The Sentinel

This story was inspired by a 7 day quest on NC, the Hero's Journey. I had nothing specific in mind, just to have some characters and keep them consistent using img2img. Simply created whatever came first to mind each day of the quest. When it was done, I thought I'd have a crack at actually writing the story. I did create a few more images and modified a couple frm the quest. There's been some conversation about using GAI to author stories. From a workflow perspective, I shared the images with Claude.ai, the AI Assistant I regularly use. A conversation to explore plot, characters, names, style. Once that was settled, I asked for a first draft. Gave some feedback and got a second. I am better with something to work with than a blank page. I re-worked substantially and went into an iterative cycle with Claude as the editor. In the end I think the writing is probably 70-80% mine. Anyhow, enough preamble . . . There are things on this earth that do not belong to it. Things that watch without blinking, listen without ears, and record without judgement. They have been here longer than we suspect, and they will be here long after we stop looking. Most of us will never know they exist. Most of us. On an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, in a coffee shop forty miles south of nowhere, a nondescript college professor spread an ancient piece of parchment on an ordinary table and invited two students to join him. And three perfectly mundane lives took a turn that Tuesday from which there was no coming back — one out of curiousity, one seeking adventure, and one answering a call she still denied hearing. "So what was so hellfire urgent, Prof?" Spreading a parchment carefully on the table, he explained. "I found this hidden in Dr. Fitch's office, Desmond, three days after he disappeared." Scarlett leaned in, studying the document. An indecipherable spider’s scrawl . A diagram that made no sense. Coordinates that did. "Fitch?" She straightened. "That weird old coot who lectures astrophysics?" "A brilliant man," said the Prof quietly. "Just misunderstood." "More like batshit crazy," retorted Scarlett. Desmond said nothing. He studied it slowly, trying to make sense of it. "The coordinates are forty miles north," the Prof continued. "I've cross-referenced them three ways. There is nothing there. No structure, no road, nothing." He paused. "Yet Fitch clearly thought it was important. There must be something there" Scarlett looked sideways at Desmond. "No way, Dezi, we’re not going off on this wild goose chase." “Come on, babe, anything’s better than another calculus lecture." Desmond grinned , “When do we leave?" “Now, we can be there before nightfall.” "I must be losing my mind.", muttered Scarlett, following them out. They rode out of town, heading north. Suburbs dissolved into farmland, farmland into uninhabited country side. As the sun began to set they turned onto a dirt track, overgrown, clearly untravalled. “There’s nothing out here, Prof”, shouted Desmond over the engine’s roar. “Just a little further, we’re just about at the coordinates”, replied Prof. They rounded a corner, and there it was, like a scene from a sci fi movie - a chrome tower, a glowing sphere – down in the valley. They parked the bikes and walked to the cliff edge. From that high vantage point they studied it, spied a winding track that descended into the forest. “Come on, let’s go take a closer look”, Desmond called over his shoulder. “Are you sure, Dezi?” Scarlett hesitated before, with a nervous shake of her head, she followed them down into the forest. The track was steep, switchback curves but navigable. Reaching the valley floor they rode through the trees, eyes peeled for a first sighting. Until, emerging from the trees into a clearing, it stood before them They cut their engines. Absolute silence. The air felt thick, heavy, charged. They could hear – not hear – feel a pulsing hum. “So cool - there’s a ladder running up through the centre” exclaimed Desmond. Prof began to climb, slow and steady. “After you, Scarlett”, smirked Desmond, bowing with a flourish. “Really, Dezi, you’re the worst”, stepping back with a shake of her head “Spoil sport” They climbed up after Prof. “What do you see, Prof”, asked Desmond “There’s a polished silver wheel, but no visible joins” “Go on! See if it turns” “Guys, perhaps we shouldn’t go further?” cautioned Scarlett, “Who knows what this thing is” Scarlett’s words fell on deaf ears. Prof turned the wheel. One smooth turn and suddenly, by no obvious means, it rose into the sphere.” The inside was rectangular, seemingly larger than the sphere had appeared from the outside. Walls polished silver and nothing but a clean white desk with a blue dome in the centre of the room. “There’s something weird about this”, muttered Scarlett, “I don’t like it, let’s get out of here” “Going to be hard, babe, the