Soberer by the second and not at all happy about it, Kaz stood on Galactic Central's expansive observation deck and glowered at yet another swarm of space-limos exiting the launch bay, fresh from dumping their precious cargo of bigwigs and blowhards. Even 180 landing pads (a number Kaz was now all too familiar with) couldn't accommodate the volume of world-leaders arriving for the Pan-Galactic Council, so after offloading only their most officious passengers—with the barest minimum of ceremony—the vehicles and lesser dignitaries were being shunted down to the planet of Prima Prime, there to be housed among the legions of bureaucrats and support staff vital to keeping Galactic Central running, yet not important enough to warrant a place on the great satellite itself.

He yawned. Wasting his time hanging around a bunch of over-dressed, pompous politicians was not what he'd joined the Sentinels for. In fact he'd joined pretty much to avoid that kind of thing. If he was into hobnobbing, he may as well have stayed on Rigel and kept his parents happy.

And it wasn't like that was ever going to happen.

Yeah, the Sentinels were a fading force and yeah, they had the kind of long-term career prospects enjoyed by suicide bombers and Galactic Idol contestants, but at least they offered the chance of some excitement . Some variety. Something other than spending his days stuck in endless mind-numbing meetings and summits, smiling politely at people he couldn't stand while discussing subjects he couldn't care less about. The rest of his family were welcome to that life. Give him an interceptor and and an interloper and insane odds any day of the week.

Or pirates. Pirates could be fun, too. Pirates like the ones Cam had gone to sort out while leaving Kaz to cool his heels here in what had to be the boringest, safest and least-in-need-of-a-Sentilest place in the whole stinking galaxy. His loyalty to his CO was beyond question, but the Earthman could be bloody annoying at times. Times like now. It was obvious keeping an eye on the bigshots was work for the senior-most Sentinel. Taking on a bunch of space-pirates, on the other hand? That was right up Kaz's alley.

An announcement on PA system distracted him from his discontent.

"Your attention please. Galactic Central Control regrets to advise offworld visitors that due to the current unstable space weather a state of interstellar lockdown will exist from oh-nine-hundred Galactic Standard Time. Those unable to secure out-system passage prior to that time are required to arrange transport to and accommodation on Prima Prime at their earliest convenience. We trust you will enjoy your stay here in the heart of the Galactic Conglomerate. While onworld, why not visit one of the many sites of historical interest? Sites such as the Megalith of Records, with its several billion volumes of legislative details, the Amphitheatre of Archives, with its rich and minutely detailed biographies of every one of the countless thousands of councillors to have ever served the Conglomerate and...and...many others. Don't forget to use the code 'I heart amendments' for 10% off the price of admission and a free tote bag. Have a pleasant day or night or whichever time period is relevant to your metabolism and/or frame of reference."

No wonder they were in such a hurry to get the pollies on board. Watching the final few stragglers making their way into the docking bay, Kaz's expression brightened as he noticed the planet and hammer sigil borne by the ships of the very last flotilla to dock—the sigil which marked them as being from his homeworld.

While in no hurry to head back to Rigel anytime soon, he was quite happy to catch up with his own kind if the opportunity arose. And given the circles his family moved in, there was every chance he'd know at least one or two of the Rigellian deputation. He'd take whatever distractions he could find, given his 100% certainty the next few days would contain nothing exciting whatsoever.

####

"Shhh!"

After a blink of surprise, Cam closed the door to the astronomy and science department behind him—quietly.  And then spent a moment considering how the assorted COs of his early career might have reacted if he'd ever been drunk or insane enough to actually shush one of them. It was all he could do not to shudder.

That he hadn't said anything yet rendered the reprimand even more unjust. The Sentinels of today, however, were a somewhat more...relaxed organisation than the force of his youth. And Aquaia had proven her worth on enough occasions to be granted a little leeway.

