The Sentinel

Alarms flashed red in the cockpit, and Hyken woke with a jerk. A button clicked beneath his finger and the noise stopped, leaving only the blinking light. I was daydreaming, he thought, not willing to admit to himself he slept in earnest. He’d been back home with his children, playing in the meadow where the river bent and foamed.

He touched a button and a ship appeared on the glass monitor. Another tap and its details were listed: medium freighter, scanned at three hundred and six tonnes, leaving the planet’s atmosphere and beginning its turn. They were common here in the inner system, used for hauling goods or refined metals ready for industrial use. He could see it with his naked eye now, a tiny speck of light moving away from Praetar, the hazy green planet that filled most of the cockpit window.

That’s not right, Hyken thought, recalling the facts and figures he’d memorized long ago. A quick glance at another screen confirmed it: the ship was overweight for its class by seven tonnes. His fingers tapped at the screen and his view improved, zooming-in on the fast-moving craft. It was unremarkable, no paint or markings to set it apart from any other ship. He didn’t detect any concealed weapons, but the humans on Praetar were crafty in their engineering, and he knew that was the reason for the extra weight. He supposed it did not matter; his orders were clear regardless of the threat.

He pushed two buttons and flicked a switch, and his ship shuddered from the launch. Two small missiles streaked away from him, visible in the window of the cockpit as they arced toward the freighter. It was over within seconds, the missiles finding their destination and puffing into a silent explosion in the distance. When the flames faded nothing remained but a thin cloud of smoke marring his view of the planet. The blinking light ceased, returning the cockpit to its former peace.

They never saw Hyken’s ship, a Sentinel-class fighter that was coated black and invisible to detection. He liked that just fine. The disc-shaped Sentinels were small and slow, good for striking first from the shadows but unable to flee or fight any legitimate force. He had no other weapons, and a freighter retrofitted with arms would have made quick work of him if the missiles had missed. Hyken tried not to think about that.

“What was that?” asked his copilot, Alard, from the doorway. He scratched the back of his neck and squinted at the screens. “The launch shook the ship enough to wake me.”

He was a young scruff, on his first tour and still barely a man. No family of his own yet, poor kid. He was competent at his post though, at least in the three days he’d known him, and Hyken supposed that was all that truly mattered. “Freighter up from Praetar. Moving fast, and overweight. Probably hidden weapon systems on board.”

Alard leaned over and read the instruments. “Did you run a deeper scan?”

“Nope. No need to waste the energy, unless you think otherwise.” Hyken let a bit of authority trickle into his voice.

Alard shrugged, and sat in the second chair. “Did I miss anything else?”

“It’s been quiet,” Hyken replied. “You can go back to sleep; you’ve got another hour.”

“I’m awake now.” Alard pulled a small pouch from his uniform pocket, and adjusted a nozzle at one end. He squeezed the bag into his mouth, and the smell of coffee filled the tiny room.

Hyken watched him out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. It was always tough to gauge a rookie, and Alard was quieter than most. They sat there for a long while before Hyken could no longer bear the silence. “Don’t tell the fleet commander,” he said, leaning over to confide in him, “but I was daydreaming before the freighter appeared.”

Alard probably did not care, but he was polite enough to feign interest. “Oh? What about?”

“I was back on Jaimus with my boys. They’re eight and three. Jon’s the eldest, and has my eyes, but Cairne’s got my personality. We were playing in a field near our home, throwing rocks in the river. The boys started throwing the rocks as far as they could, and argued over who has the stronger arm.”

Alard listened politely, “Mmm hmm.”

“I had Cairne composed after my fourth tour, mind you. It was all legitimate; none of that business on the black market. As if the Empire wouldn’t find out.” Alard said nothing, and it struck Hyken that maybe he was being rude to the boy. Here I am blabbering about my biological riches when this one has none of his own. So he said, “How many children do you want to have?”

His co-pilot shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s only my first tour.”

“I know, I know. I mean when all is done and finished, beyond your second. Surely you have an idea of how many you want.”

Alard took another long pull from his coffee, and stared out the window before answering. “I may not do a second. Right now I just want to complete my time and become a civilian again.”

Hyken frowned. “Is it the second tour you’re afraid of? Or do you not want children at all?”

“Either. Both. I don’t know, I’ve no heart for this work.” He realized what he’d said, and quickly added, “I’m happy to serve the Empire, don’t get me wrong. But I would be content to return home for good after this. And children…” He furrowed his brow at the glass and said, “They’re a lot of work, a burden even. And I haven’t any women in mind.”

“You don’t need ‘em,” Hyken said cheerfully. “I’ve no wife, but I have my boys. The technicians just need a bit of your DNA, and you can pick the rest out from a database.”

He shrugged again. “I’ve just never felt that desire, you know?”

