Page 75 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
I analyze the situation quickly. She said the antidote—or whatever can counter this—must be administered within eight hours. So we have a bit of time.
First thing’s first: her clothes. That poison-drenched outfit has to go. And her skin must be rinsed. Then we get her to Gekkar Creek.
“Wash Sam!” I tell Goulou, pointing at her.
I don’t know sign language like Sam does, but this is not up for discussion.
Luckily, the Gekkaris are frighteningly efficient and impressively coordinated. Within moments, Sam is undressed and carried by several of them to the water basin I use daily.
I watch helplessly as they bathe her quickly, then dry her off. Flea brings a loose dress that they slip onto her unresponsive body.
“You go in eh-oh-pah!” Goulou announces.
I blink, trying to decode what he means.
“Eh-oh-pah!” he repeats, pointing toward the aeropod.
Right. He wants me to fly her to the doctor in Gekkar Creek. Makes sense—I hadn’t even taken time to think.
“You go!” I say to Goulou.
“Goulou no!” he protests, his skin turning a hideous piss-yellow.
I follow them to the aeropod, where they carefully place Sam—still unconscious—on the floor in the back. Obviously, theGekkaris have never flown one of these things. Or anything else, for that matter. So the job falls to me.
My mind is chaos.
Sure, I’m still recovering. I limp around with a cane and my strength is a shadow of what it was. But I can still fly. The aeropod. The two-seater ship Sam parked miles away.
Nothing ties me to this place. I could leave now—head back to Srebat, my home. By the time I got there, I’d have regained full strength. Once home, I’d just need to regroup… and retake what was mine.
I climb into the aeropod, stiffly, thanks to my stubborn leg. I run a quick diagnostic and check the saved routes. Three are obvious: Gekkar Creek, Home, and Ship. The rest are exotic places—Bounom River, some lakes...
Decision made in seconds. I select “Ship.”
Two minutes later, I’m there. Right where we left it when we arrived on Gekkaria. I remember waking up in this aeropod, carried by a whole pack of Gekkaris to my case. The memory still makes my teeth grind.
The hatch opens. There it is—Sam and Logan’s old ship. The same one my men intercepted back then. No insignia linking it to the Confederation. Just a sleek, solid design—exactly the kind of prize they’d seize.
I limp toward the ramp, ignoring my own subconscious screaming that Sam might die.
The ship’s door slides open. Inside: a standard layout. Cockpit for two. Basic living quarters. The cot I’d used still smells like me.
Glorious. My ticket home, right here.
“AI, run a full systems check,” I say, hoping the thing isn’t password-protected.
“The ship is fully operational. Solar batteries are charged. Water supply sufficient for two occupants.”
“Excellent. Food rations?”
“Enough for three standard days.”
I grimace. Not ideal.
“Estimate travel time to Srebat.”
“That destination is not in my database.”
