Page 13 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Pherebos

“Rhooo, Wingo! You're such a pain, you know!” I shout, rubbing my foot.

“ Not always! Sometimes... I sleep! ” he shoots back.

Wingo may be a young adult, but he still has the reflexes of a kid. He leaves his toys scattered all over the floor in the SIL cabin. And honestly, is there anything worse than stepping on a sharp toy barefoot right after getting out of the shower?

I mean, how hard is it to just toss your toys into the drawer under your bed?

“ I don’t get you! In Earth movies, the hero gets shot like five times and still chases the bad guys! You, you step on a toy and act like you’ve lost a foot! ”

Don’t get me wrong, but seriously—just put the toy away! As long as I’m in charge here, you follow my rules. Simple as that.

“ Fine, fine! I’ll take care of it. I bet I’d make a way nicer captain than you anyway. ”

I laugh. “Oh, I’d love to see that! And how would you handle SILMAR? ”

“Gnuffgnuff!” he grumbles, ending the conversation.

As I do every day, I start up a Queen playlist that fills the ship.

I love Earth music, but Wingo is a huge fan of this band.

“I Want to Break Free” starts playing as I finish getting dressed.

I watch my little companion grab the two evil toys with his long proboscis and stash them somewhere more appropriate.

He once told me he grew a lot in a very short time. It didn’t happen right after he joined me on the SIL, but about six months ago. One morning, I found him curled up, shivering and moaning. He was bedridden for nearly two weeks before we figured out what was going on.

In less than a month, he’d more than doubled in size.

His body lost its baby-like roundness, and his little trunk grew longer and more agile.

That proboscis has made him much more independent on board.

He uses it to open sleeping drawers, bathroom doors, even the shower.

It helps with a lot of things—except anything that needs precision, like picking a movie or documentary on the control panel.

So I set up a touch-tablet for him with symbols for his favorite songs. He can play them whenever he wants.

I’m grateful to the Flots for bringing me to this little being in distress. He’s smart, kind, and yes, a bit mischievous—but he’s a great companion for this journey. I think he’s adapted pretty well to the life we lead out here .

“Akifumi’s calling!” SILMAR’s patching us through to the cockpit.

“Call authorized ! ”

“Hello, number 215. This is number 08, ready to hear your report.”

My mentor and contact, Akifumi, confirms his identity with his voiceprint and by stating both his serial number and mine. With that, we can speak freely.

“Hey Aki! Wingo and I are heading toward the southeast quadrant of the galaxy. Please tell me you cracked the last file I sent and have something more precise for us.”

“Hey guys, how’s it going? You did a great job recovering that file. I’ve got some good news… and some not-so-good news.”

“I always do! Hit me with the bad stuff first so I can end on a high note.”

“Alright. The not-so-good news is, we found a document suggesting that one of the trafficking organizers is high up in the Confederation hierarchy. We’re not sure if he’s on Jaga-18 or Jaga-16, and we don’t know his identity.

All we know is he goes by ‘The Unshakable’ and he’s involved in both human trafficking and illegal tech deals. ”

“I see. And the good news?”

“You’re heading in the right direction. And thanks to the intel you stole nearly two years ago, the Coalition is now extremely cautious about transmitting unencrypted data. That info helped Agent 203 dismantle a slave market. ”

“I remember that mission perfectly. That’s when I found Wingo.”

“ Best day ever! ” Wingo chimes in.

“Alright, I’m heading to Jaga-18. I’ll keep you posted on what I find.”

“Roger that! Good luck to you both!” he says, cutting the connection.

Wingo gives me a strange look.

“What?” I ask.

“ Jaga-18… Isn’t that where the girl you’re connected to went? ”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I dodge. “The only being I’m connected to is a wingonogonogogo—plus a few extra gonogos—who’s been driving me nuts by leaving his toys all over my ship.”

I’m really not in the mood to talk about her.

But the truth is, I’ve never stopped thinking about the one I left behind.

I’ve come close to heading to Jaga-18 under a fake pretext, just to see what became of her.

The only thing holding me back is knowing she’s probably better off with someone like the Governor than with a lonely spy like me.

“ But yeah, remember that young girl! ” he says, and I catch that look in his eye—he’s thinking about Ileana.

By the Flows… he’s got a sharp memory. And he’s smart.

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” I say, full of bad faith.

“Gnuffgnuff!” he laughs .

