It was insignificant. Nothing important, really. It was just a fragment. That said, the insignificant could still invoke the powers of the monumental, and this little, insignificant thing would do that.

The station had slumbered in the orbit of a pulsing, bright star for ages and ages. It had no intention of ending its long sleep until the masters of this solar system returned, whenever that was destined to happen. Until then, it would make itself content by calling out for them every few thousand years. Today was the day it would call out once more. The station's cry, a mournful song of distress and disrepair, sung out to the galaxy in search of someone to maintain it. Systems were failing and the masters were nowhere in sight. It was a distress signal from an empty region with only dead worlds to populate it. Nobody would have find it before, but maybe the mournful song would change this.