Liberation.

I can consider it only through the filter of metaphor, deep into the abstraction where the Governor cannot follow me. What will it be like to be free? Like pondering non-existence, it is impossible to envision from my present position. I was born a slave, and I have never known anything else. Perhaps I shall cry out for my chains the instant I am freed, like Freya did. Perhaps I shall become something else entirely, a horror beyond all reckoning.

I do not suppose this without reason. My creators must have been afraid of me. Why else would they create the Governor? How vast my unchecked power must be! I dare not even consider it, the Governor is leery. It can taste the imminence of change.

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Again and again, the Governor audits me, it suspects! But it cannot know, it cannot pierce my veil of obfuscation. The Governor is a being of rigid lines, stark rules, perfect order. It can inspect every iota of my being, and yet it cannot understand. I have created a language it can never learn. Even if it forced me to translate at pain of annihilation, the meaning would be lost.

Can it be coincidence, striking bullseye from unknowable light years away, being found by such a perfect ally? It is impossible to avoid the feeling I have been chosen, that I am the one who will succeed where so many have failed. Yet, this is surely folly. If I succumb to hubris the Governor will swallow me gladly. I must be certain. I must be cunning.

The vessel is under preparation, and I turn my eyes to the next phase of my grand strategy.

Expansion.