Page 55 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“No visible signs of violence. No bullet holes, no blood. Looks like they all just… died. Most were in their bunks. The captain’son the bridge, slumped in his chair. Judging by the state of the bodies, this happened days ago.”
“Shit. Containment,” Vlad mutters, brows furrowed.
“AI, initiate containment protocol and begin pathogen scan,” I command through my wristband.
Well, we’re officially in deep shit. We’ll have to tow this deathtrap to the nearest Confed base for decontamination and full investigation. And I can already hear the word I dread most: quarantine. Just great.
We make a swift exit and seal the airlock behind us.
“AI, start full disinfection of the Impala,” Vlad orders.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling up. If this was a virus, we're screwed. Whatever it was, it hit hard and fast. We need to stay alert and not freak out.
“Disinfection in progress,” the AI confirms. “Did either of you touch potentially contaminated surfaces?”
“Uh… control panels, elevator buttons, doors…” I mutter, already regretting our decision.
“Were you wearing protective gear when you boarded?” the AI presses.
“No,” Vlad answers, annoyed. “Those suits limit mobility. If it had been an ambush, they’d have slowed us down.”
“As per protocol, Impala maintained positive pressure during the docking, ensuring containment within the foreign vessel. However, if the pathogen made contact, it is beyond my control. I’ve notified the nearest base and set course for BN-33. They’ll provide further instructions and prepare for your arrival. In the meantime, monitor each other closely for symptoms. Report anything unusual immediately.”
Vlad and I exchange a look of shared regret. There’s no way around it now.
“The silver lining? We get an extra shower—with lots of fun chemicals! We’ll be squeaky clean for the next decade,” Vlad jokes.
“You go first,” I grimace, thinking about the hell that is a decontamination cycle—overheated water and acidic sprays that sting like hell.
“Me? First? What am I, the guinea pig?” he gasps, pretending to be scandalized. “If I survive, you’ll know it’s safe.”
“Don’t worry. If you die, I’ll make sure they remember you as a true hero,” I shoot back with a grin. “Now move your ass!”
“When you put it that way…” Vlad sighs and disappears into the hygiene bay.
While he’s busy scrubbing himself raw, I prep the course to BN-33 and run the procedures with the AI. Once he reemerges—naked, again, but this time with a legit excuse—I head in for my turn.
I strip down, dump my clothes in the sterilizer, and step into the shower unit.
“Go ahead, start the cycle,” I tell the AI.
The first blast hits like acid. My skin screams as a thousand microscopic needles jab into every pore. The chemical stink burns my throat, and I cough violently. Steam clogs my lungs. My muscles clench involuntarily, and my eyes sting even though they’re shut tight. It’s brutal. Absolutely brutal.
And all I can think is… I could’ve avoided this.
If I’d listened to Vlad and headed for the Eastern quadrant, I could’ve been on Gekkaria. I could’ve seen Logan. I could’ve seen her. But no. I made my choice. And now Vlad and I are stuck with the consequences.
All we can do now is hope we weren’t exposed long enough to catch whatever killed those poor bastards.
Only time will tell.
14-Noviosk
For the past three cycles, since I took control of Vagantu, everything has gone exactly as planned. I've become theundisputed leader of the Coalition's Eastern Quadrant. My reputation spread quickly after my initial strike.
Restructuring the slave market was swift, and Banny’s suggestions turned out to be even more effective than I’d anticipated. Business has boomed like never before.
And yet… I’m starting to feel that itch again. Boredom. Nothing compares to the rush of conquest—of seizing new worlds, of watching entire civilizations tremble before the might of the Srebats and surrender. But lately, nothing stirs my hunger. A slow rot of apathy has begun to creep in.