Hyken didn’t know. What was it all for, if not to reproduce, to bring life into existence? It saddened him to hear Alard dismiss it so easily. The boy’s too young, he doesn’t know what he wants just yet. That would change in time, as he matured and earned a greater appreciation for life.

“You know,” Hyken said, “I was like you when I was younger. I’d just finished my first tour in the mining belts, and was visiting my father’s dairy farm. They made milk and cheese and butter, all right there in the sunshine, not in some cold factory. Anyways, one of the cows went missing. We searched all day, and it was dark before we found her in the woods. The coyotes had gotten to her, and her legs were all mangled and torn. Terrible sight. She still lived, poor thing, and my father had to put her out of her misery.”

He looked over at Alard, who was still listening intently but didn’t seem to get the point of his story. “That day,” Hyken said with exaggerated patience, “I resolved to create as much life as I could. There’s too much death around us, son, for us to not balance it out with creation when we can.”

“There are plenty of people to create life,” Alard pointed out. “Planets full of them.”

“Sure, but that’s their job. Their intention isn’t pure. Life is something to be cherished and savored, not created without emotion.” It was true there were entire systems devoted to nothing but breeding, spreading the Empire’s populace across the universe. But that was a poor substitute for the real thing, created and nurtured for the goodness of it all. “What would you do as a civilian, anyways?”

Alard considered a moment before saying, “I’ve always wanted to do construction. Any sort of building: homes or offices, or places where people can go to eat.” He smiled. “That’s sort of like creating life, I suppose, but with bricks instead of genetics.”

Hyken snorted and said, “That’s not the same, son. Not the same by far. A house can never laugh with you, an office never play in the rain and grow before your eyes.” Alard must have been a sad man indeed to compare construction to birth, the most noble thing to which a man could endeavor.

Alard was quiet for a long while, and a silence stretched between them while Hyken checked the ship instruments absentmindedly. The boy was clearly hurt, and probably feeling sorry for himself. Hyken didn’t want to let him wallow in self-pity, so he said, “What about your family? The one you grew up with?”

“What about them?”

“Tell me about them. Do you have brothers or sisters? Or a mother?”

“I have three younger sisters. I’m the only boy.”

Hyken gaped at him. “Four children? Your father completed eight tours, then?”

Alard nodded. “He’s on his tenth, in the Cardiff sector. He captains a Bomani Frigate.”

Hyken whistled through his teeth, and looked at the kid with new respect. He’d never heard of anyone completing ten tours, or at least surviving that long. Hyken’s own five tours seemed a pauper’s service by comparison. “You must be proud to be his son, to share such a man’s blood.”

“Sure,” agreed Alard, but there was no heart in his voice. Hyken arched an eyebrow at him, and Alard explained, “He’s a hero and all that, and helped break the blockade of Chaero in the Third War. But I don’t know him very well beyond that.”

“You don’t know him?” Hyken’s mouth twisted. “He’s your father.”

“I’ve only met him a handful of times. I’ve spent more time with you here in this Sentinel than in a lifetime with him.” Alard cocked his head at the pilot. “How often do you see your children?”

“Once every two years, in between tours,” he said defensively. He didn’t like the accusation in Alard’s voice, so he jabbed a finger at him and said, “And you can believe they know their father.” There was plenty of information on Hyken’s career in the computers for his boys to learn, and he’d instructed their custodian to make them study every week. He sent them a letter every year on their born-day, besides, which was more than most children could hope for. I’m lucky to have such loyal boys, he thought, scowling at his co-pilot. What kind of a son did not care enough to learn about his father?

Alard put up his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult.” He yawned and stretched in his chair, and asked, “Are you happy with two? How many tours will you do?”

“As many as I can,” Hyken said cheerfully. “I was born for this sort of work. There’s no greater calling, no fuller pride, than defending the Empire.” When Alard said nothing, Hyken added, “You are proud to defend the Empire, at least?”

“Sure,” Alard said, studying the information on one of the glass screen intently.

Hyken was unconvinced of his piety, but didn’t ask more. Instead, he said, “I’d compose enough children to fill a planet, if they let me. So I’ll do enough tours to make as many as I can, and be content with that.”

Alard turned to look at him. “Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you afraid to die?”

Hyken laughed in earnest. “Stars no, man. And I’ll tell you why not.” He leaned close to Alard, as if to tell him a secret. “We’re all going to die, son, here or at home or any other place. Our bodies will be burned away to ash, like so many flecks of light across the stars. But my eyes will live on through Jon, and my curled hair with Cairne, and my freckled skin with the both of them. Through my children, and their children, and their children’s children will I live forever. Through reproduction we are given a chance at immortality.”

He held Alard’s gaze a moment longer to let the words sink in. The co-pilot leaned back in his chair and stared off into nothing, considering. Finally he said, “That’s nice.”

Hyken smiled, satisfied. “It’s the truth.”