entrance has, well, vanished” Prof circled the desk, thoughtful, “I’ve never seen anything like it. These materials don’t seem . . . earthly” Desmond leaned forward, reaching to the dome. “Don’t touch it, Dezi, it might be . . .” The warning came too late. He laid his palms on the dome. A doorway appeared. Another room beyond, filled with swirling mist and light. “I don’t see any alternative but to proceed.”, Prof reached out, took their hands, “Without any obvious way out of this chamber, we shall just have to chance it” With a final reassuring squeeze, they step forward, through the doorway. A weird sensation of falling, dizziness, confusingly at once hot and cold. The world went black for a split second and then they stood in a room. But not a room. Walls that were there but not, somehow part of an endless cosmos. “You OK?” Prof the first to regain composure and speak. Scarlett turned, looking back. “Oh no”, she groaned, “I’m fine but the doorway has also done a vanishing act” “Guess it’s onwards then” said Desmond, taking a step forward. A sudden high-pitched whine and a cage dropped over them, bars that hummed and crackled with energy. “I never thought I’d say it, but right now I wish I was sitting in that calculus lecture”, sighed Scarlett, “Don’t suppose you have any idea how we’re getting out of here” “I’m sorry,“ apologised Prof, “I got you into this mess and see no way out. I wonder if Fitch got this far? I wonder what happened to him” “Don’t look now”, stammered Desmond, his bravado evaporating, “I think we are about to find out” They swung round and gasped. From nowhere it had appeared, an alien being. It approached slowly, eyes expressionless, silent, holding what looked suspiciously like a gun. It stopped in front of them, as if examining a specimen. Then it raised the device. Prof threw up his hands. “We mean no harm, don’t hurt . . .” A golden beam of energy shot from the nozzle, enveloped them— warm, absolute, silent. Then nothing. Sound came back first. Birds. Wind in the high branches. The distant knock of a woodpecker, indifferent to the universe. Scarlett became aware of ground beneath her — gritty, earth warmed by the midday sun — before she remembered who she was or how she'd come to be lying on it. She opened her eyes to a wide blue sky. "Guys." She sat up gingerly. "Wake up. We're back in the clearing." Slowly they stood, gathering thoughts and feelings. “What time is it?” asked Prof. “It’s gone.” said Desmond, softly, “The tower’s gone.” Prof just shook his head, “How on earth?” “But at least our bikes are still there” observed Scarlett, “A relief as it would have been a long walk back to town” They rode back to town, in no hurry, each trying to comprehend what had happened. “Don’t know about you but I need a drink”, said Desmond, “got to try and make some sense of this” They settled back. Desmond broke the silence. “We left with questions and have returned with more questions than answers. What do you think, Prof?” “What about Fitch?” interjected Scarlett, “If he got that far, how come he didn’t get returned?” “I don’t know what to think, Desmond. Maybe Fitch found something, saw something they didn’t want seen” declared Prof, “but I do have one definite answer”. He paused. “Yes, go on.” urged Scarlett. “We are not alone” “Yeah, amazing!” Desmond’s cheer returning. “Can’t wait to tell this story!” “Dezi, do you think that’s wise?” questioned Scarlett in a reluctant tone. “For sure, this is too mind-blowing not to share” “Desmond, I think Scarlett is right”, agreed Prof, “At least until we know more, best to keep quiet.” “Exactly,” said Scarlett, tapping the side of her head, “don’t want people thinking we’re as crazy as old Fitch” “Oh alright”, muttered Desmond, crestfallen, “But how are we going to learn more? What’s our next move?” “Really, Dezi, you don’t think we should just let it be”, frowned Scarlett, “just be glad we made it back alive.” “Hmmm,” mused Prof, “Fitch’s office is as he left it - papers, journals, his laptop. Let’s start there, say tomorrow 9am?” “Sounds like a plan”, said Desmond, taking a long swallow. “Oh dear, I hope I don’t live to regret this”, muttered Scarlett, then brightening, “but I’m starving. Let’s go get some dinner.” The tower is gone. The clearing is empty. The coordinates now reference nothing. Three people rode home with the same secret and three different perceptions. The professor had questions he would spend the rest of his life trying to answer. The young man couldn't wait to be asked. And a woman — who had said no at every single step — would be the first one through the door of Fitch's office at nine o'clock the next morning. Some doors, once opened, don't close. That's not a warning. That's just how it is. Somewhere, out there — you may never know where — the tower keeps silent watch, the sphere pulses cold and blue. The Sentinel remains.