Staring at one of the multitudes of data screens that ringed the room, a pair of bulbous headphones pressed to her ears, the young Alpha Centaurian held up a finger to forestall any further interruptions. While it was clear she didn't yet realise who her visitor was, Cam wasn't sure it would make a whole lot of difference if she did. He resigned himself to wait.

At length, she dismissed the screen's contents with a swipe and turned to face him.

"Hey, cap. Sorry about that."

"No problem, lieutenant. I'm sure you must be doing something very important. Some high-level, state-of-the-art science experiment or research, I presume?

"Huh? Speak up. Can't hear a word."

"Er. Perhaps you might like to take off—"

"What?"

He suppressed the urge to sigh. After all, it was kind of reassuring to know even the smart ones could be a little dumb. He pointed to his ears.

"Oh, yeah." Understanding dawned, and the young woman removed her headphones. "Now, what was that, skip?"

"I was just asking what you were doing. Something important, I presume?"

"Hell, yeah. Alpha Centauri was a couple of liqueurs away from making the semis when the splarfing hypersat dropped out. I've realigned the base's quantum array to try and scrounge a signal but I'm getting nada."

Although not quite as across the minutiae of Sentinel regulations as he perhaps should be, Cam suspected using the base's primary security system to catch up on the score at the Galactic Drinking Championship breached a fair few of them.

Now, however, did not seem the time to bring this up. Especially given he'd bet against Alpha Centauri in the base tipping comp. "So, that's it? We're blacked out?"

"For at least a few days," Aquaia confirmed. "As far as the rest of the galaxy goes, anyway. In-system comms don't use the hypersat network so they should still more or less work, although even they might get a bit ropey once Prima really cranks up."

"And scrunching?"

Aquaia checked another screen. "Yeah, still possible for the moment. At least technically. But not for long. Within an hour or two jump calculations will be be so unpredictable that scrunching would be pretty much a lottery. You could wind up anywhere. Maybe even anywhen."

"Anywhen?"

"Yep, theoretically. We don't exactly know how scrunching works, but there's probably some interdimensionality involved. What we do know is it's an inherently unstable process and is bloody complicated. Even under ideal conditions you need serious quantum processing to handle the calculations—chuck in a big-arse coronal mass ejection like the kind Prima is currently spitting out, and there aren't enough qubits in the galaxy to deal with the variables. Scrunching will definitely be a no-go until things calm down."

With a brief shake of the head, Cam recollected himself from a wistful consideration of the list of people he'd quite like to see scrunched into another century. "Right. So the upshot is that for at least the next few days we're cut off. If anything goes wrong, the Sentinels are all Galactic Central has."

Which, in a way, he couldn't help but feel was fitting. After all, the Sentinels had been conceived for just that purpose. Countless centuries ago, as the first nebulous proto-conglomerate congealed from the murky galactic soup of scattered interstellar civilisations, the need for a central governing body had become evident. That body needed a location. And, interstellar civilisations being the diverse, perverse and often downright averse things they were, that location needed protection. And thus the Sentinels were born.

Born and became legend. In those early days the Galactic Conglomerate still had competition, rival organisations with the desire, the hunger and the rapaciousness to takeover or take out their fellow ruling bodies, whether it be via the boardroom or the battlefield. While of limited use in the first instance, the Sentinels were unrivalled in the second and with their steadfast service, in time, by both blood and brutal backroom bureaucracy, GalCon seized and held the hard-won position of pre-eminence it now enjoyed.

And as the conglomerate grew in strength, so too did the Sentinels. Flushed with success, feted by the masses, from their original base on Theves satellite squadrons spread out across the galaxy's hotspots, there to either keep the peace or kick some arse, as the situation and state of the arse warranted. When it came to galactic security, the Sentinels became essential.

Until they weren't. In time, the galaxy was subdued, the rivals rubbed out, the threats tamed. The hotspots cooled. AI defence assets increased in both ability and acceptance. And, one by one, as the need for them dwindled, the satellite bases were shuttered and silenced, their Sentinels sent on their way.

