Page 34 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
“Well,” Pherebos says, “since you’re shivering from cold and exhaustion, I think a shower comes first. I’ll make you some hot soup.”
I nod, but inside, I’m panicking. I’m down to my underwear, a torn night tunic that reeks after three days on the run, and a pair of sandals.
Pherebos seems to realize the same thing. He looks away, clearly embarrassed. A moment later, he returns with a large white shirt—his own.
“Here,” he says, holding it out. “Something to change into after your shower. Just leave your things on the floor—I’ll wash them later.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, as both of them respectfully turn their backs and leave the hygiene room.
After a long, difficult effort, I finally manage to undress and step into the shower. As always on a spaceship, time is limited. I wash quickly but thoroughly, focusing on my wounds. I would’ve traded my next meal just to stay under that hot water a little longer.
I get why Pherebos doesn’t have the same access to water as the Governor. And when I think about the price I paid just to get this far...
Drying off and getting dressed is just as complicated as undressing was. I give up trying to get my left arm through the sleeve pretty quickly. The shirt is oversized, so I just tuck my injured arm against my torso and slide my good arm through the right sleeve.
Pherebos’s shirt is big, but it only reaches halfway down my thighs. I put my dirty underwear back on—Ican’t bring myself to walk around without it in front of a stranger.
In the main room, Pherebos has set up a small table and two fold-out stools. He gestures for me to sit.
“You look better!How are you feeling?”Wingo adds, his voice echoing gently in my mind.
“Better, thank you,” I reply.
Pherebos gives me a strange look, then glances at Wingo, then back at me. He shrugs, like he’s not sure what just happened but decides not to question it.
Pherebos hands me a bowl of rehydrated soup. I cradle it in my hands and drink it slowly at first, savoring the warmth that spreads through my chest. It’s the first real comfort I’ve felt in days.
But hunger takes over. I finish the bowl in just a few moments, completely forgetting I’m not alone.
When I finally look up, I find both of them staring at me. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I must’ve looked like a starving animal. But before I can say anything, Wingo is already trotting over, holding out a nutrition bar with his long, claw-like proboscis.
Wingo really is full of surprises.
Pherebos has already moved to the cockpit. He looks focused, ready to take off.
“The course is set for BN-35,” announces the AI—but this time, the voice is different. It’s no longer the neutral metallic tone from earlier. Now it sounds human. Feminine. Warm, even.
“BN-35?” I blurt out, panic rising in my chest. “That’s Henri’s old base. There’s a good chance he’s warned every Confederation outpost about me!”
“Don’t worry,” Pherebos says calmly. “It’s a decoy. SILMAR—my AI—is heading there for now, but she’ll change course before we get close. It’s just to cover our tracks in case anyone checks the flight path. I’m taking you somewhere they won’t find you.”
His explanation eases some of the tension in my chest. Right now, my biggest concern is getting away from Henri. But still... what if I’ve just escaped one monster only to fall into the hands of another? How would I even know?
“Let’s just get going, shall we?” Pherebos says, turning toward the back. “Wingo, show Ileana your bunk and lie down with her. I’ll confirm once we pass the control scan.”
I watch our furry companion activate the opening mechanism of the port-side cabin berth. I’ve never slept in a berth like this before. The cabins on BN-35 were small, sure—but not this cramped.
“You’ll get the hang of it in no time!”Wingo says encouragingly.
I settle onto the bunk. Even without bedding, it’s surprisingly soft. Wingo climbs in right after me and stretches out to his full length, pressing himself firmly against my side. His warmth is immediate and grounding.
Pherebos watches us with a critical eye.
“We’re not bad,” he says. “Ileana, could you wrap your arms around Wingo’s body so they connect withhis torso? And try to align your legs with his paws. I’ll close the drawer and we’ll get this done.
I do exactly as I’m told, even burying my head beneath his. Wingo’s body is soft and warm, and without thinking, I run my hand gently through his fur. I pause when I feel him twitch.
“Oh, not there—your hands! That tickles!”he chuckles in my head.
