The Unemployed Sentinel Finds a New Job: Taking Orders for Power Armor Waxing, Maintenance, and Repairs; Apprentices Wanted, No Idiots

"So, what does the mysterious Sentinel Legion look like? How exactly do you protect the blueprint of the world left behind by the Creator? Is the World Heart your headquarters? I've always been curious about that."

"Uh, I've forgotten. All the information about Sentinels in my memory database has been formatted. I only remember being born on the assembly line. Would you like me to describe the workshop and production line that left such a deep impression on me?

"To put it in terms more familiar to you flesh-and-blood beings, I suppose you could call it the cradle of me and all the other Sentinels?"

"Mm, maybe another time. This doesn't seem like the moment to discuss the finer points of the Creator's engineering. Surely you still have records about the subspace disaster from a thousand years ago, though."

"Uh, I'd love to tell you the details you're interested in, but the problem is that this part of my memory is even more badly damaged. That strange Beta program you told me about must have damaged my memory data when it activated.

"About that incident, all I remember are the enormous subspace eye floating in the sky, the Sentinel vanguard arriving on the battlefield by quantum teleportation, and a few scattered scenes of me independently repairing the energy compartment at Base R-9. I'm really curious about what your ancestors did in the Eden District back then.

"Why would they create something as evil as the Beta program?"

"Alas, believe me, Miss Sentinel, who's perfectly honest but can't answer a single question: I'd like to know the answer too."

Murphy sighed.

His conversations with Monica along the way had mostly gone like this: he asked a question, and the Sentinel replied that she'd lost her memory. It had happened so many