Sentinel

Linnea strode through the crowded and dirty streets of Corpus, the Alliance’s capital city. The sun beat down on her from above. On her left and right, tall buildings rose up. The hustle and bustle of the streets of Corpus were similar the gate hubs back home. Venders hocked wares from dirty kiosks and children ran underfoot playing games, however Corpus formed a sort of antithesis to Base 01 due to the lack of obvious technology and the rustic feel of the buildings around. Where Base 01 was mostly white walls and flashing lights, Corpus boasted sand filled streets and unsavory characters leering from alleyways. The people lived in dilapidated houses and only those parts of the city where military operations were located were kept in good repair.

Despite this, Linnea walked forward happily, and although imperceptivity, the crowd parted to let her pass. Behind her whispers drifted through the air as people stared after her. Phrases like “…lift a car” and “…never dies” floated to her ears, but she paid them no heed. The group had been in the city for a day and a half, and already they were starting to attract attention. These reactions were normal for the citizens of Corpus. It was painfully obvious among the darkly tanned people of the city, that Linnea and all Sentinels were different. They stood out of the crowd and people talked but stayed out of their way. She was not sure how long it had been since she had taken her break, and she was just thinking about heading back when she was interrupted.

“Excuse me ma’am.” A raspy voice at her elbow made her stop walking and look down in surprise.
An old, grubby man with a big red nose smiled up at her. He was hunched and wrinkled, with wispy white hair and wore only a blanket draped around his shoulders and tied like a robe with twine. A scent of alcohol and sweat reached her nose. Linnea was taken aback. She stood in silence.

“Could you spare a coin for an old begger?” The old man rasped.

Linnea did not know what to say. She did not usually interact with civilians, nor did they readily approach her. She finally cleared her throat and said “I don’t have any money.”

The old man’s eyes widened, and his milky irises caught Linnea’s attention. It dawned on her that the old man was blind and therefor did not know whom he was addressing. There was a silence, which was a true silence because the busy street had stopped to watch.

“Your voice is so strange.” He said finally, a tremor in his voice. “Could you be an artificial human?”

Linnea looked at him. “That term is outdated.” She said finally. “The official designation is Sentinel.”

The old man took a step back. “A Sentinel?” he wailed.

Linnea expected him to turn and run, but instead he dropped to his knees.

“It must be fate.” He kept whispering.

Those words stirred in her memory setting off red flags. She recalled a citizen of the Alliance deep in the mountains. He had said the exact same words before attacking. She let her hand rest on her pistol.

She addressed the old man using what she remembered from the encounter in the mountains. “Sir, I am sorry if the dealings of the military caused you injury. However, I do not take responsibility for the orders that come from command.”

The old man looked confused. “Injury?” he asked. “By no means! Your brother saved my life!”
Linnea’s eyes widened a little. The crowed was silent. A breeze stirred Linnea’s white hair, and the clothes lines hanging from the windows above rustled. She leaned in, intrigued.

“Yes,” the old man croaked “Years ago I was in a horrible mine collapse. A beam fell and the dust and debris blinded me. I was trapped under the rubble, but then a brother of yours came and dug me out. He pulled me to safety and treated my injuries. I owe him my life.”
Linnea straightened up, confused. “He saved you from a mine collapse?” She asked. “What was he doing there?”

The old man looked up sightlessly. For a moment, Linnea thought she detected pity in his eyes. “His job.” He answered sadly. “But now I have a chance to show my appreciation. It must be fate” then he bowed low to the ground, pressing his forehead into the dirt. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Linnea did not know how to react. The crowd around her began to murmur and stir as she struggled to think of a response. She couldn’t, and stood dumbfounded in the street as the old man rose to his feet, smiling, and walked away. In time, the rest of the crowd resumed their daily activities and left Linnea standing still in the middle of the street. She had never been thanked like that. She had never been thanked at all in fact; not by a civilian at least. The man had bowed to her; pressed his face into the dirty street in thanks. He had also been cryptic and she pondered what the flash of pity in his eyes had meant. Thinking about it made her angry. The thought of an old beggar pitying her was frustrating somehow, but it also made her feel a little sad. She thought about how he had said “his job.” Certainly saving civilians from collapsed mines was not their job. She felt certain that the man must have been mistaken.