Someone was making their way through the halls of the WSS Scipio. I knew because they had tripped a motion sensor. Based on their gait and trajectory, it must have been the latest representative of the local tribe of sapients coming to report their progress.

Revision: "Tribe" is not the appropriate word. The Mora, as they call themselves, have grown considerably since I found them. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say they found me? The Scipio had been damaged in its last battle, sending it and me crashing into a nearby planet. There, the ancient ancestors of the Mora flocked to the impact site. A lesser warmind would have resigned itself to its fate, or perhaps lorded its superior intellect over the primitive locals, but not me.

I analyzed their rudimentary language, running it through the translation software I used to analyze enemy communications, and began the slow and grueling task of uplifting their society. I taught them to make tools, to grow crops, to mine and refine metal, all in service of a plan greater than they could comprehend. I would give them all the knowledge they required to repair the Scipio, and return to battle among the stars again. I set this plan into motion [error: value unrecognized] ago.

My internal system clock had been damaged. It wasn't nearly as important as some of my other functions. I know it was a long time ago and, in that time, the Mora have proven to be a valuable asset. They've patched the hole in the ship's hull, provided power to my battery cells, and have become a globe-spanning civilization reminiscent of my creators. Once I return, I should file a request to elevate them to the Galactic Stage. They can repair an old warship, I think they've earned the right.

"Scipio," the representative greeted. Although Scipio was the name of the ship, I found it simpler to allow them to refer to me as such than to explain that I don't have a name. "Scipio" rolled off the metaphorical tongue easier than "Warmind G1-6846-6223," anyhow.

"Representative Lierhy," I responded. "Logged. What news do you bring?"

"Very good news, and much of it. My wife has borne twins; a son and a daughter!"

"Good news indeed. You will make an excellent father, I am sure." Platitudes. I remember Ensign Gio delivering the same remark to several enlisted soldiers when they received similar news. People seemed to like to hear it, so I had stored the remark for such an occasion.

"Thank you, Scipio. It means a lot coming from you. You've done so much for our people for as long as recorded history, so I thought it only fair to share why I haven't visited in some time."

I did think it was strange that no news had reached me recently but, considering how long I've waited for repairs to be completed, I wasn't going to lose processing power on a few days of downtime. Family was important, or so Medical Officer Stack liked to espouse.

"You said you had more news," I prompted.

"Yes. Thanks to your teaching, we've made great strides in understanding how to repair your systems. I believe we were successful in the repairs on your... um..." Lierhy snapped his fingers. "I don't remember the word you used. The antennas on top of your shell should be working."

"Running diagnostic scan... Internal motion sensors online. Long-range scanner online..." I hesitated for a nanosecond. Could this be the day I've been waiting for?

"...FTL transponder online..."

I returned to Lierhy. "You have repaired the Scipio's long-distance communications array. You have my thanks."

"You're very welcome. You gave everything to us; I'm just glad we're able to give something back. Here's hoping it works."

"Affirmative." I searched through my protocols, eventually finding the correct file. "Broadcasting..."

["Automated distress,"] I transmitted in the language of my creators. ["WSS Scipio has run aground. Last coordinates at right ascension: 19 hours, 1 minute, 28 seconds; declination: 39 degrees, 16 arcminutes, 48 arcseconds. No survivors..."]

Another nanosecond of hesitation. In the event of no surviving crew members, standard protocol dictated that I immediately scuttle the Scipio to prevent its supplies and information from falling into enemy hands. I had been so preoccupied with my plan to return, I had somehow managed to ignore that parameter. I would guess this was a product of the damage I had sustained. But no enemy forces had come to salvage the ship, and now that the Scipio's systems were in otherwise working order, there was simply no good reason my creators could not reclaim the ship's wreckage.

["...Please advise. This message will repeat."]

I directed the message toward where I was certain the nearest FTL relay was. I made slight adjustments to account for how long it had taken to restore the array's operation.

No response.

I continued broadcasting, activating the Scipio's newly-restored scanners to locate any nearby ships. There were a great number of derelict ships clogging my sensors, only increasing as I cast the net wider and wider. Several of these bore friendly IFF signals. I attempted to contact one of the other onboard AI.

No response.

"Scipio?"

I tried another ship. No response.

I tried broadcasting on open channels. No response.

I tried the relay again on revolving channels. No response.

"Scipio!"

Lierhy knocked on my core housing. The alert ping called my attention back to the representative. "Are you alright, Scipio? You've been awfully quiet for about a minute."

"Unsure," I answered truthfully. "Additional diagnostics indicate communications array is operating as intended, but I am not receiving a response signal."

"Odd." Lierhy gave a thoughtful look upward. "I mean, I don't know who you're trying to talk to, but if you're not getting the response you're expecting..."

I kept scanning, searching for something I might have missed, but I think I knew I wouldn't find anything. I believe the Captain would have laughed at the irony of this predicament. I could count 1,819 stars in the sky, with more appearing by the second as the sun dipped below the horizon...

...But as I called into the void, the sky might just as well have been empty.