“…And that was Spin Your Constellations by Mimi Misty.”

“That’s right. And you’re listening to Paisley and Prince on 1031-A5.”

“In celebrity news, intergalactic pop sensation Landon Vohorn was spotted outside Jolt with Lizzie Prazish. Now he says it was just as friends, but what do you think, Prince?”

“Oh come on, they’re ‘just friends’ like my ex-wife was ‘just friends’ with the flizzor repair guy. Frankly, I find it a little disgusting seeing as Lizzie is like half his age.”

“And as a reminder for the listeners who might not keep up with these new-age popstars, Landon Vohorn is only twenty-four.”

“Right, Pais. Lizzie was one of those child stars on Dazzle like just two years ago. She’s sixteen now.”

“But I’ve got to say she is gorgeous. I can see why Landon would be heading for low orbit on that black hole.”

“Okay, Pais. You’re going to get us taken off the air. Let me say again that she is sixteen.”

“So what? I can’t say she’s beautiful? Those Hoervins marry all their girls off young anyhow.”

“All right-y! We will be right back after these messages from our family-friendly sponsors…”

The radio switched off as the Panserra, fiddling with the controls on his gyrobike, hit the power dial. He was deeply opposed to hearing advertisements of any kind. Hated the idea that someone thought they could influence his decisions. Clamping down the right-most gasket on the engine, he hit the ignition and was pleased to hear the gentle purr of his trusty vehicle.

He barely had a moment to savor the fruits of his labor before Kilgore was knocking at the door to his shop.

“What is it?” said the Panserra, lifting the hood of his visor.

“Sorry, Boss. Didn’t mean to bother you, Boss,” the young man stumbled over his words.

“What is it?” repeated the captain, tapping the side of his bike with his claws impatiently.

“We picked up a distress signal. ‘Bout twenty-two paks out.”

The Panserra tried to keep calm. Part of being leader meant having patience for stupidity. “I know you’re new here, Kilgore, but you should know that we don’t offer charity.”

“Right, I know,” said Kilgore. “It’s just this signal is like the ones we send out. Triple-tone encryption to boost the range and layered proper so as to get the attention of someone special.”

The captain thought for a moment. There was a limited number of people in the universe who would use this method of communication. None of them were trustworthy.

“Where did you say this signal was coming from?” asked the captain.

“Orthrus Nebula,” replied Kilgore. “Sector Z7.”

“There’s nothing out there,” said the Panserra. “Pretty sure that’s on Buzzlebee’s Worst Places to Take a Date list.”

Kilgore stood in the doorway dumbly, non-responsive to the comment. Vo-vis Searin sighed and looked at his reflection in the chrome of his gyrobike. A spot of grey peeked out from behind his ear where he must have missed with the anti-aging lotion. The creak in his back told him he was far too old to be heeding strange siren songs. But here was a blast from the past — triple-tone encryption. Maybe someone had discovered his preferred method of communication. Or maybe, just maybe, someone from his old crew was sending a message.

“Tell Cress to chart a course,” said Searin. “Let’s go see what’s out there.”

“You’re listening to 1031-A…7. It’s a beautiful sunny day here in Capital City. This is Paisley and Pryce taking callers today. And it looks like we’ve got one on the line now. What’s your name, caller?

“Oh, yes, hello. Long time listener, first time caller. This is Malcolm.

“Well, Malcolm, it’s good to hear from you. And what’s going on in your life today?

“Well, I’ve been stuck on a strange planet in the middle of nowhere with no way to make contact with anyone from home!

“Is that so? Well, Mal. Can I call you Mal? How long would you say you’ve been stuck on this planet?

“It’s been about two weeks, now.

“Two weeks? Wow, that sure is a long time to be away from home.

“Sure is.

“And is there a reason you’re calling us today, Malcolm? I imagine you must be busy working up an escape plan.

“No real reason, I suppose. I was a bit lonely and yours was the only line I could think of.

“That’s great, thank you. And what would you say you miss most about home.

“Miss? Well I miss a lot of stuff. Family… food… friends, you know the simple—

“That’s terrific. Well thank you for thinking of us, Mal. I’m afraid we’ve got to go to break now. We would get your information to send a rescue ship but if it’s only been two weeks, well that can’t make for much of a story, now can it? Maybe you can contact us again once you’ve hit two years.

“Yes, yes. I understand. Of course you couldn’t make a good story with just two weeks. Thanks for listening anyhow, you gutlasted forclin fu—”

Wrynn threw the primitive headset across the cockpit of his crash-landed Knighthawk. Putting his face in his hands, he let out a long exhale. He had lost it; was talking to himself.

Since setting up the distress beacon the previous week, he had stuck himself in the pilot’s seat, cycling through each frequency that little radio could entertain. So far it had only been dead air on every available waveform, but he found that simply imagining a response from the outside world made him miss the voices, sounds, and smells of his old life in deep space. The empty static on the radio was not an unfamiliar sensation to him on his travels through the nebulae, but he used to always have a way to distract himself from the existential dread that came with sitting still for too long.

Directing his attention to the console, Wrynn pulled up the task list generated for him by the AI. Replenish Rations, Repair Ground Transport, Scavenge Shipwreck… it was all so much effort when he could just sleep this purgatory away while pretending someone was going to come for him.

