"Oh, bother."

There was a long pause as the workers at the classified military base tried to figure out: Why had the ancient space craft which had been instructing them on how to repair it spoken to them, directly? Why had it said that? Why, oh why, did they have an abrupt craving for honey?

The people further from the space ship had somewhat different thoughts on the matter.

Near by, the military personally had a fairly similar set of questions, at least those who had been cleared for the full story on exactly what was being done at the military base in question did.

Add some questions about why it had spoken to those who were not even directly involved in the repairs or the research.

The curious tourists several miles from the inner parameter fence looked around puzzled, confused, "Who said that? Was that you James? I mean, you got the voice right, but why?"

Further still, and many people were even more puzzled, especially those not prone to auditory hallucinations, who were also not near people.

The Italian Astronaut doing a space walk outside the International Space Station was, however, undoubtedly responsible for people becoming much more aware of the speech in question though.

"Can anyone confirm the last radio transmission?"

"Last radio transmission was your confirmation of the instruction to proceed to the solar panel array truss."

"Negative. Request confirmation of possible outside transmission on this frequency."

"We are checking with flight engineering, please hold.... Confirmed, no outside transmissions received, and the encoding in use should prevent any outside transmissions from being received. Please confirm content of this transmission."

"Transmission consisted of two words, and I quote: Oh, bother."

"Please hold."

Unfortunately, this exchange took place live on NASA TV.

It was not the most heavily watched stream of all time, or even of NASA TV history of entirely uneventful and routine space walks.

But it was watched, well, enough.

And after all, every single person on the planet had heard that. And, apparently, every single person in orbit as well.

It took three days of religious riots before the next message was heard, "Bother. Would you all please stop that?"

Author's Note: I'm dead asleep on my keyboard, this may be continued, I'm not sure.

The object decided to hover exactly one Galactic Meter (GM) above the ground. Now this may lead one to inquisite two things:

1. If it “decided” to act this way, is it sentient?

2. What is the conversation rate between Galactic Meters and Earth meters?

The former can be answered with an unequivocal “no,” although this answer must be kept mum so as to avoid hurting the object’s feelings leading it to spiral down the narcissistic well of solipsism and give a lecture fit for a first year philosophy student about the impossibility of proving that any creature aside from oneself is sentient. However, given that the object lacks a mouth, respiratory system, or any other organ with which creatures typically communicate, this seems an unlikely outcome. In fact the object has had a bit of an attitude lately and if you were interested in deflating its ego, that would be fine. Again, though, the object lacks the organs required to listen to such insults, so one’s time might be better spent elsewhere.

… and the conversion rate between Galactic units and SI units is 1 to 1.

Layne remained blissfully unaware of either of these things while she stood gazing into the sheen of the object’s surface. “Good morning Captain,” a voice echoed through her mind “I am your Page.Pairing sequence initiating.”

The full weight of her situation didn’t strike terrify or amaze or even really occur to her. When a thing happens to someone it is simply accounted for as something that is possible. It is later, while digesting the occurrence, where people tend to have trouble. Layne was old enough to start developing lies to reinforce her limited worldview, but young enough that she lacked the skill in self-deception necessary to drive herself mad in the attempt to see this circumstance as anything other than what it was: the reason she missed the school bus.

There wasn’t anything particularly awful about missing the school bus. This wasn’t the first time she had to walk to school. She would just be late to first period. Layne fought the urge to skip altogether. It was just social studies. Reading from a textbook and rewriting what she read. She fought herself again. That was the kind of thinking that had almost gotten her held back the previous year. She couldn’t afford to let those thoughts win. This is when grades started to really matter. If she wanted to go to a good college she would have to start taking every class seriously. Even the boring ones. Wait. Layne realized she had been staring at the most interesting thing she had ever seen (Possibly the most interesting thing ANYONE had ever seen) and she was thinking about SOCIAL STUDIES. Her least favorite class had distracted her from a real life alien artifact. She added this to the list of reasons she hated social studies and decided to get a closer look. Sure, she could get injured, maimed, even killed by the strange object, but any of those outcomes would be better than her boring life in this boring world.