Until once again, as in the beginning, there was only one. The first and last. Sentinel Base Theves. Shorn back to the bare basics, both in terms of assets and obligations but still committed to its original core function—to protect Galactic Central.

And that's just what Cam intended to do, whether Galactic Central bloody well wanted him to or not.

"Yeah, not really."

Aquaia's interjection jerked him from his recollections. "Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not true to say we're all GalCen has, defence-wise. There's also, you know, the small matter of their trillions of credits' worth of AI assets. Gun turrets, probes, smart missiles, you name it. I mean, have you seen the orbital interdiction drones they just deployed? Wandoo Demoraliser Mark 8s, the latest and greatest. Awesome stuff. A greased space-gnat in camo fatigues couldn't get past those babies. And then there's—"

"Yes, thank you, lieutenant. I'm quite aware of GalCen's assets and their alleged abilities." This was true only in the broadest sense. Cam knew they had a bunch of techy stuff and that it could do a bunch of techy things but he wasn't really interested in the details beyond that—he suspected they would only depress him. "But as far as we're concerned they're nothing but back up. I want us to operate on the assumption that when it comes to Galactic Central security, over the next few days, we're it.

"Hah! Yeah, right." Aquaia broke off mid-chuckle as noticed the look on her CO's face. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Deadly, lieutenant. Look, AI is great—hell, even my toaster has it, these days. But you know what? Every now and then, it still burns my toast. Sometimes I forget to plug it in. And one day it's going to fail."

"Boss, I hardly think you can compare a massively complex, state-of-the-art defence array, with multiple layers of fallbacks and fail-safes, to a toaster."

"No? I think I just did. After all, if it all goes wrong and we're not ready, then you know what we're going to be, don't you?"

She groaned. "Toast? Oh, please, cap. If I wanted dad humour, I would never have left home."

Dad humour? Wow, he really was getting old. "Look, Aquaia, let's just assume the worst, okay? That's kind of a Sentinel trait, after all. I know most likely no bad guys are coming, and even if they do, most likely the flying toasters can take them out. But in the infinitesimally unlikely scenario they do and they can't, that's where we come in. And I want us to be ready."

She regarded him for a moment, before flopping into the bright-red chair positioned before the room's primary control screen. "Fair enough, skip. What do you need?" 

"All hands on deck, for a start. Which reminds me, the base is dry for the next few days." He resisted the urge to wince as he delivered this news—Aquaia could drink most of her fellow Sentinels under the table and was also not the sort to take kindly to restrictions.

To his relief, her only response was a grin. "Fair enough. Guess we'll just have to get our thrills from the satisfaction of a job well done, huh?"

"Damn straight, lieutenant. Now, do you think you can come up with plan whereby a handful of Sentinels and a sketchy network of outdated surveillance probes can keep an eye on an entire solar system for however long it takes until the hypersats and/or scrunching come back online?"

"Ooh, I dunno. Sounds pretty tough, skip. Borderline impossible, even." She cracked her knuckles and turned to her keyboard. "Good thing you have me."

"It is." And Cam meant it. It was a very good thing the Sentinels had Aquaia. Despite himself, he couldn't resist asking. "Why do we?"

"Huh? Why do we what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, lieutenant. Rokki and Zerf are know-nothing undergrads compared to you. You can't expect me to believe that Bellatrixian university didn't offer you a pretty sweet deal too. Why did you stay?"

She turned to look at him, expression serious. "Oh, you know how it is, captain. When it comes to career choices, a girl has to weigh up the pros and cons. Consider the ins and outs. Look at the features and benefits. Think about what a position might offer. You know, things like grant applications, defined goals, guidance from your superiors, ethical oversight—that kind of stuff."

Cam stared at her. "But we don't have any of that stuff."

Green eyes twinkling, the deceptively cherubic features broke into another grin.

"Exactly."