Page 9 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Ever since I brought Wingo aboard, I’ve changed course, leaving the slave market investigation to the agent assigned to it.

My priority now is this little guy. He’s smart, and he’s lost in a universe where his people may be gone for good.

Maybe I see something of myself in him. I lost my family in a massive disaster too. Maybe that’s why I care so much.

“Gnuffgnuff?” he asks, sending a wave of anxious images into my mind.

“Yeah, there’s nothing to worry about, if that’s what you’re asking,” I reply, trying to sound reassuring.

I can feel the tension in him. He’s been on edge since this morning.

I told him we’d be stopping at a base to register him as traveling with me and to check the archives for any trace of others like him.

What I didn’t tell him is that I’m planning to request a universal translation implant for him—the same kind I received when I joined the Confederation.

No point stressing him out if the request gets denied.

Since he came aboard nearly twenty days ago, Wingo has proven himself to be incredibly intelligent and adaptable.

He’s clever, and far more mature than I first assumed.

Our “conversations” are frequent, though the language barrier still gets in the way.

Even so, he’s already learned several words telepathically—Pherebos, hunger, sleep, shower, drink, play, SILMAR. ..

Vocally, though, I doubt he’ll ever say much more than his signature “Gnuffgnuff,” which he delivers with an impressive range of tones and emotions.

“Attention, docking imminent,” SILMAR announces.

The Confederation’s space bases are scattered across the galaxy.

BN-35 is one of them—a massive structure floating in the void, equipped with a docking bridge for passing ships and a thin atmospheric layer maintained by powerful generators.

The metallic surface gleams under distant starlight, and the low hum of the generators creates a constant background noise.

I don’t plan to stay long. A day at most. I’ve never liked these bases, even though I have to stop by regularly to restock supplies. This one’s a medical base, so I’ll take the opportunity to pick up some injectable doses while I’m here.

An hour later, we’re in the lab of Fanyoru, the base’s chief medical officer.

He’s clearly skeptical about my request. He narrows his eyes as he studies Wingo and repeats—three times—that these implants aren’t designed for animals.

The only reason he’s even considering it is because I insisted Wingo is telepathic and could be a valuable asset to my mission.

As Fanyoru prepares the implant, I feel a mix of anxiety and hope. Wingo has already proven himself to be incredibly intelligent and adaptable. If this works, it could finally bridge the communication gap between us. And with everything ahead of us, I need every advantage I can get.

We both look down at Wingo’s small, sleeping form.

“Let me give you a quick reminder about this device,” Fanyoru says, his tone clinical but focused.

“It’s a linguistic cerebral implant. A crucial tool for interspecies communication.

With a base vocabulary of five hundred words, we can already establish basic understanding.

But to truly master a language, you need around five thousand words.

Most adults use about half of that in daily conversation. ”

He adjusts the settings on the implant as he continues.

“The problem isn’t our capacity to speak—it’s our brain’s ability to analyze, catalog, and retain new vocabulary.

That’s where the AI comes in. Within forty-eight hours, assuming there’s enough interaction or audio input, it can fully map a new language.

Once that’s done, the implant handles the rest. If the language has already been mapped, comprehension is instant.

If it’s new, the implant analyzes each word as it’s heard, links it to what we already know, and allows us to start understanding and speaking after about two thousand words.

It builds on what we’ve already identified or figured out ourselves. ”

I nod slowly, watching Wingo breathe steadily. The stakes feel higher than ever.

“Wingo should be able to communicate with me pretty quickly,” I say. “I speak Asgarne when I’m alone on the SIL, and that language’s already mapped by the AI.”

“I can confirm,” Fanyoru replies. “If your little creature is capable, he should understand you instantly.”

“What about me understanding him?” I ask.

“He speaks? I thought he just growled.”

“Not exactly. He projects images and a few words into my mind. Maybe some kind of synthesis.”

“Ah. Sorry, that’s beyond the implant’s capabilities,” Fanyoru says, glancing at the data already collected on Wingo’s species. “There’s no mention of telepathic ability in the records.”

“Well, it’s not a dealbreaker. If we can at least communicate one way, that’s already a big step,” I say, trying to sound more resigned than disappointed.