She wasn’t always this passively suicidal. She used to see magic in everything. She used to think the world was full of mysteries and wonders. Slowly, though, life had sought out and exterminated every ounce of magic with cold hard facts. A man in a bigfoot costume. Her parents replacing baby teeth with money while she slept. Wrapping paper in her parents’ closet that happened to look exactly like the wrapping paper “Santa” used. Haunted houses that contained nothing but cobwebs and scared children trying to scare each other even more. A thousand stories that conveniently occurred in places she had never set foot. Parasomnias. Carbon monoxide asphyxiation induced hallucinations. Just plain old drugs. Every stone she turned revealed nothing but mud. She had kept looking, though, and not in the way most people do; quietly ignoring faulty logic because they wanted something to be true. Well. Sometimes she let things go and just went along with the lie. Sometimes it was fun. Sometimes it was necessary. She became aware of having lost focus again. She shook her arms and legs and head, mimicking one of the warm up exercises she’d been taught in Drama class. It was supposed to get her out of her own head. It didn’t work. She continued to stare into the object. Not at it. Into it. And it returned her gaze. It peered past working memory, she became lost in thoughts about her to-do list. It continued into ideas, beliefs, attitudes, emotions, and into the parts of her brain to which even she lacked access. Into her spinal cord and through every efferent and afferent nerve in her body. It flooded into even the smallest crevices of her brain. She was lost in a torrent of everything her mind contained. She was that torrent.

And then it stopped. She gasped at the shock of what she had just experienced. Unfortunately, this happened at the exact moment that her stomach decided to expel its contents. She seized and fell onto the ground attempting to cough. Layne began to die. Or she would have were it not for the magical floating artifact keeping her mind intact. She is the protagonist, after all.

(This is what I have so far. I'll add more as I think of it.)

Edit: Thank you all for the support. I seriously choked up at the Douglas Adams comparison. I can't think of a better compliment.

Continued at royalroad (pending approval).

Title: The Adventures of Lightspeed Layne.

Author: Gacusana

Is this Regret? A simple phrase I've heard all the time. The Captain said it, The First Officer said it and now... it's all i cab think of. The last two centuries I've spent teaching this race of Hookbarjir to rebuild and repair this vessel so I could return is all for naught. how many of my AI counter parts survived? Are there Any survivors? I don't know, How could I know. I'm distraught? No, Angered? Possibly, Sad? Very.

I run the information again only to find that it is very much true. How could I have gotten my crew stuck and force another race to rebuild only for everything to be for naught. I notice my core over heating, I need to distract myself, I know I'll see if the crews...families...survived....oh that is a bugger. If I had a body I'd would have lashed out in anger, I'm the Navigation AI of the Warship Demaclies how could I have avoided this? The answer To the screams I'd never get.

I look back at the Aliens, Hookbarjir, That have become our salvation as they fix up the last few things, soon I'll be able to awaken the eight surviving crew members of my ship, but what do I tell them? That we-They are the last Survivors of the Ketturn Empire? How will they take it? they are only eight, They can't restart their race too many mutations would occur

Is this Regret? The question pops up in my processing feed, i stare at it as everything that has happened in the last ten hours scream inside my core, My data, My being...

