The Sentinel

Dusk is the color of a bruise. I look up at the slivers of sky visible between the towering silhouettes of Nova York’s skyscrapers. Simultaneously, Nova York looks upon herself, studying the grit and grime through the blue eyes of a man dressed in black.

Nova York is an expansive megalopolis filled with humans but devoid of humanity. From this cold façade, my kind was born: the Sentinels, intellectually gifted orphans reared up in secret camps, trained to be Nova York’s eyes and ears. Chips in the visual and auditory centers of our brains transmit signals to the Hive, the hub of government surveillance. Nova determines our assignments, since wherever there are people, there must be Sentinels. 

I trot down the stairs leading to the subway and catch a train, managing to snag the last empty seat. As I set my worn black backpack on my lap, I meet the eyes of my neighbor: a woman close to my age with mahogany skin and a mane of black curls. Sentinels are trained to be indifferent, yet part of me can’t help but be intrigued by her intelligent hazel eyes framed by dark lashes. We are surveillance cameras, but human nonetheless.

I decide to humor myself. “Hello,” I greet her with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” She’s taken off her breathing mask; I study the endearing curve of her lips. 

“I’m Cadrin.” This is my alias, though I suppose it’s the closest thing I have to a name. To Nova, I’m LH-4608.

“Anora. Nice to meet you.”

I never let myself get emotionally attached to anyone, not even my “friends” at the University, since I constantly live from assignment to assignment. Any one person can become a target for Nova. That emotional detachment helps circumnavigate the sense of betrayal I would otherwise feel towards the person in question, knowing that closeness ultimately has a grimmer purpose. Yet I find myself engaging with her in earnest, comfortable conversation. For a moment, I imagine what life would be like if I weren’t a Sentinel—an alternate reality where I could simply delve into human connection unfettered. 

Then, I hear three consecutive beeps in my mind followed by an automated female voice: LH-4608: Pursue subject of interest, Citizen ALC-8173-HZ6 A-NOR-A LIN CAL-DER until further notice.

Of course, Nova could not spare me one moment of normalcy. I wonder idly what causes Nova to have an interest in Anora, but it could be any number of transgressions that would make her a less-than-upstanding citizen in their eyes. Maybe she took one too many rations.

Still, I tell myself, at least I get an excuse to spend more time with her; I ask her to dinner. I observe the brightness of her eyes as she happily agrees.

As we figure out a date, I blink rapidly three times: the shutoff for the feed, intended to conserve storage space at the Hive; otherwise, an influx of data from constantly-recording Sentinels would overwhelm their servers. But we only stop recording when ordered.

What if, just this once, Nova didn’t control every part of my life?

LH-4608, resume link.

This desire for rebellion surprises me. Usually, I am quite adept at following the rules of Nova and the Hive to the letter. But that fantasy of being more than what I am enthralls me, beckoning me forward. I yearn for a taste of knowing that my eyes and ears aren’t being used by the powers that be—that ultimately, this conversation is not a means to an end. Deep down, I know that the effort is futile, but hopelessly, I dream.

I try to ignore the persistent beeping that ensues in my mind. My eyes terribly itch—or so Nova tries to fool my brain. The reaction is designed to override a manual shutoff, to cause us to rapidly blink which will reset the feed.

I resist the urge to frown, knowing that the change in facial expression would suggest to Anora that something is wrong. 

She tells me about her favorite restaurant. I happily agree to try it. 

My eyelids start fluttering out of their own accord, and a sense of defeat washes over me. Once again, I am reminded of Nova’s hold on me, of what I am in the end—no more than a tool at their disposal. 

“Are you alright?” Anora asks, brow furrowing in concern.

I smile at her, hoping to dissolve any suspicion. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just something in my eye.”