Page 6 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

I didn’t bring my analyzer with me, but there’s one in the SIL’s cockpit.

As I turn to go retrieve it, the little creature follows me.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hits him, and he projects a flurry of images into my mind—visions of his kin, lifeless, crushed by falling debris.

My chest tightens. He’s alone. He’s lost his family.

I hurry up the ramp and return seconds later with the analyzer. It looks like a small pistoblaster, but it’s harmless. I hold it in front of him and press the button. The device hums softly, scanning. After thirty seconds, a green light flashes, and a beep sounds on my wrist controller.

The results are in. This little one isn’t unknown to the galaxy. Someone, somewhere, has encountered his species before. That surprises me, considering how remote and devastated this place is.

“SILMAR,” I say into my helmet, “run another full scan of the area. Let me know if there’s any other life nearby.”

We already did a scan when we landed. Back then, SILMAR only detected roots, shrubs, larvae, and a few insects. But this little one is clearly more than that—larger, more evolved, and definitely sentient.

“Nothing to report other than you and this animal,” SILMAR replies. “Perhaps his kin are buried under the mud, like he was. That would explain why I can’t detect them.”

Stunned, I look down at the small creature standing beside the ramp, his golden eyes fixed on me, full of sorrow .

“So… where have your kin gone?” I ask gently.

Once again, he answers with images. Scenes of devastation, of fire and falling rock, of fear and loss. And with them comes a wave of emotion—grief, confusion, loneliness.

“Pherebos,” SILMAR’s voice cuts in, urgent now. “It’s time to leave. The area where we landed will soon be hit again by the debris plume.”

“I’m coming,” I reply, stepping onto the ramp.

I step through the door and turn around. My little curious friend is sitting less than two meters away, watching me with those sad, golden eyes.

What am I supposed to do?

Leave him here, alone, hoping his kin are still out there somewhere? This world is about to be swept again by a deadly wave of debris. He’s survived so far, but how much longer can he hold out? The thought of abandoning him gnaws at me. But the regulations are clear.

Take him with me? That would mean breaking protocol.

I don’t even know if he can survive inside the SIL once the AI restores the standard breathable mix.

His biology might not tolerate it. I don’t know what he eats, how he lives.

The risks are real. But can I really leave him behind to face what’s coming?

Still torn, I take a few extra minutes to scan the berry bush nearby and collect a handful of berries in a sealed tube. It’s not much, but it might be a starting point.

“Pherebos?” SILMAR’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts .

“SILMAR, can you create an air mixture similar to this one and isolate it in one of the sleeping drawers?” I ask, crouching and extending my arms toward the little creature. My heart is pounding.

“Of course. But for what purpose?” she replies.

“Because we have a guest on board,” I say, lifting the small ball of fur into my arms. My voice trembles slightly.

I wait a moment before placing him gently into the portside sleeping drawer. My mind is still racing, but I know I have to act.

“Don’t be afraid, buddy,” I whisper. “It’s just for a few hours, to help you adjust. You’ll be safe.” I try to send him a mental image of myself inside the drawer, hoping he understands.

He lets me close the hatch without resistance. That says a lot about what he’s been through—and about his ability to trust.

“SILMAR, restore the cabin’s standard atmosphere and adjust the drawer’s environment based on his vitals. Also, send me everything you have on his species. I need to figure out how to help him.”

“Do I need to remind you that we must leave the area immediately to avoid the incoming debris?” SILMAR asks.

“Damn it, SILMAR, you’re an eighth-generation AI. Don’t tell me you can’t handle all of this at once.”

“Pherebos, I am fully capable of multitasking. However, your safety and the integrity of the mission remain my top priorities. Bringing an unknown life form aboard introduces variables that could compromise both.”

“I understand the risks, SILMAR. But I couldn’t just leave him to die.”

“Understood. Initiating departure protocols while maintaining a safe environment for our guest. Please ensure he remains secure during the transition.”

“Thank you, SILMAR. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome, Pherebos. Proceed with caution. The debris field is dense, and we must navigate carefully to avoid collisions.”

“I trust you, SILMAR. Let’s get out of here safely.”

“Affirmative. Engaging thrusters and plotting a course through the debris field. Hold on tight.”

I let SILMAR handle the flight and turn my full attention to our little guest. I pull up the analysis results.

The last recorded entry dates back nearly two years.

A Confederation ship had been exploring this region when it detected life on a small planet.

Just before a massive meteorite struck, the crew managed to extract a few specimens.

The planet shattered into countless fragments, and the ship was never heard from again—likely destroyed in the catastrophe.

It seems a few of these creatures somehow survived, clinging to this larger fragment—large enough to retain a thin atmosphere.

If that’s true, then this little furball might be the last of his kind.

It’s a sobering thought. Still, the possibility that others might have survived elsewhere gives me hope. Maybe one day, he won’t be alone.

I keep reviewing the data. He’s a young male, though older than I initially thought.

As an adult, he’ll weigh close to ninety kilos and stand nearly eighty centimeters at the shoulder.

That’s no small creature. How his family managed to hide in that swamp is beyond me.

According to the scan, his diet includes proteins, plants, and berries.

I’ll have to figure out how to replicate that.

Four hours later, we’ve cleared the danger zone. Time to let him out.

SILMAR has gradually adjusted the air mixture in the drawer to match mine. I trigger the release mechanism. The drawer opens with a soft hiss, and two golden eyes blink up at me, cautious but alert.

“Hey, buddy. Did you get some rest?” I ask with a smile.

“Gnuffgnuff…” he replies, hopping out of the drawer and landing gracefully on the floor.

“Well, I think it’s time for a shower. You’ve turned that bunk into a mud pit. Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up. Come on, let’s get you sorted,” I say, gesturing toward the rear door.

“Gnuffgnuff!” he adds, and suddenly I see an image in my mind—me, standing with my arms open, inviting him aboard.

If I’m reading the wave of calm and gratitude that comes with it correctly, he’s thanking me. And he trusts me. At least, I hope that’s what he’s trying to say. It’s clear he’s intelligent, but we’re going to need a better way to communicate.

“My name is Pherebos. Phe-Re-Bos,” I say slowly, pointing to myself.

I don’t expect a response, so I’m caught off guard when I get one. It’s simple, but unmistakable.

“Wingododonogo!” he says directly into my mind, along with a mental image of others like him. I pause, confused.

“Wingo?” I ask, pointing at him for confirmation.

“Wingododonogo!” he repeats, with a sense of pride.

“Alright then. Wingo it is.” I smile. “Come on, Wingo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As we head toward the shower, I notice Wingo trying to match my steps, mimicking my stride with surprising precision. I chuckle and start exaggerating my movements, turning it into a playful game. Wingo follows along, hopping and imitating my every move with enthusiasm.

“You’re quite the quick learner, Wingo,” I say, laughing.

Inside the shower, I gently spray him down. The mud begins to slide off, revealing the rich tones of his fur underneath. He shakes himself off, sending droplets everywhere, then splashes water back at me. I pretend to be shocked.

“Hey! Watch it, buddy!” I say, splashing him back with a grin .

Wingo lets out a series of cheerful “Gnuffgnuff” sounds, clearly enjoying himself. I can’t help but smile. This little guy is full of surprises.

Once we’re done, I wrap him in a towel and start drying him off. He grabs the towel with his teeth and tugs, turning it into a game of tug-of-war.

“Okay, okay, you win!” I laugh, letting go.

Wingo looks triumphant. I give him a gentle pat on the head.

“Welcome aboard, Wingo. We’ve got a lot to figure out, you and I. But we’ll get through it. Together.”