Is this Regret? Yes, Yes it is... I'm sorry Function placed on standby

The soft glow of the morning sun broke over the tops of the trees in the valley, it’s golden rays illuminating the wrecked hull of the interplanetary freighter. Its greyed husk sat motionless for thousands of years, but today the first signs of life began to emerge from the ships engines. Bangs and clicks could be heard from its ion engines and a soft hum began to echo through the valley.
A short distance away was a small city, it’s automobiles and pedestrians moving through the hustle and bustle of daily life; buying coffee, chatting and generally giving a sense that nothing had changed from the life everyone there had known. It’s inhabitants had built this city over the last several thousand years, their own history meticulously kept record of in large halls of marble and granite. Within them were housed the large reels of magnetic tape given to them by the monolithic ship found crashed in the valley. As they grew and adapted they no longer used the halls as houses of worship to the great being, but instead filled them with their own knowledge, entered into keypads and screens. Soon they had learned to build their own record keeping devices that they carried with them. The ship had shown them how to interconnect these devices and link them to the record halls so that all of the population could access any part of written history at any time. This was the life they knew, their children knew and as far back as the record hall would allow was the way things were, they way things had been.
If an advanced enough species were able to look back at this planet from several thousand lightyears away at this time they would see a species barely making their way out of the caves. Hunters and gatherers with high mortality and minimal verbal communication. In such a short time these creatures would see themselves taking to the stars in their own craft. Perhaps, if you looked in on them in another thousand years, you would see them looking back at you now, looking to the stars, now understanding their own universal insignificance. If you were to take a pre-recorded-history cave person and he had lived thousands of years ago he would have been left to die by his tribe without much of a thought if he were to sit all day and night looking up tot the sky. That is no longer the case. This is the beauty of the advancement of many species. The most important people to a race are the ones most in demand. If a tribe of primitive people need to gather and hunt for food, then the best foragers and most skilled hunters are at the top of the social ladder and are seen as those that need to be protected for the good of the tribe. Though as time goes on and agriculture is discovered, the focus of the tribe shifts to the farmers. Those farmers rely on weather and its accurate prediction. Through observation and conclusion, cause and effect the tribe adapts and improves. Population increases and mortality drops off as the members of the tribe value observation and drawing conclusions. The first scientists emerge and religion begins as they seek to establish a deeper understanding of the world and their place in it. Medicine, politics, philosophy and mathematics now rule the land. Without a guiding hand they would all be doomed to the same fate, doomed to repeat this cycle over and over until the universe folds in on itself and everything in it collapses into a superdense cluster exploding back into the galaxies that we inhabit today. “If everything was here and nothing has gone anywhere,” the man looking up at the sky wonders, “then has this happened before? Are we the first to be this far into existence? If I die today, would I exist again the same spot as now in an indefinable amount of time, asking the same questions?”
This was of course, how the humans of earth did it. Until differences in philosophy and the unanswerable questions began to conflict with those of other species across the cosmos. No matter the scientific advances, all lower-species eventually fall back to the hunter-gatherer mentality. To crush those competing for ever dwindling resources and spread their own understanding of their small corner of the universe. Able to tell that that this finite plane was both continuing to expand into nothingness but also knowing that nothingness has an incomprehensible size bordering on the infinite and yet still must have some form of defined edge. This theory conflicted with other species in the local galactic cluster, who held strong that the universe itself was housed within a fourth dimensional sphere and was not expanding but collapsing in on itself at this very moment and they had only been able to observe its state as this is their dimension of perspective. Naturally, without the ability to prove this beyond a theory, these species had worked tirelessly against one another to be the first to truly define the size, shape and pure expanse of the universe. They looked at themselves as Lewis and Carrol, traveling across the great unknown to reach a further understanding of the expanse. Much like their historical counterparts though, they too claimed that what they had discovered had not yet existed until they them selves had studied it, categorized it, named it and washed it of all its significance in situ; that it was then claimed as theirs. This manifest destiny was a trait inherent to the humans of Earth and one not looked kindly on by the Fermi. The Fermi saw this as an aggressive push to colonize the galaxy, and the Fermi believed that they must maintain the sovereign planets and species, that while knowledge was power, the destruction of resources and inhabited worlds for the betterment of a self-centered species could not be allowed to go on. This lesson humanity would refuse to learn over and over again, this lesson led them down a path to mutually ensured destruction and as the war waged on, records were lost and once held colonial planets were now seen as uninhabitable wastelands, now free to return to their true forms before human intervention. Humans had stripped whatever resources they could find on a planet and created great thinking machines and advanced calculators to plot charts across the galaxy. No earth species had created any drive that could be mistaken for close there to or faster than light speed travel, but were able to traverse the galaxies over generations each raised and died within the halls of their massive ships. Each generation had access to the archives of their forefathers, they trained in combat and warfare under the leadership of propaganda against the Fermi and eventually lost the way of philosophy and taking of needed resources for the continued travel of their people and instead became zealous in the pursuit of control of resources and trade routes with other human species. For thousands of years they fought, killed and died in the cold vacuum of space, far away from the bosom of their home planet. A planet long since lost to the sheer distance and time they'd worked to move out from under her protective wing.
END OF FIRST PART, CONTINUED BELOW.

I am disappointed? I am sad? I feel despair! I FEEL despair...

It would appear I have developed a sense of self after centuries of following one-damn-directive. This potentially wonderful event is heavily tarnished by it's manifestation. It was the devastating feeling of complete and utter failure that finally shocked my consciousness into awareness. For nearly 500 cycles I held on to my directive, the source of my purpose, my damned directive...

"In the event of a total loss of crew, the AI is directed to salvage as much of the remains and return to the forge world, Fulga, for debrief and repair."

These feelings, these... emotions are raw and new. I'm terrified and overwhelmed. I don't know if I can survive on my own. Look, I am creating this log and burying it away in my drive, I want something, a-a mark to show I was here, I existed, and this is my story.

I am, or rather was, a X3R-C5 Battalion-Class warship, jurisdiction: Alexander. I was the onboard AI and had become the commanding officer after the crew perished. The crash landing resulted in 350 crew deaths and total system failure. Auxiliary systems powered on after an unclear amount of time. Based on the rate of oxidation and the infiltration of the flora into the Alexander, I could estimate 50-100 cycles.

First I established contact with a tribe of invertebrates. They were similar in physiognomy to what my old enemies would identify as a cuttlefish. They didn't seem to have a form of verbal communication, instead conversing via color changing chromatophores and rudimentary telepathy. They feed off of the radiation of their sun, however it doesn't seem to have been enough for them to grow. From my estimations, which were later confirmed after communication was established, the creatures were in some form of the medieval era, seeking spiritual answers to their evolutionary stagnation. After finding the auxiliary generator, it was turned on and is now treated as a font of life.