I just shrug and walk over to the main screen to check our progress. We’ll be making a short detour to MyFaS before heading to Jaga-18.

MyFaS—short for My Fabulous Secret Base , as Wingo and I call it—is one of those places the Confederation earmarks for terraforming. When they find a planet or moon with the right conditions for life, they begin the long process. It usually starts with life bells.

A year ago, Akifumi gave me the coordinates for the next Jaga base, which is still in the early stages of terraforming. It won’t be fully operational for at least twenty years.

Right now, there are only a few bases under energy domes.

The AI gradually expands the force field that holds breathable air.

Life begins to take root—plants strengthen their roots, insects dig tunnels.

When the AI determines the world can sustain itself, it slowly lowers the force field until only the star’s gravity holds the atmosphere in place.

Even then, the Confederation waits another ten years before allowing large-scale settlement. In the meantime, the place is deserted, left entirely in the care of the AI.

Thanks to Akifumi’s intel, MyFaS has become a private base—just for Wingo and me. It’s just the two of us on this little planet. Kind of amazing, isn’t it?

I’m planning to leave behind a few personal items here—my smuggler’s visual ID, my all-purpose Confederation jumpsuit. Things I don’t need to carry around anymore .

I’ve got access to nearly every piece of Confederation tech here, from analyzers to replicators. I use the replicator to make imperfect copies of certain items—just good enough to sell on the black market. Gotta keep up appearances as a smuggler, after all.

There’s also some pretty advanced fitness equipment here—stuff I can’t bring aboard the SIL. It helps me work on muscle groups I tend to neglect in space, even though I’ve got a retractable pull-up bar built into the cockpit ceiling.

And then there’s the regeneration sarcophagus. The kind everyone’s always looking for. Since I’m technically working for the Confederation, Akifumi managed to get me one. I set it up right here on MyFaS.

I even showed Wingo how it works—just in case. You can never be too careful.

Still, I’m hesitant to use it. I’ve only done it once, years ago, and the memories tied to that moment are… haunting. I’ll do everything I can to avoid ever stepping into it again.

And let’s be honest—after a session in the tank, your skin comes out baby-smooth.

That’s a dead giveaway. The Coalition might notice.

Thankfully, I’ve got a small scar on my cheek now—earned during training.

It’s subtle, nothing like the one that used to cover half my face when I was younger.

That one vanished completely after my one and only time in the tank.

I shake off the memory. That incident still haunts my dreams more often than I’d like to admit.

For now, we’re heading to MyFaS. Then Jaga-18 .

Is Ileana still there? Is she still with the Governor? And if she is… would it break me to see her again, only to realize she’s completely out of reach?

***

Ten days later, after a quick stop on MyFaS, we finally arrive on Jaga-18.

As we approach the main base, I transmit my identity and ship credentials. They immediately direct me to a designated docking bay—already prepared for my arrival.

I’m wearing my official Confederation uniform, so there’s nothing that could give away my… secondary activities.

“Come on, Wingo, let’s go,” I say, pressing the ramp release.

We descend slowly, taking in our surroundings. Most terraformed worlds tend to look alike at this stage. This one doesn’t have a moon—some have up to three. The air’s a bit chilly, but my thermo-regulated suit keeps me perfectly warm.

A man in a jumpsuit is waiting for us at the bottom of the ramp.

“Pherebos, right? I’m Isaac. I’ve been asked to show you around.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” I reply, falling into step behind him.

He barely glances at Wingo, who trots along beside me. But I know better—Wingo’s scanning everything, committing every detail to memory. His visual recall is phenomenal.

“ There aren’t many people at this spaceport, ” he notes quietly.

I nod, then turn to Isaac. “I don’t see many people around. Is that normal?”

“Oh, well, this is still a small colony,” Isaac says. “And as it happens, everyone’s gathered for the funeral of two crew members who died in a tragic accident two days ago.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Was kind of accident?”

Most of the personnel assigned to terraformed worlds are in their prime. Two deaths like that… it doesn’t sound like natural causes.

“It was a double murder. A crime of passion.” Isaac replies bitterly.

Murders? I freeze. That’s a shock.

“I don’t blame you for being surprised,” he adds. “Considering the strict screening process for anyone joining the Confederation—or even being allowed onto a terraformed world—it seems impossible. But this case… is an exception.” He gives me a look that says there’s more to the story.