Moments later, another vision hits me. This time, I see animals—creatures I don’t recognize—caught in the chaos, crushed under the impacts. The horror of it is overwhelming, but what hits me even harder is the sadness. A deep, aching sorrow, as if I’m witnessing the final moments of a world that never had a chance.
I don’t understand what’s happening. But I know I haven’t finished. There’s still work to do. SIL’s deadline is ticking down, and I need to stay focused.
A few hours later, I’ve finished the repairs and I’m right on schedule. I pack up my gear and do a final walkaround to make sure I haven’t left anything behind.
Then, on a sudden impulse, I unzip and relieve myself. No denying it—peeing out here, in the open, beats those cramped sanitary pods on the ship any day.
But just as I’m enjoying the moment, a disturbing image flashes through my mind. I see myself from theoutside, standing there in full helmet… with everything else exposed. My blood runs cold. I zip up fast and scan the area, suddenly convinced I’m being watched.
My heart pounds as I listen for anything beyond the squelch of my boots and the rustle of my pants. Then I see them—small golden eyes, half-hidden in the muck. They shimmer with fear, and a chill runs down my spine.
I slowly draw my pistoblaster, the familiar weight grounding me. Every step toward the eyes feels like it stretches time. I stay alert, ready for anything.
The creature blinks but doesn’t flee. I crouch about a meter away and speak softly.
“So, buddy… what are you doing out here all alone?”
To my astonishment, he answers—not with words, but with images. I see his world, torn apart by falling asteroids. A silent, telepathic cry for help.
So he’s a little telepath. I stay still, giving him space, letting him decide. After a few minutes, he finally steps out of hiding.
He cautiously emerges from the hole where he was hiding. He doesn’t look very old. His body is round and compact, like that of a young one, covered in dark, mud-colored fur streaked with lighter lines that trace along his sides like dotted contours. His head is small and youthful, framed by a soft down that surrounds his large golden eyes—eyes filled with both curiosity and caution—and a narrow, elongated snout. At the shoulder, he barely reaches my knee, which only adds to his fragile, juvenile appearance.
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.
