Page 8 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
“What do you advise?”
“I already advised you not to enter the sector,” the AI replies, its tone bordering on reproach. “Now that we’re here, I suggest we continue. I detect a small, stable celestial body a few parsecs ahead. If we reach it without incident, I believe the debris field will thin out beyond that point. The body is large enough to absorb most of the surrounding fragments.”
I tighten my grip on the controls, my mind racing.
“And if we don’t make it?”
There’s a pause. A rare hesitation from a voice that’s usually so sure of itself.
“Then we may face severe damage. Or worse. Proceed with extreme caution.”
I take a breath, steady my hands, and nod.
“Alright. Let’s do it your way.”
I watch anxiously as a large chunk of debris skims past the front panel, missing us by what feels like inches. I don’t know why I feel the need to see the chaos I’ve thrown myself into. De-opaquing the front panel doesn’t change anything. SILMAR is the one doing all the work, constantly adjusting our trajectory, weaving us through this deadly field of rock and metal. I could just as easily crawl into my sleeping drawer or bury myself in a book.
But I don’t.
I stay right here, eyes wide open, not missing a second. I know it’s going to be close. Too close.
Every moment counts. One miscalculation, and we’re done. I glance at the control panel. The number of minor impacts is climbing. If I don’t start repairs soon, I’ll be piloting a floating wreck.
“SILMAR, can you land on the far side of that star you pointed out earlier? I’ll prep the repair kits and patch what I can.”
“That’s an excellent idea. There are several lacerations on the side panels that require immediate attention.”
After a few tense moments, we manage to land safely, shielded for now from the relentless stream of debris.
“You have five hours to complete the repairs,” SILMAR announces. “This star is rotating on its axis, and once it turns us back into the debris trajectory, we must not be here. That will happen in just under six hours.”
“Five hours to fix all this? I love it when you put the pressure on me,” I mutter sarcastically, fully aware that SILMAR, being an AI, doesn’t grasp sarcasm.
“Pressure is a physical force exerted on an object,” it replies in its usual flat tone.
I scroll through the environmental analysis of the celestial body we’ve landed on. The atmosphere is thin but breathable, with a composition close enough to what I’m used to. No viruses, no bacterial threats. That’s good enough for me. I strap on my full-facebreathing helmet, skipping the rest of the protective gear—it would only slow me down out there—and grab a generous supply of repair sprays.
“Don’t worry, SILMAR,” I say with a grin as I head for the hatch. “I’ll be back before you can say ‘system reboot.’”
“System reboot initiated,” it replies instantly.
I chuckle, shaking my head as I step outside.
Outside, a bleak landscape stretches before me. The asteroid’s surface is mostly swamp, broken only by a few scraggly shrubs clinging to life, their dark berries growing directly from the trunks. The air is thick with a musty scent, and each step I take sinks slightly into the damp, squelching ground. Overhead, the sky hangs heavy and gray, casting a somber shadow over everything.
What strikes me most are the fresh impact craters scattered across the terrain. Stellar debris has gouged deep wounds into the surface, some still smoldering, thin wisps of smoke curling into the air. It’s a scene of devastation, a silent testament to the violent collision that tore through this place.
I don’t waste time. I get to work immediately, focusing on the deepest hull gashes. I spray the repair compound, watching as it hisses on contact, melting the composite and smoothing it out as it dries. I have to wait for each section to solidify before moving on to the next. That’s what eats up most of the time.
The urgency gnaws at me. The longer I stay out here, the more exposed I am to whatever this place mightthrow at me. I keep glancing around, alert for any sign of movement. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant rumble of shifting debris.
Then something strange happens.
A sensation grips me—sharp, sudden. I feel like I’m not alone. I freeze, scanning the landscape. But there’s nothing. Just mud, rock, and smoke.
I shake it off and return to work.
But then an image flashes through my mind. I see this very place, under a storm of falling debris. The vision is so vivid I drop the spray can. Around me, everything is still. No signs of life. No sound.
