Page 39 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
How am I supposed to get out of this if things go wrong?
As Pherebos leads me toward the complex, giving me bits of information along the way, I scan the area for potential hiding spots—just in case. There’s a patch of bushes nearby that might work, but it’s not deep enough to keep me hidden for long.
Pherebos points to a spot on the outer wall. “To access the inside of the complex, just place your hand here,” he says. “No palmprint recognition. The site’s empty, so there’s no security.”
I follow him inside. The walls are a pale green, slightly translucent. It’s not dark, but the lighting is soft—just enough to see clearly.
“This is the communal living area,” he explains. “Dining space is to the right, rest and relaxation to the left. At the back, you’ve got hygiene facilities and a treatment room with a regeneration chamber. We’ll get your shoulder fixed up as soon as possible.
“There’s a hallway to the right with four rest quarters, and another to the left—same layout. I’ve taken the room at the end of the left corridor. Wingo usually hangs out in the common areas.”
“Can I choose where to sleep?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course you can!” Pherebos replies with a smile. “There are eight rooms available. Well—seven. I took the one facing the sunset and the mini-lake. I was alone, so…”
“No worries,” I say quickly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take one on the opposite side, to the right.”
“Make yourself at home,” he says, bowing slightly. “In that case, I’d suggest the one at the end of the corridor. It’s the biggest, and the only one with access to both the front and back of the complex. I think it used to be occupied by a couple.”
He seems relaxed about it all. Still, I can’t help but think—if I sleep in a different room, I won’t really be able to escape him if he ever decides to hurt me. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate since rescuing me from Jaga-18, but I’ve learned not to take anything for granted.
I turn right into the corridor and walk past the first two doors on purpose. The rooms on the left open onto the lush greenery behind the complex. From the last room at the far end, I can also see the SIL, partially hidden by the bushes. That’s why I choose it—so I can keep an eye on the only way in or out of our little world.
The room is simple, probably like the others. A bed, a storage chest. There’s a control panel by the door that lets you adjust the transparency of the walls, and you can even open the doors fully to the outside.
I don’t have any personal belongings to unpack, so I head back to the common area.
Wingo bursts in like a whirlwind, tongue lolling to the side.
“Hey! Want to go for a run with me?”he asks, bouncing around excitedly.
“Running? No, not at all, thank you!” I laugh, holding up my braced arm.
“Wingo, give Ileana a break,” Pherebos calls from the catering area. “We’ll show her around later. And as long as she’s wearing that shoulder brace, she’s off-limits.”
Our little furry friend looks sheepish and gently rubs against my leg. I smile and give him a pat on the head.
Pherebos hurries over to a tablet—similar to the one installed aboard the SIL—and taps a few commands. A few seconds later,“It’s A Kind of Magic”blasts through the complex.
I recognize it instantly. I know every song by this band—my parents used to play them all the time back on their home planet. Wingo, of course, starts wiggling his hindquarters to the rhythm, wandering around like he owns the place.
Pherebos glances at me, amused, and smiles.
“Ileana, why don’t you go get that shoulder fixed? It’ll probably take a few hours, but you’ll be back on your feet before sunset.”
I nod, though I’m not entirely sure. I want my arm back, fully functional. But to do that, I’ll have to undress in front of Pherebos so he can remove the composite brace that’s been holding my shoulder together these past few days.
I follow him into the treatment room. The regeneration sarcophagus looks exactly like the one wehad on Jaga-18. The sight of it stirs something complicated in me.
That machine healed my sister’s broken body more times than I can count. But it’s also the same one that let Henri hurt me—again and again—without anyone ever knowing.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pherebos says, trying to calm me. “You’ll be asleep before you know it, and when you wake up, your shoulder will be good as new. And while you’re napping in there, I’m going to make you some pancakes!”
I can’t help but ask, “Pancakes?”
“I’ve got dehydrated milk, powdered eggs, cereal flour, and water. I even picked up a solar pan on the black market.”
I stare at him. He’s talking about a recipe from my home world—well, my parents’ home world. I was born on BN-35, so I’ve never actually had the chance to try them.
