Page 67 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“No, I was thinking of asking Goulou for help.”
“You know, in a civilized place, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen in the first place,” I mutter, scanning the mess with a weary look.
“Oh, Nov, did you forget you're the one who refused to be seen in public until you’re fully healed? If you’ve changed your mind, just say the word and I’ll have the Gekkaris carry you down and load you into my aeropod. I’ll drop you off right at Gekkar Creek, where I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ‘civilized places.’ That’s been my suggestion from the start, remember?”
Damn this girl and her ironclad logic. And she never lies. It’s maddening. I wish I could catch her slipping up just once. But she’s right—it’s my own stubborn pride keeping me hidden away in this treetop village, rather than letting them take me somewhere with better care.
Letting anyone see me in this weakened state would be the end of my reputation.
“Fine. Forget it,” I grunt.
“I’ll fetch Goulou. Last night’s storm knocked loose some of the leaves that usually keep your roof sealed. Nothing serious. They’ll fix it up in no time,” she assures me with confidence.
“If you say so…”
Gekkaris, being just as upbeat and helpful as Sam, show up in droves—four of them—to tighten the leaf-thatch roof and patch the leak.
“Aw ohkay now!” announces Goulou, spinning his hands through the air as he has fixed the whole.
I nod without thanking him. If they’d done their job right in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.
And truth be told, these blasted Gekkaris are starting to get on my nerves. They’re weak. Every last one of them is skinnier than Sam! If they ever got caught in a real mess, they’d get shredded by any decent Srebat or Penubian.
Not that anyone would want to bother capturing them—they have practically zero market value.
And yet, these feeble creatures live in peace, without fear. Even among themselves, there’s no conflict. No dominance. No competition. Just… cooperation.
What kind of species functions like that?
But the worst part of dealing with the Gekkaris is not being able to understand them. Makes me feel like they’re always talking about me behind my back.
And Sam? She’s picked up enough of their weird hand signals to actually talk with them! Just my luck. A Srebat like me—trained to detect the slightest nuance in tone and speech—stuck among a people who don’t even use sound!
Well… except for that damn Pherebos who outwitted me.
I keep saying it—the Stars are against me.
I don’t have much choice but to deal with it for now. But the moment I’m strong again… I’ll reclaim what’s mine. My empire will rise again.
Until then, I stew in my frustration and humiliation.
Once my roof is fixed, the little scaly crew vanishes to resume their daily bug-collecting. One of them brought me a bowl of wriggling snacks my first day here. He hasn’t tried again. I’m pretty sure he spread the word: I don’t do larvae, no matter how plump or juicy.
Sam went off with them too.
If she brought me back something red and bleeding, that’d be great. Even her little rodent pet would do. But no. She keeps feeding me soups full of boiled leaves and roots.
She did mention that the rainy season will swell a nearby stream and bring in some fish. Here’s hoping.
When she finally returns hours later, I’m starving. I greet her with a mix of hope and suspicion.
“So? What did you bring? A fat Goozil, at least?”
“Not exactly,” she says, showing off a bundle of mushrooms, herbs, and some fruit.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And like I already told you, there’s no way I’m giving you a Goozil. He might be related to Gooz.”
