecks and stripped whatever parts I could find. But yeah, I guess I got on their radar after a while.”
“Well, your gear wasn’t exactly top quality,” he grumbles.
I give him a look of mock sympathy and just shrug.
“Not my fault, buddy. But hey, I’ve got something way better for you now. A real deal. One-of-a-kind stuff—galaxy exclusive.”
Both of them lean in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. They’re already imagining the rare score they’re about to make.
“Asgarnian weapons. Premium pieces.”
I drop the wordAsgarnianlike a bomb. It hits hard. I’ve got their full attention now—their greed practically radiating off them.
I pull out a tablet and show them a photo of the weapon: a double-bladed dagger, easily three feet long. To sell it better, I recorded a demo back on the SIL—me handling the blade with enough skill to make it look both deadly and desirable.