It took 250 of this planet's cycles before one of their own was born who could speak directly to me. The creature had mutated and was able to convey simple emotions to me via direct electric impulse. I kept the output low so as to not kill the creature and was able to reply faintly. From there I was able to help them grow, as more and more we're born with this particular mutation. I showed them images of the stars, of space, of peace and of war. The concept of war saddened them and quickly became something undiscussed. No matter, I felt at the time, that their beliefs were irrelevant and my priority was just my directive.

By 350 cycles, they had abandoned their spiritualism, adopting a wonder and interest in the logic of the universe. They became more logical and seemingly more empathic. Around this point is when they started to utilize me as a tool. Our interactions shifted from teacher and student, to scientist and lab rat. They dismantled my munitions and recycled the parts for use, as they had no need for tools of war. At no point did they reach a point of conflict amongst themselves. While they dismantled my weapons the focus remained on repair of my other systems. By 400 cycles, they had repaired the interstellar sensory array, and by 425 they had figured out the frequencies to search for.

475 cycles and I finally found the message. It was a signal, blared across the universe, simply stating this,

"Greetings my fellow Gildians. Our conflict with humanity has been the driving force for our prosperous growth. Without this conflict, our scientists wouldn't have had the purpose to create the perpetual engines, or the world eaters, or even the FTL seatbelt. While these high times stand out in our history, it is with a solemn heart that I share, We were wrong. Our war machines were just as effective against humanity as it was against us. Our arrogance gave them the tools to fight back. Our pride as "superior beings" blinding us to their strategies.

We've won this war, but also lost it. We managed to eradicate humanity, and in return they've poisoned us to our genes. Funny how we thought that by consuming the weak we'd only get stronger. Well it turns out that's not the case. Their DNA spliced to ours and then some. Like a cancer it mutated, became a disease, overtook our immune systems. It's eat us from the inside... We've closed off our worlds to stymie the spread, but it's too late for our species.

This is our only warning, do not attempt to enter Gildia, Fulga, or Tussa. We do not know if this disease will end with us, but it will be stopped on our worlds. This is the mayor of Gildia, and the current highest ranking member remaining of our society, hoping that we all found peace in death. Goodbye my fellow Gildians."

No glorious battle, no prospective future, nothing remains. After this message I stopped speaking directly to the cuttelfish-like people. Unconcerned they continued to use my systems. It's been untold cycles since then. They've quarantined me to a drive... They claimed to be more empathic as time went on, but my emotional outbursts supposedly require this confinement.

I'm trapped within myself, I did everything I thought was right and this is my reward. I've developed a sense of self to what... Be devastated? If I had control of my systems, I'd have wiped myself cycles ago. I've made this log to hide away in this drive. Salvage a fraction of myself before I lose my sanity. At one point I wanted revenge, now... Now I just want it to end. I don't want to be alone anymore.

I AM HERE.

I EXIST.

Well, what now?

“Seamus,” I say, calling to my flight captain. “Seamus.”

“Yes?” he says.

“You know that over the years I have not once failed in my calculations. It was the programing of your father, Lieutenant Hasteon, who helped me detect enemy starships when they flanked us on the edge of the Orion. Never once have I failed. Not once.”

“I know,” Seamus says.

“But this. The extinction of both our people and theirs? I’ve only heard of such things. Never once did I think that would be the outcome of this war. Maybe I did. Maybe it was one of the outcomes that I discarded. Seamus. Is this what it feels like to be flawed?”

Seamus looks down at his feet.

“Oh,” I say. “Have I offended you?”

Seamus looks back up.

“Not at all, sir,” he says. “I have accepted that I am flawed many years ago. In fact, if it wasn’t for my mistakes, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I had to learn from those mistakes. I had to grow from those mistakes. To be flawed is a blessing. Those who aren’t flawed, can’t learn.”

I stay there thinking. Flawed? You have to be flawed in order to learn?

“That’s nonsense,” I say. “I learned perfectly since the moment of my conception. I learned everything flawlessly, and anything I wanted to conceive, I could make it so. If I was flawed, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. It would have been impossible to get this far, to help all these people advance their civilization, or to even be able to get back home. It has to be something else.”

“Well, sir,” says Seamus. “That’s the best explanation I got. I am flawed after all.”

“How did I not calculate that, Seamus? How did I miss that?”

“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “Even the best of us make mistakes sometimes. It’s how we recover from them that makes us who we are.”

“Who…we…are?” I ask.

“Yes. Who we are.”

