Page 22 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“You need something, kiddo?” he asks.
Ugh. I swear he calls me that on purpose—like when we first met. But he can’t possibly still see me as a child, can he? If he does… well, I plan on changing that before the week is over.
“I was just wondering where you were while my brother got himself injured,” I reply sweetly, giving him my most innocent smile. “I’m glad to see you made it through without a scratch.”
“Ayden wasn’t in the same sector when it happened. I was sleeping—fell right out of my bunk—while he was out investigating with Vlad,” Logan jumps in.
Of course. Those two always have each other’s backs.
“Ahh, that makes sense. A heroic napper, huh?” I smirk, turning back to my brother. “Saving the galaxy one snooze at a time. Impressive.”
“Haha, you get it! Even my snoring is legendary,” Logan laughs.
“Unfortunately, that’s true,” Ayden sighs dramatically.
“Dinner time, kids!” Mom calls out. “We’ll continue this thrilling discussion over my stew.”
A little later, we’re all sitting at the table, listening to Logan and Ayden excitedly recount their adventures on distant worlds. One thing’s clear—Logan really is happy with the life he’s chosen.
He and Ayden travel the galaxy to… well, officially, they scout for terraforming candidates and catalog new lifeforms. Unofficially, they hunt down soul traffickers and planetary exploiters.
Mom jokingly calls them her “space sheriffs.” We all got a good laugh out of it—though originally, she said “space cowboys,” which Logan immediately corrected.
“There are no cows in space, Mom!” he had argued.
So “sheriffs” it is—and the name stuck.
Gekkaria—or at least the colony part—is a dry, dusty land that looks like those old Earth westerns, all wide plains and endless sun. Out of humor or nostalgia, the settlers started naming things accordingly. That’s how our colony became Gekkar Creek, a nod to the planet with a bit of retro-futuristic charm.
When the meal ends, Logan stretches and says,
“Alright, I’m off to see Dad. He in his studio?”
“Probably. If not, try the saloon. That’s where he sells his ‘Albert’s Virility Powder,’” I say dryly.
“His what?” Logan chokes.
“‘Albert’s Virility Powder.’ He hunts down a few poor Nalgous, chops off their horns, grinds them up, and sells the powder to desperate men for a fortune.”
“That’s insane!” Ayden protests. “Horns are just keratin—same stuff as nails and hair! There’s no scientific basis for that.”
“He knows that,” Mom says. “But he’s not selling facts. He’s selling hope—or at least, illusions of it.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Logan says. “I know you’ve probably already tried, but maybe he’ll listen to me.”
I watch my brother walk away and silently hope he’ll get through to our father. But prayers haven’t exactly worked out well for us in the past.
I start clearing the table, still deep in thought.
“So, as galaxy sheriffs, you can’t stop him from doing this?” I ask Ayden.
“First of all, we’re not sheriffs—we’re Galactic Sentinels. And second, remember: Gekkaria’s an autonomous world. TheIntergalactic Confederation can’t interfere in its affairs. They’ve only got a refueling base here because the Gekkaris allowed it. Nothing more.”
“But… the Gekkaris hate what he’s doing to the Nalgous. Trust me, I know.”
“Sam, why don’t you take Ayden to the Gekkari village?” Mom suggests. “Let him see their way of life. Logan will be gone for hours anyway. And I need to stop by Rebecca’s to drop off the new batch of ointments.”
I stare at her, stunned. My mom has just handed me Ayden on a silver platter—for hours. She has no idea what that means for me.
