Page 13 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
I glance at Vlad. He’s already thinking what I’m thinking.
That’s where our friends are.
“What can we do to help?” I ask.
“You’ll need to get through Sector 6, evacuate any survivors to the medical zone, then push onward. Power’s down, so air filtration’s offline. They’re in the dark—and running out of breathable air. AI, how much time do we have?”
“Administrator,” the AI responds in that oddly polite, emotionless tone, “that depends on the specific rooms. I assume you’re referring to those disabled by the incident?”
“Correct. Use the last saved status from just before the explosion. You must know how many people were present.”
“There were three individuals in 6A, five in 6B, and one in 6C. Probability of survival: 0.02%. All sections were sealed by automatic partitions. Attention should be focused on adjoining zones—Sectors 5 and 7. Survivors are more likely in Sectors 4 through 1. I will send detailed occupant lists to the console.”
“AI,” I say, “where’s the neural implant update room?”
“Administrator, may I respond?” the AI asks, following protocol.
“Yes, answer any questions from Vlad and Ayden until further notice,” Akura confirms.
“The implant update room is in 5C. It housed six Humans at the time of the explosion—two station staff and four patients in transit.”
Vlad turns to me, his face tense. Same thought. Same fear.
Logan and the others are in there. Way too close to the blast zone.
“We’re going,” he says. At the exact same time as I do.
“AI, what can you tell us about that specific room?” I ask.
“Room 5C measures approximately twelve square meters, with standard ceiling height—yielding a volume of thirty cubic meters. With six occupants, air becomes toxic after approximately two and a half hours. Faster, if physical activity or temperature increases. Regular ventilation is recommended.”
“So we’ve got less than two hours to get there and fix this,” I say. Not ideal.
Melissa leans over the console, reading the AI’s latest data.
“Sector 5 includes a lab and two storage rooms—six people total. Sector 4 is laundry—currently empty. Sectors 3 and 1 are rec rooms facing the void, and Sector 2 is the cafeteria. Around twenty people are stranded beyond Sector 6.”
“Oscar will get you respirator masks and accompany you,” Akura says, shifting into command mode. “You’ll report in real time so we can walk you through any critical adjustments. Melissa, show them the way while I handle the rest of the station and deploy teams to sweep every corner.”
Melissa gives us both a wary glance but nods. A tall man with deep brown skin approaches, carrying three helmets.
“These will keep you breathing and in touch,” Oscar says, his voice deep and calm. “Oxygen levels, air pressure, and temperature will display inside the visor.”
Vlad grabs his with a wink. “Thanks, Oscar. Looks like you’re our guardian angel today.”
Melissa rolls her eyes again, but this time—just maybe—there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk.
She turns to me, expression serious again. “Be careful. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
I nod, adjusting the mask over my face.
“We’ll keep you posted,” I say, testing the comm connection.
Akura nods and returns to her team. Oscar hands us a sleek tablet.
“Map of the station,” he explains. “Navigation’s frozen in the damaged sectors, so we’ll be winging it.”
Vlad lifts an eyebrow. “So… a fancy tablet that doesn’t work? I love a challenge.”