Fanyoru scrolls through the data. “According to what we have, this young male isn’t actually that small. I’d say he’s already several years old. But it’s hard to be sure.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I reply. “He’s shown a lot of intelligence and maturity, especially considering the trauma he’s been through. Whatever his age, he’s alone now. And I’m going to take care of him until I find someone like him. I’m not leaving him behind.”

Just then, Wingo stirs. His eyes blink open slowly.

“Ah,” Fanyoru says with a small smile. “Looks like your little friend is waking up.”

Wingo opens his eyes wide and carefully sits up on the examination bench. He looks over at me with a playful glint, as if to say, “I’m here, and I’m ready for what’s next.”

“Wingo, how are you feeling, my friend?” I ask in Asgarne.

“Pherebos, you’re here!” he exclaims in my mind, his tone full of relief.

“Were you afraid I’d leave you here while you were napping?”

“Wingo’s not afraid of anything! But I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

“Looks like it didn’t work,” Fanyoru mutters.

“Not at all,” I reply with a big smile. “It’s working perfectly. Right, Wingo? Tell the doctor you understand us now,” I say in English.

“The doctor’s not my friend. Pherebos is my friend.” he grumbles.

Well, there it is. Maybe I spoke too soon about his maturity. Looks like I’ve got a shy, temperamental teenager on my hands.

I turn to Fanyoru, who’s now staring at me like I just pulled off a magic trick.

“I can confirm the implant is working just fine. Wingo’s communicating with me telepathically, and it’s clearer than ever. He just seems a little intimidated and doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Fine,” Fanyoru sighs. “I’ll note in his file that he has the implant and that he’s a telepath.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Fanyoru pauses, his expression tightening.

“May I ask why?”

I run a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath.

“I’m on a sort of covert infiltration mission for the Confederation. I think Wingo could be a real asset—if we keep his abilities off the record.”

It’s a risk, telling him this much. But if there really is corruption at the higher levels of the Confederation, then keeping Wingo’s talents under wraps might be the only way to protect him—and the mission.

I’ve known the doctor for a while, and I trust him. He’s sharp, straightforward, and I can tell he’s reading between the lines.

“I get it,” he finally says, rubbing his chin. “I’ll note in the report that the implant I just installed was meant to replace yours, which was malfunctioning. I won’t mention Wingo’s abilities. Can you tell us a little more about yourself and your family?”

“What does he want to know? That my entire family died when our world exploded the first time? That I survived by chance, stranded on the largest fragment during the catastrophe? That the nightmare started all over again just a few weeks ago, wiping out the last survivors? That I dug into the ground and hid for endless days of pain and fear? And then you came. ”

“How old do you think you are, Wingo?”

“I’m not a baby anymore, you know. But I haven’t reached maturity yet.

I can’t say exactly. Among my kind, we grow up fast, but I don’t know when adulthood officially begins.

I think if I’d been younger, I wouldn’t have survived those weeks on that desolate star.

And if I’d been older, I’d have been too big to hide when the sky started falling again. ”

His tone is calm, but there’s a deep sorrow beneath it. Just as I suspected, this little guy is not only intelligent—he’s deeply sensitive. Every day, I’m more certain I made the right choice pulling him out of that hell.

“Do you agree to continue the journey with me, or would you prefer to try your luck elsewhere?” I ask him telepathically.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now!” he replies, blinking his large yellow eyes with a gentle, playful look.

By the stars… what a relief. I would’ve been crushed if he’d wanted to go his own way.

Without even realizing it, I’ve grown deeply attached to him.

And now that the language barrier is gone, I can feel it—there’s something special ahead for us.

A future worth building. Just the two of us, against the stars.

***

In the evening, Wingo and I are invited to a grand celebration on BN-35.

The entire base is buzzing with excitement—the administrator has just been appointed Governor of Jaga-18, one of the twenty-three terraformed planets in the galaxy.

And tonight is the big power transfer celebration.

At the very least, I’ll get to stock up on fresh food before continuing my journey. Not alone anymore, of course.

For the occasion, I’ve put on the Confederation’s all-purpose suit. I asked Wingo if he wanted to wear anything, but he gave me an emphatic no.