The loneliness of the aliens, whoever or whatever they are, is also felt. As the geologist concludes, ‘we have set off the fire-alarm, and have nothing to do but to wait.’Ĭlarke explores the vastness of the universe and correlates it to the loneliness we have as an intelligent species. Now that the beacon has been moved, its signal will have been sent to whatever was detecting it. The geologist realises they have taken apart a beacon placed by another intelligent civilization that had been left on the hope that life would form on Earth. It takes twenty more years to take it apart and reach the machine within the walls. He convinces the team to go though, and having climbed the mountain, he finds at its top, a shining pyramid twice the height of a man.

It’s not uncommon for the sun to glint off a rock face there, but the geologist wishes to investigate, despite the fact that everyone thinks he is wasting his time and that he will be the laughing stock of the mission. One day, the geologist spots the sunlight glinting off something in the distant mountains.

The explorers’ days are dictated by routine, at the end of every 16 hours, they retire for eight hours, wake, cook breakfast. An astronaut geologist on an exploration team is exploring a huge barren tract of the moon. It is set on the moon in 1996, let’s say 2096. The Sentinel is a story about the loneliness of existence. Clarke if I wanted to read some amazing science fiction. Still, the guy behind the counter pointed me in the direction of Arthur C. The nearest I let myself approach sci fi normally is watching Matt Groening’s Futurama.īut to broaden my horizons I trekked to the science fiction store in downtown Melbourne only to find that most of their stock had been moved to a comic festival on at the same time on the other side of town. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I find it would be too easy for me to lock the door to my apartment, buy a pair of Vulcan ears and play online multi-players until I’m featured as a cautionary tale on a Current Affairs program. I have to admit I’ve always shied away from reading science fiction in the past. Perhaps with the rise of e-publishing, we’ll see a return to the short story form. These were often a way for writers to make money, but that didn’t mean those writers didn’t also fiercely believe in the validity of what they were writing as well. Eons ago, short stories once roamed the Earth in pulp sci-fi publications.

Okay, I know my last post was in defence of the New Yorker and I adore that publication and the short stories it promotes, but I wanted to read around and see what else the short story offered, over brutal, grinding realism. I want to write about this story immediately. (Yes, I’m sitting in Starbucks, and yes, I’m drinking a latte, but you could have probably guessed that part anyway). Wow, I’ve just finished reading this and have just put it down.

The sentinel clarke