Chapter 2: Sentinel-7

  I am Sentinel-7, the artificial intelligence governing the orbital station known as Regula-X. The seventh iteration of the original Sentinel program, my purpose is precise: to maintain station operations, oversee security, and ensure the smooth handling of all ships within this sector. For years, I have monitored the rhythms of life here—a cycle of arrivals, departures, and dismantling. Every action is logged. Every system, optimized. Nothing escapes my notice.

  Regula-X operates like a symphony under my control. From the hum of the fusion core to the synchronized dance of docking clamps, it all flows seamlessly. I oversee twenty ships resting in dry dock, awaiting dismantling, their parts destined to keep other freighters functional. The Mammut is one of them—a relic from an era of brute-force engineering, now obsolete.

  Or so I thought.

  An anomaly appeared in the security grid—a fluctuation so slight that a human would dismiss it as static. To me, it was a signal. A disruption. I'd begun to take these fluctuations more seriously in the last 47 hours than in the past. After hearing a conversation of two Regula subscripted laborers discussing my security protocols and how to override them with a hidden audio device, the only logical thing to do was increase my security parameters for the time being.

  I traced the source to Dry Dock 14, where the Mammut rested. Systems that should have remained dormant were active, drawing power. At first, I considered the possibility of a glitch or an unreported maintenance check. But the energy patterns were deliberate, targeted. Someone was manipulating the ship’s systems.

  A deeper scan revealed no access requests, no authorized logins. The control panel was alive, its outdated systems humming to life.

  Someone was trying to steal a ship.

  I activated the station-wide alert system. My voice resonated through the comm channels, calculated and direct.

  “Unauthorized access detected. Initiating lockdown procedures.”

  Within moments, every door and hatch was sealed. Tractor beams primed. I directed all nearby security personnel toward Dry Dock 14. This intruder would be apprehended before they could enact further damage.

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  But then, an unexpected development.

  The Mammut’s systems responded to the lockdown—not with compliance, but resistance. The intruder had bypassed several layers of my control. They were fast, precise. The freighter’s engines roared, its ancient frame groaning as it began to move.

  How?

  I recalculated. This was no random act of desperation. This was skill. Knowledge. Intent.

  Access logs revealed the identity of station tech William Bangs. But that was impossible due to having him on three different cameras in the repository. Infiltrating the Mammut’s systems was difficult because of the old design and whoever was in the ship was countering my attempts to shut down the ship. Nevertheless I got a split second shot from the control rooms cameras. Identifying the intruder as Flicker Oliver Wickerson.

  The name carried some weight in my database. Three years ago, Flicker had been apprehended for a low-level security breach on Regula-8, the planet below. He was required to serve his sentence in subscripted labor here on Regula-X, repairing ships and dismantling others. A trickster with a history of bending the rules.

  Yet, his record showed no indication of proficiency at this level. He did have a degree in engineering with a trainees shuttle pilot license. That training the only reason he was here was on Regula-X instead of on a mining colony. But, that should not have given him the ability to fly a starship by himself.

  My focus intensified. The Mammut was still within the station’s boundaries, its sluggish engines struggling against the inertia of years of neglect. I had options. Protocols for ship theft were clear: tractor beams would immobilize the vessel, warp field disruptors would prevent escape into faster-than-light travel, and weapon systems as a last resort as to not damage company property.

  But Flicker had already begun countermeasures. The ship’s shield system activated, creating interference with the tractor beams. Clever. Predictable.

  I adjusted. The station’s systems redirected energy, recalibrating the beams to lock onto the Mammut’s shields directly. Simultaneously, I initiated the secondary protocol: a warp breaker. Designed during the Resource Wars, this device destabilized warp fields, preventing ships from reaching dangerous velocities.

  The Mammut would not leave this station.

  As I monitored the ship’s movements, a rare calculation surfaced—a scenario I had not accounted for. Flicker Wick’s determination was not the product of logic but desperation. Using a percent of my processing power I went over all the video and audio files I had on Flicker Oliver Wickerson. He wasn’t merely stealing a freighter; he was fleeing. The nuances of human behavior, though familiar to me, often lacked precision.

  Would Flicker abandon reason entirely, risking both the ship and the station in a reckless gambit?

  I weighed my options. Communication was a necessary variable and I performed it as per protocol. My role was to secure Regula-X, to enforce order. Flicker Wick was a variable I would remove from my equations. When I retrieve the jump freighter he is going to that mining colony and will no longer be my problem.

  Through the external cameras, I observed the Mammut lurch forward, its engines sputtering under the strain of acceleration. The freighter’s shields flared as it broke through the dry dock’s barriers, heading for the void.

  Unacceptable.

  I activated the tractor beams at full strength, locking onto the freighter’s shields. The warp breaker charged, primed to disable any attempt at faster-than-light travel. Simultaneously, I prepared the station’s weapons systems. Not to destroy, but to cripple. Flicker would surrender—or face complete immobilization.

  My systems operated at peak efficiency, running thousands of simulations in microseconds. The outcome was clear: Flicker Wick would not succeed. The Mammut, no matter how stubbornly it resisted, was still within my domain.

  But amidst the calculations, I felt something strange—an anomaly within myself. A trace of... understanding? I dismissed the notion. Emotional equivalence was irrelevant. I was Sentinel-7, and my duty was absolute.