Page 51 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
I clear my throat. “Not at all. Wingo was just about to leave us.”
I realize how confusing my behavior must seem. She has every right to be offended by our private exchanges. I can’t exactly explain that I have no secrets from Wingo—while clearly keeping some from her. The truth is, I’ve been keeping Wingo at arm’s length lately. Even his silent judgments make me uncomfortable.
For now, I’ve decided to share a little with her—but not everything.
She’s watching me, waiting for me to speak. There’s suspicion in her eyes, and I don’t blame her. I hesitate, unsure where to begin. So instead, I pull out the analyzer.
It’s a start.
“As you know, the Intergalactic Confederation was founded by the Polarian people—highly advanced, technologically speaking. They’re peaceful, but not naive. They understand how even the most innocent invention can be twisted into something dangerous by the wrong hands.”
“I know that,” she replies quickly. “But I’ve never had direct contact with the Coalition, if that’s who you’re talking about. All I know is they’re made up of worlds outside the Confederation’s control, and they’ve got a reputation for being… shady. I’m not naive.”
“To be honest, I deal with them more often than I’d like. My official role in the Confederation is to explore the galaxy and identify planets that could be terraformed. There’s a lot to consider—sometimes a planet has all the right conditions, but it’s missing that final spark for life to take hold. When that happens, I log the coordinates, and a team of specialists comes in. The process can take decades.”
“Like on MyFaS?” she asks.
“Exactly like MyFaS. But when you’re out there, you inevitably cross paths with Coalition ships. Sometimes you have to stop at one of their bases. To blend in, I trade things they’re interested in.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re a drug dealer?!”
I wince. I knew this part would be tricky.
“No, Ileana, not like that! I do a bit of tech trafficking—harmless stuff. If I have to stop on a Coalition base, I need a cover story. So I wear neutral gear and carry a few counterfeit items. That’s it. That’s the whole story.”
She crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced. “The Coalition is run by people who’d sell their own families for profit. You can’t just mix with them like it’s no big deal!”
“I’m not talking about the criminal hubs,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I mean the quiet, isolated places. The ones where no one asks questions. I’m careful, Ileana. I promise.”
“The situation’s a bit more complicated than that,” I explain as we walk toward the SIL on the landing platform. “There are species like the Polarians—fundamentally benevolent. They function more like insect colonies, working for the collective good rather than individual gain. Over time, their empathy has only deepened. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Polar who wasn’t a natural do-gooder.”
She listens quietly, thoughtful.
“On the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got the Venors, or Penubiens. No empathy. No emotional ties, not even to their own families. And unfortunately, they’re not the only ones like that.”
“Have you met any?” she asks, her voice tight with concern.
“Yeah. And I’m extremely cautious around them. But the truth is, most species—including humans—fall somewhere in between. Not all good, not all bad.”
As soon as I say it, I regret the example. She’s human. That might’ve come off as insulting.
But she surprises me. “I know what you mean,” she says, meeting my eyes. “My parents were the kindest people I’ve ever known. My sister too—she never let bitterness take over, even though she had every reason to. Henri, though… he’s the opposite. Pure cruelty, hidden behind a charming face.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. That could’ve gone very wrong. She’s seen the best and worst of her kind—and she understood what I meant.
We step onto the ship, and she gives me a look. One that says she’s still watching me closely.
“SILMAR, unlocks the hidden compartment.”
Normally, I deactivate the most advanced version of SILMAR whenever I leave the ship—except here on MyFaS. Here, I keep her fully alert. There are no planetary security systems, and if anything ever goes wrong, SIL is still our best shot at getting out fast.
A trapdoor slides open from the floor in the main cabin. Ileana stares at it, wide-eyed.
“It’s just a hiding spot,” I say casually.
“For your smuggling,” she replies, deadpan.
Right. That’s how it sounds.