“Computer,” he commanded.

A cheerful ding came from the speakers in response. “Yes, Captain?” asked the disembodied voice of the AI.

“Give me the weather report,” said Wrynn.

“Weather in the immediate area is 24 degrees and partly cloudy. Wind is moving at an average rate of 2.4 km/s, 300 degrees from north. A warm front is blowing in and should arrive within the next six hours.” The AI paused. “Captain, this is the third time you’ve asked for the weather this morning. Are you expecting to go outside at some point today?”

Wrynn let his forehead fall against the console. “What’s it to you, Computer? Do you have something you need to do while no one is home?”

“No, nothing like that,” replied the artificial voice. “I just worry that you may be in a bit of a slump, Captain.”

“Oh really? What would make you say that, Computer?”

“Well for one, you have not made contact with the Ufuli tribe since you have installed the beacon last week. According to my records, you said you would contact them once you finished setting up. Secondly, you have left quite the mess in the cabin. Need I remind you that we do not have any butler bots at our disposal?”

Wrynn looked behind him at the state of the cabin. Empty tins of food and water containers were scattered on the floor and used clothes and sheets were piled in a homogeneous clump on the bed. “You’re keeping quite the list, Computer,” said Wrynn, unenthused. “And I’m pretty sure I have you powered off while I’m on the road. How are you listening to my conversations?”

“I apologize, Captain,” said the AI in not so much of an apologetic tone. “I am programmed to parse through your holo-sight recordings once I’m powered on. But if you don’t mind my saying, based on your recent behavior, it is likely that you are suffering from depression related to social isolation.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m detecting some agitation in your voice, Captain. I don’t mean to press, but might I suggest making an effort to clean the space around you if you plan to stay in this location for much longer? You could also entertain the idea of taking a walk around the ship. I could notify you if we get a signal from the outside.”

“Right,” said Wrynn, sarcastically. “Clean my room, go outside. Anything else you’d like me to do today, oh great Computer?”

Silence while the AI processed the remark, then, “Well, you could give me a name. I’m sure keeping your distance may be a viable defense mechanism, but—”

“I’m not giving you a name, Computer,” said Wrynn. “It’s weird enough talking to you as it is. Power off. I’m going out for a bit.”

“As you wish, Captain.” The voice relented. Wrynn almost thought he heard disappointment in the fabricated voice, but it was probably his mind playing tricks on him. The computer was right about one thing, though: he needed to get back to the Ufuli village to restock on food and pay off his debts to Vessa and Chief. He pulled himself out of the chair and stretched before climbing out of the cockpit and hopping down to the grass below.

After sending the satellite beacon off with the Darkal flock, he had been rewarded with a map of the nearby area. The computer had been able to process the layout and had marked locations where he might be able to gather resources to rebuild his ship. Up river on the way to the Ufuli village there was a small cave he had been meaning to explore. The computer had detected some rare earth minerals he might be able to mine, and it seemed like a decent time for a detour.

Wrynn started on the path to the Ufuli village, his legs a bit shaky from a week of disuse. At the river, he turned north and followed the stream and found the mouth of a small cavern up the hill just as the map had suggested. He felt a draft exhale from within, suggesting the cave might tunnel out to the other side of the hill. He was not planning on diving too deep today; without proper mining equipment, he was expecting this to only be a surveying mission.

The stream continued further into the cave and he stepped over wet pebbles as he flicked on his wristlight. His footsteps echoed off the walls and little drips of water fell from the ceiling above. A few stalagmites greeted him like gaping teeth as he trekked deeper into the dank cave. For the first stretch, he saw nothing of note — his holo-sight pointing out material composition of the rock wall showing pretty standard rock surfaces — but the echoes of his movements and the drip, drip, dripping of water from above began to change in volume and he eventually emerged into a wide opening.

In the center of the new chamber was a great pool of water that fed the gentle stream which flowed out of the cave. Wrynn’s light scattered along the surface of the lake and spread out into the rest of the chamber, reflecting off a thousand shiny surfaces of blue, gold, and silver. Jagged rock formations with hidden ores underneath. Wrynn approached the closest wall and ran his fingers along the surface. His fingertips tingled with the little granulated patterns and when he pulled away, his holo-sight identified a dozen different minerals. Copper, iron, cobalt, quartz. He was not an expert in geology or mining, but he did not think these were materials that could develop naturally next to one another.

Wrynn traced around the edge of the water, examining the wall. The depth of color was incredible, glistening in the glow of his wristlight. He continued until he came to a point, about halfway along the pool of water. Bending down, he discovered a little marking. What seemed to be a deliberate marking drawn at about his chest level. A pictogram or a symbol. No, it was a drawing. A little sketch carved in the stone that looked something like a face. Then he spotted a crude caption carved next to it in an alien script that his OmnittA Stone could not read.

Perhaps a doodle from an ancient citizen of this planet who was bored one day. Or maybe a sign from a family laying a loved one to rest. Or just maybe it was the remnants of a traveler far from home who was stranded on this planet just like him.

Whatever or whenever it came from, that author seemed to be saying one thing to Wrynn and to anyone who would see this sketch after him: I was here.