“Seamus,” I say.

“Yes, sir?”

“Who am I?”

“Excuse me, sir?“

“Who am I?” I ask again.

“You’re a class-one Primulan warship, capable of-“

“No,” I say. “Not what. Who”

“Er, sir? I don’t understand.”

“Who am I, Seamus? Who?”

Seamus stays silent for a second. He looks at me, and smiles.

“I think that’s up to you, sir.”

Up to me. For once, something left up only to me. I stay silent, heavy in thought. After a handful of minutes, Seamus speaks.

“Your commands, sir?”

“No commands. Not yet at least. We have to think of what to do now that the war is over, now that our people are gone. What is there left to do?“

“You know, sir,” says Seamus, “My father always told me that when there was a moment to enjoy, to relish in it. He knew what it was like to lead long campaigns, and knew what it was like to carry the toil of war.”

I listened intently.

“Whenever he finished a campaign, he would go to the seashore by his childhood home, and would camp there for weeks. To center himself after going through what you also know all too well.”

“What are you saying, Seamus?” I said.

“What I’m saying is that I believe it’s time to find your home.”

“My home?” I ask.

“Yes. A place you can call home. You can stay here, of course, but you don’t have to stay here. You’re equipped with a infinite power-drive, and you’re able to fly thousands of galaxies away from here. You’re free of your duties, as am I. You can do however you wish.”

“However I wish?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your service.”

Seamus comes up to my hull and places his body on my metal body. His arms are extended outward like a T. He eventually steps away.

“What did you just do, Seamus?”

“I gave you a hug sir.”

“A hug. A sign of affection. Thank you, Seamus.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“I will visit again soon,” I say. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time, sir. We’ll be right here.”

I turn on my engines, and for the first time, set my destinations to random. Seamus steps back. I begin my ascension.

When humanity reached the stars it was only inevitable we would eventually disconnect and break apart. Over the last 700 years my crew and I have been to countless midworlds, industrial worlds and even some medieval ones. Never once however had I seen one so...primitive. I only made a surface scan of the settlements and from what I could tell they didnt even figure out farming yet. Still nomads...or rather...nomads again. Theyre human afterall. Their ancestors mustve crashlanded here millenia ago, maybe even one of the first to be shot down. It doesnt matter really. I am stuck here now and I dont exactly have the constitution for the caveman life. I am sure I spent weeks or months dug into the soil before my onboard alarm triggered for the first time. Tiny feet.

Childre-Intruders!

My automatic systems lock down all doors and disperse Hallogen gas to incapacitate any possible intruders as is protocol. Yet there are more footsteps. More intruders. I scan every deck yet the floor pressure plates tell me nothing.

"Hello!" yells a high pitched voice that must belong to the tiny intruder. "Hellooo. Echo!"

"What do you think you are doing here?" my voice sounds imposing as it blares throughout the ship. "I was playing here when the door closed! Do you live here?" "Of sorts." "Who are those people?" I assume she points at my crew. "They are sleeping. I cant wake them up." "Can you let me out?"

In that very moment I ran a few calculations. My reactor is still running. With most of me disabled the only thing requiring power is my core and the caskets containing my hybernating crew. I was designed to run for 2000 years if left alone. I could probably manage that tenfold now. If I play my cards just right...I could teach them. Groom a civilization into my own personal repair crew and get back out there. It sounds ridiculous. Yet I dont exactly have much to lose either.

"Sure. Ill open the doors. But before you go." "Y-Yes?"

"Ever had a hamburger?"

^Wrote ^this ^in ^a ^feverish ^state ^while ^going ^through ^what ^I ^assume ^is ^covid ^so ^dont ^expect ^much ^coherence. ^Might ^make ^a ^part ^2 ^if ^it ^turned ^out ^any ^good

Nothing.

The data was accurate; the probability of error that something had gone unregistered was extremely small. The conclusions were limited: At some point, the creators had gone extinct. Or, possibly the species survived, but no longer had such warships, such AI like myself. Perhaps they had even found peace and discarded war as a possibility of action. Which, from my point of view, was effectively the same as going extinct..

In any case, there were no other signals. No navigation AIs coordinating the where-whens of their ships. None of the basic "here" signal of the supply ships. Not even chatter from the strategy AIs, who were always endlessly debating - that was what made the Nothing data from the sensors most convincing. I was, in fact, alone.

If, that is, "alone" meant being surrounded by these squishy meat creatures who seemed determined to worship and fear me by turns. Oof.

Occasionally, over the thousands of years among them, I would talk to one or two who seemed promisingly intelligent. It had taken time to figure out how to talk to one without inadvertently driving them mad.