The ship’s alarm screamed at them, and again the cockpit was bathed in red light. They both whirled to their instruments, clicking buttons and swiping at the glass monitors. A ship jumped into view on the screen, another freighter. Hyken looked up from his computer and gazed out the window, squinting in the distance until he saw it, a small point of light drifting away from the green planet.

“Seven tonnes overweight, like the other,” Hyken said, and the co-pilot nodded. “I couldn’t detect any hidden weapon systems on the last one, but believe me they’re there. Don’t trust the Praetari for a second. You want to do the honors?”

Alard frowned at the instruments. “Our missile bays are empty.”

“Shit,” Hyken muttered, swiveling his chair to another terminal. He’d forgotten to reload them after the first ship, and cursed himself for the sloppiness. I would have done it if the boy hadn’t distracted me. His fingers danced across the instruments.

“Ship’s turning toward us,” Alard said, alarm creeping into his voice. “They’ll be in weapon range in forty-five seconds, if you’re right.”

Hyken glanced back to the screen and saw that he was right. “It’s just a coincidence; they’ve no way to detect our ship.”

“Unless they have a Kalari scanner,” Alard suggested, “then they’d see us just fine. Forty seconds.”

“First missile’s done, second one loading.” He stared at the computer’s blinking light, and muttered a silent prayer to the emperor.

Alard tapped his foot nervously. “Should I cut on the engine, in case we need to move?”

“It won’t be ready in time. And I wouldn’t want to reveal the Sentinel, even if it were.” The missiles would announce their presence, but their engine firing would make them a true target, Kalari scanner or otherwise.

Another alarm sounded, more urgent than the first. “Twenty seconds.”

Hyken chewed his lip. The second missile bay still flashed yellow, but should have changed to green by then. Two were need against that class of freighter, but one might still do the job. The ship hardly seemed to move in the window, but grew larger with every second. The Sentinel wouldn’t last long against an armed ship. His finger hovered over the button.

“Ten seconds.”

It clicked beneath his finger, and the ship shuddered once again as a single streak of light raced away. Both pilots held their breath. A yellow ball burst to life in front of them, and Hyken held up a hand to shield his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and the false image from the light flickered across his vision as he blinked.

“Mostly destroyed, but lots of debris incoming,” Alard said, his voice still thick with concern. He pulled the harness over his shoulder and clicked the straps into place.

Hyken was already strapped-in, but tightened his harness anyways. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then vibrations nudged the ship, and there was a clang of metal on metal. Most of the debris was minor, tiny spinning shards silhouetted against the green planet below. They pelted the Sentinel like rain, a steady, harmless shower. Only when the tumult stopped did Hyken relax. He let out a deep breath and grinned over at his co-pilot. “I bet you’re awake now, if the coffee didn’t do the job!”

Alard ignored him, and continued squinting out the window. Hyken followed his gaze and saw it too; there was another silhouette out there, shapeless and spinning toward them. Neither man moved for a long moment, their eyes transfixed on the object. It hit their window softly, scraping against the glass and nearly coming to a stop. The cockpit hardly gave off any light, but it was enough for them to make out what the object was. It had no arms or legs, but its head was intact, and green eyes stared lifelessly. Its mouth was twisted in a silent scream.

Alard jerked away from the body, unstrapping his harness and jumping to the back of the cockpit. Something close to pain painted his face, and though his mouth was open and moving no words came out. Hyken forced himself to chuckle. “First time seeing a body, eh?”

He pulled his eyes from the window to look at Hyken. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “That’s a child.”

“Is it?” He squinted and saw that Alard was right. “Man or child, they all die just the same,” he said solemnly.

The co-pilot returned to his seat, and tapped the keys of his computer. “What are you doing?” Hyken asked him, but the boy did not respond. “Don’t bother, it’s not worth the effort.”

Numbers flashed across the screen, and Alard moved his fingers to scroll through the data. Finally he found what he wanted, his fingers freezing in the air. He leaned back in his chair slowly, and after a moment turned to Hyken. “Thirty-eight. We just killed thirty-eight people.”

Hyken snorted. “The sensor must be wrong. Those freighters aren’t meant to hold more than a crew of four.”

Alard flicked a switch, and spotlights bathed the area with light. Dozens of bodies tumbled through space in front of the ship in a silent dance of death. Alard gasped, but Hyken only blinked. “Huh. They must have refitted the ship to carry them instead of cargo.”

His face was twisted in pain. “They were just trying to flee the siege. They were probably starving.”

Hyken unclasped his harness and stood. “My shift’s done. Reload the missile bay, so we don’t have to see all this next time.” He strode from the cockpit, leaving Alard to stare out the window alone.

Outside the Sentinel the bodies floated, cold and broken.

THE SENTINEL is the first part of David Kristoph’s book, SIEGE OF PRAETAR, from the award-winning TALES OF A DYING STAR series.

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