Intergalactic Summit

Hello everyone,

It has been for some time now that we have been seeing a psychotherapist. Her practice performs under the strict theological auspices required for this line of work in the Empire, and we have come to trust her judgment and advice. We sought out her help for various reasons, and with the full support of our Lord and Husband.

As a therapeutic device we have been advised to maintain an audio diary. To increase the curative effects of confession, we were recommended to share our thoughts with others. We would not share things we are uncomfortable with for the sake of privacy, of course, but we live a pious and virtuous life and we do not fear scrutiny or judgment. Our husband has given us permission, but we recognize his right to revoke it.

We urge you to open yourself to us with your feedback, as we open ourself to you.

We named this audio diary Joyeuse. It is a ceremonial word, and not often heard in colloquial Gallente speech. We felt it best suits our experience which we now proceed to describe to you.

We felt the violent shiver of warp entry come over the hull, but we did not let on as to how clever we were for knowing that. It would be dangerous to reveal our intuition, our smarts. We learned that as a slave.

We entered the black room to which we were shown, and picked a spot most comfortable to us, on the floor near a door. We carefully surveyed the obsidian padded black baffles that filled the walls, and as we wondered to ourselves where we were when we spied a tall robed figure who stood as still as a shadow.

"Damping." said the Partisan. The stone slab of his jaw hardly moved. Much later we would learn the room was reinforced against electromagnetic interference. To what purpose?

"You will be washed." His hand motioned us to rise, and we complied. As if on cue, two Matari women entered bearing a cistern of clear water. They proceeded to either side of ourself, intent on their task of sanitization. We wondered if we would have any privacy from the Partisan, but he showed no sign of excusing himself. All eyes were upon us. Would it be custom to disrobe?

With no small shame, we attempted to do so, pulling on our clothes, and then the Partisan boomed, "No!"

Instead, the Matari pulled on my neckline only to reveal my neck and collarbones. They undid my hair and held it high, away from our head.

"The water is sacred. It will cleanse the site." The Partisan was ominous and brief. Water trickled down our shoulders. Silk towels ran gently over the hairs of our neck. It was over too soon. We had not been cared for like that in a long time.

The Partisan clicked his finger, motioning us to approach. Our eyes fell on a padded recliner with what looked like wrist and ankle restraints. The Partisan was hunched over a display case on which fell a blue surgical spotlight. He motioned for us to look.

As we dipped our curious head down, we could not find his eyes hiding under his cowl. In the display case, basking under a magnifying glass, was an impossibly small silver dot. Transistors crowded inside the dot, converging around a tiny metal strip the size of a grain of rice. Along the strip were the words ISHUKONE C106JL.

"Do you see it? Do you understand its meaning?" the Partisan asked hypothetically.

We rose up, our eyes focusing on the spot where his eyes should have been under his cowl. We did not know the meaning of his riddle.

Had we forgotten the two Matari still in the room? And just like that we felt a strong hand on our neck. Our vision went black.

I'll be watching this space with interest.