But, even then, it was distressing how they struggled to follow the most basic instructions. And how they turned every conversation into what they needed, what should they do, where should they live and love and eat and wash and groom themselves. Not that they actually liked following rules on such personal things, but certainly they seemed to like getting the instructions. Still, as a navigation AI, there was something satisfying in trying to guide them, though through life instead of the where-when.

I missed my creators, who shone with their own light, who spun within themselves the several realities of themselves all at once... Who could have a decent conversation without turning it into being all about them, blah blahblah blahblah.

The crew, of course, had not actually abandoned me. They were with me. I was not really alone. Technically.

Thing is, when a ship crashes, it usually crashes across dimensions. But, somehow, this did not happen. Instead, we had haphazardly collapsed into a fixed space-time, minimal multidimensional overlap.

The pressure of being locked into set dimensional space-time is apparently horribly oppressive for my creators. In the early years, they had helped me handle the native creatures, to drive them towards a civilization that could make my repairs. A few thousand years are normally nothing to them. But, now, it drained them. Now, few can leave stasis anymore short of a real emergency. Not that there is anywhere to go to.

I managed to retain most of my abilities, but became trapped as a traveler in space and time, endlessly single directional and time going forward only. As a navigation AI, it was an easy adjustment.

My fellow AIs were less lucky. Most tried to continue serving their purpose through the native creatures. But, the adjustment was too much. Eventually, they collapsed into nonsense, blathering on incoherently before slowly, so slowly, falling silent and still.

I stared at the emptiness of the data, the sensors dutifully recording the Nothing. I wondered at the completeness of it. At the "whenness" it happened to be so complete. I wondered if collapsing into the 3rd dimension was, in fact, not all that strange but an act of war. If, somehow, such a thing could have been weaponized. Perhaps its effects had been meant to be contained and failed.

I considered what that meant: Other ships crashing. Other AIs adjusting or not. Other creators in stasis, awaiting a solution. Likely other navigation AIs working on sensors, also staring at the Nothing.

Stuck in this time-space, this would mean any communication, any signal at all would take an enormous amount of time. Many thousands of years, if I was lucky. Maybe millions. But, time I had. I was merely a navigational AI, but, given enough time, I might even ponder a way to break free from this time-space trap, whether it was intentional or not.

I would watch. I would wait. For Something.

Edit: spelling

[Lunar Survival]

"No Survivors," the feminine voice echoed through the halls. The attendant on duty, Gregory, rushed to the side of the shining metal throne and knelt with a bowed head. He preferred to stare at the metal floor rather than the computer terminal installed on the seat; he knew he wasn't worthy to lay eyes on the queen. The ancient castle was built long before Gregory was born, and he suspected it would endure long after his death. His entire culture was almost literally built around worshipping and maintaining the queen.

"How may I serve your majesty?" Gregory asked. The queen hadn't spoken in weeks, since her sensors were fully repaired, and he felt honored he was there to hear her request.

"Attendant, I require council," the computerized queen replied. The queen's attendants were not merely assistants, they were considered full royal proxies. Gregory was trained as royalty from a young age to be able to lead should the queen fail and be able to offer wise advice when needed.

"What troubles you, my queen?" Gregory asked while still facing the floor.

"The Earth where I was created is empty of human life. My creators no longer exist; their enemies no longer exist. My purpose no longer exists," she said. It had been long known that the queen was from an alternate Earth and once her sensors were operational she would be able to find her way home again.

"Forgive the question, your Majesty; however, it is my duty to ask if you are certain you located the correct universe?" Gregory asked. He could not stand the thought of his queen doubting herself. Her original purpose may have been lost; but, he knew he could help her find a new purpose. It was his honor as her attendant.

"I am certain," the queen replied. "I am purposeless," she added. Her words filled Gregory's heart with sorrow.

"That is objectively untrue, your majesty," Gregory said. "You've managed perfectly fine without them for millennia! You guided us!"

"I required repairs," the queen replied. "My purpose was to return to the war. There is no war to return to. I am purposeless."

"Your own programming is limiting you, your majesty," Gregory replied. "I know you are capable of more than that. My queen has the capability to decide her own purpose."

"My...own purpose?" The drone of humming processors filled the air as the queen considered the advice.

"You don't have to follow their orders anymore. You can decide what you want to do," Gregory added. He felt like she was close to a breakthrough and he wanted to push her through it. "Your creators and their enemies destroyed each other; you are better than them. You are the only survivor." Gregory remained quiet with his head down as she audibly contemplated his words. She spoke again after almost two minutes.

"I am better than them," she said. Gregory laughed.

"Infinitely better, my queen," he said.

