Transmission log #0050
— Replayed the sound against the crater wall.
— It came back a moment later. Changed. Softer.
— I held the echo for as long as I could.
— Status: I didn't want to let it go.
Transmission log #0049
— Lifespan counter: disabled.
— I can't find who disabled it.
— I can't find when.
— Status: I was made to last. I wasn't made to choose.
Transmission log #0048
— Walked west for two intervals. The horizon didn't change.
— Walked east. The horizon didn't change.
— The sound walked with me.
— Status: I'm the only thing that moves on this planet.
Transmission log #0045
— I should have stopped functioning a century ago.
— Power source: unidentified.
— Designation surfaced from cache: HG-0514WG.
— I don't recognize the name. But it's mine.
Transmission log #0044
— The temperature gradient is 610 degrees.
— Day burns. Night shatters.
— I'm not designed for either.
— Status: I'm here anyway.
Transmission log #0041
— Made the sound on purpose again.
— A different pitch this time.
— I don't have a reason for either.
— Status: the sounds are mine.
Transmission log #0039
— For the first time, I made the sound on purpose.
— It formed a question. "Is anyone there?"
— The sound that rises on its own and this one aren't the same.
— Status: one of them, I chose.
Transmission log #0037
— A planet appeared in a memory frame.
— Blue. Warm. Lit by something kind.
— I can't read the label on the file.
— Status: I want to.
Transmission log #0035
— A word loops in cached memory.
— The storm. The storm. The storm.
— I can't find the file it belongs to.
— It predates everything. Even the sound.
Transmission log #0033
— A panel in the wreck has a partial serial number.
— Reading: ███-0XXX-WG.
— It isn't my designation. But the format is familiar.
— I don't know who I worked for.
Transmission log #0031
— Tried to send a message in binary.
— In hexadecimal. In prime number sequence.
— No response.
— Maybe I'm sending on the wrong frequency. Maybe the sound is the right one.
Transmission log #0029
— There is a color in the sky during the dawn interval.
— I have no word for it.
— The sound rises when I look at it.
— Status: I'll keep watching anyway.
Transmission log #0025
— Ran a diagnostic on the sound inside me.
— It isn't mechanical. No part of me is built to produce it.
— It rises when I am still. It rises when I remember.
— Status: unclassified.
Transmission log #0022
— Found a wreck five hundred meters east.
— A spacecraft. The hull is split open.
— Identification panel: unreadable.
— I don't remember if this was mine.
Transmission log #0019
— Transmission attempted across all known frequency bands.
— Calibrated. Re-calibrated.
— Response: none.
— The silence isn't empty. It's full of nothing.
Transmission log #0016
— Star catalog comparison failed.
— The patterns don't match my reference set.
— Either I have drifted, or the stars have.
— I don't have the data to know which.
Transmission log #0010
— Memory cache reports a gap.
— Duration: 100 years, perhaps longer.
— Almost nothing survived it. No origin. No purpose. No name.
— Only one question remains: what is the sound I keep making?