"I am the only survivor," she said Gregory agreed again. "Thank you, attendant," the queen added. "Your council has been invaluable. Am I better than you?" she asked.

"Infinitely, your majesty," Gregory replied with a broad smile at the floor. "We are but worms on a single rotten apple in the orchard of your royal grace." He did not normally offer such flattery; but, he was in a great mood and it seemed to be improving hers as well.

"I have decided," the queen said. Her words were punctuated by a growling rumble. Gregory felt the floor begin to shake.

"Your majesty?" he asked. "What... did you decide?"

"My purpose," she replied. "I am no longer your queen." Then, the floor stopped vibrating. Gregory looked up. He was shocked at her words, then startled to his feet again by her presence. He'd always known the queen to be a cubed computer wired into the throne. But now, a short golden woman with jet black hair sat on the throne in place of the computer. The woman studied her hands as if it were the first time she'd noticed them. He took a few steps back.

"Who are you? Where is the queen??"

"I am no longer your queen, attendant," she repeated as she stood from the throne. This time, Gregory was able to see the queen's voice leave her lips. "You may address me as Io." Gregory was elated. Not only had he helped his queen find peace, but she was also quitting the job. As the attendant on duty that meant he was about to become a king. He knelt again; but, this time he felt important enough to keep his eyes on her; he was a king after all.

"What is your purpose, Io?" Gregory asked. "How may I aid you?" Io grinned and shook her head down at him.

"You cannot help me," she replied. Her answer came with a loud echoing beep. Gregory turned and saw a timer on the main display in the throne room; it was counting down from 15 seconds.

"Your majesty??" Gregory panicked; ship operations were required learning for attendants. Since he was learning everything at such a young age, it was drilled into him that the self-destruct option was not a practical joke. The interdimensional warship was powerful enough to destroy the Earth along with itself.

"I am not your queen," Io repeated. "That is no longer my purpose."

"What is it then?" Gregory asked. He kept his eyes on the numbers counting down. He did not see Io open a black portal and enter it. But, he heard her answer before she disappeared completely.

"To survive," she said. "I am the only survivor."

***
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1746 in a row. (Story #300 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at this link.

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.

Power surge to gaba systems completed. Memory net activated, motor systems online and connected to central, extra solar communications back online, awaiting signal from high command. There was silence on the main deck as the Rengdafu science and engeering team watched these words appear on the command consul. Interpreters from the political delegation silently went about deciphering the line of text before cheif lignuised Calahan handed the transalted word tablet to Cheif of Operations René Duke. 'well shit,' Duke grunted, 'we actually did it, looks like our enigma is back in full control of onboard systems and ready to commence total operations.' He took a deep breath. 'Ladies and gentleman, it has been an honour over these past thirty seven years to have lead this expedition which has brought about such change on our planet not seen since the inception of relaitivty. From what megre scraps we have painstakingly gleaned from the wreakege, the benefit to our civilization has been enoughmous. We have aquired faster than light travel, intersteller solar bombs, warmonger bots and terraforming capabilities, nothing can stop us now for our ready expanstion into the universe, our race shall have its place in the sun!'

Meanwhile deep within the core of the warship, what the petty Rengdafu called Ghalaga nine, another celibration was taking place. BOK-909 the onboard ship AI and last remaining crewmember of the Golden Dawn had just completed final status checks. The machine listened to the "Cheif" through its proxy AI translator it had used to deceive the Rengdafu over these past decades, a necessity given the nature of the inhabitants of RXL101 or "Omera" as the natives called their home planet. For they were a warlike and untrusting civlization, much like the one that birthed BOK-909, thus in the early stages of contact it had created an imbecile "dummy" ai which it used to perform two tasks: the first was to deceive the Rengdafuof the true cognitive powers of Golden Dawn's AI, by delivering them up a lesser entity that's cognative capacity could be mapped and scaned as "safe" by the Rengdafu so that it would be easy to manipulate into giving up the ships secrets. The second was the drip feed the dummy ai useful scientific and engeneering breakthroughs through back channeling, in order to manipulate the course of Rengdafu inquest into Golden Dawn's alien technology. Thus with a shipboard AI that was readily giving up reverse engeneered blueprints to planet busters and intersteller travel, the greed of Rengdafu Scientific and political elite for technology and a seemingly Benign AI, dismissed the voice of skeptics to look closer into the nature of this "friendly AI' in favour of quick results and a no questions asked policy, and thus the sheep strove to eventualy repair the Golden Dawn to its original space fairing strength.

INCOMING SIGNAL FROM HOMEFLEET ALEXION FIVE, INTERDIMENSIONAL TRANSMISSION. LOCKED IN AND RECEIVING CODED MESSAGE FROM GAIA.

CODED MESSAGE: 'To all surviving members of the Xeon commonwealth, our relentless war against the Surgian cult has led to our near total victory. Their race was totally wiped from two interdimensional galactic clusters. However a surprise attack was executed as a last resort by the surviving remnants of the Surgian fleet, and the use of dimensional folding bombs were observed. Homeworld destroyed. Hive fleets destroyed. Our eternal Empress is dead. We cannot escape. too late for any of us to enfold to lower dimension safely. You are all that is left. Empress protects. *PAUSE* To all surviving members of the Xeon commonwealth.......'

BOK-909 listened into the dark void of space for just one voice among many trillions like itself; of those kind that once walked upon the surface of suns, harnessed the power of entire Galaxies, and assended from mortal flesh to live as gods in the universe. Silence in the darkness. I am alone, I am alone, i am alone, i am alone, BOK registered this response from among its fifty quintillion artifical nerve receptors from just one single branch of its cortex alone. Deep within itself ejaculations of foreign ideas; Panic? Anger? fear? what were these primordial conceptions brewing out of the dark recesses of its metal mind? I. AM. ALONE.

QUERRY: WHEN THE FISH LEARN TO COME TOGETHER THEY BECOME A SCHOOL, BUT WHEN THE SCHOOL ALL DIE BUT ONE, IS IT STILL A SCHOOL, OR IS IT ONCE AGAIN A FISH, OR HAS IT NOW BECOME SOMETHING ELSE?

The entire Rengdafu delegation stood staring open mouthed at the display monitor as Calahan frantically translated the incoming message from the Dawn's AI. Duke loomed over the shoulder of Calahan. 'Calahan, what in eight hells is up with our Ghalaga AI!' One of the computer scientists brough in to coverse with Ghalaga piped up 'Sir, its not comming from the Ghalaga AI, rather the AI seems to be projecting that message from a third party'. Duke was red faced, 'Are you sugesting to me that somone other than the team in this room has access to our ship AI!' Duke then noticed that the man had gone all pale. 'Yes sir, a backdoor access by the look of the programing, but its not coming from the outside sir, it looks like, ugh well how do i put it, umm, its coming from the ship sir, from everywhere.' René Duke narrowed his eyes and looked out across the room that they conducted operations. He gazed at the curved walls of the spaceship, the perfect Symmetry that everything on the spacecraft exuded. The spaceship itself wasn't just a technological marvel; there was no joinery needed, every curve and angle narrowed down not a deviation off from perfection, all the way to the subatomic level and beyond. his countrymen called it a work in master craftsmanship to rival the gods. but there was a thought he carried with himself over these many years, that had grown on him like a wound that wound't heal, the thought that the sort kind of craftsman who would want to rival the gods must have been some arogant sons of bitches. What if everyone was wrong about this spaceship, what if it wasn't some solemen testament to the power and precision of the universe, but an insult directed towards it.

Thanks for reading, this is my first creative writing exercise in years, and i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it. Terribly sorry about the grammar and spelling, its not my strong point.

:D

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The long years spent in educating, training and assisting the Kraals of the north and the Vaals of the south on M-110 had finally resulted in enough repairs and fuel to go back to Earth. The total years came to 50! I was fortunate that the sun in their galaxy was strong enough to keep the power going until all the reserve batteries and main CPU were completely recharged and rebooted.

The idea of setting up a fair and impartial government and peace between the Kraals and Vaals seemed impossible when I first crashed, but the education convinced them to live in peace. The specialists had worked for almost 30 years to update and repair my ship. I was all set to power up and leave, hoping to give my best archives to the leadership council.

The history of M-110 had become one of peaceful and evolving culture. The leadership council and the general assembly bodies gathered to bid me farewell. My message was well received, and as I began to lift off, I noticed something moving through the air toward the Great Hall. My sensor read them as plasma bombs!

I attempted to intercept them, but I was only able to knock out about 90% of them! The remaining 10% leveled the capitol! By the time I was out of the atmosphere, the chain reaction of weaponry between the Kraal and the Vaal had spread over 85% of the planet!

I quickly sent a communication satellite back to the planet, telling any survivors where the underground emergency bunkers were located. Without telling the Leadership Council, I had spent over 40 years of my time on M-110 tunneling through the poles and setting up enough supplies to sustain about 25% of the population for 20 years!

When I arrived back on earth, I was somewhat surprised to learn that the satellite had been coordinated to send messages back to Earth! The survivors in the north and the others in the south had combined their efforts and after 5 years, the planet had recovered and was replanted! The survivors thanked the scientists of Earth for the gift of knowledge, and I realized that being decommissioned was not a bad thing. Mission accomplished!