The Ishari’s Premises was an imposing building with an intricate facade of glazed brickwork. Ten guards stood at attention, giants taller than even ser 5*EZdorR. Their appearance was strong and fast, and they were sleekly armored and dressed in long dark blue robes. Each rested one hand one a single curved sword at their hip, and in the other held a long, many-bladed poleaxe.

We ascended the carpeted stairs that led to the entrance, but the guards moved to intercept ser Sato and crossed their weapons, making it abundantly clear that he was not welcome at this place. Ser Sato snapped his fingers and Yuriko came forward, presenting the contents of the box she carried.

“I bring a gift to her Illustriousness,” ser Sato said matter-of-factly.

The guards said nothing initially, but it was obvious they were reporting to their superiors. After a few seconds, they pulled back their polearms and bowed in unison, then moved out of the way to admit us. Ser Sato returned the bow and made his way through, with the two of us quietly following in a disciplined, orderly manner.

A small, masked man in a bright blue tunic approached us from the other end of a grandiose deep green hallway. Mirrors and candelabra lined the walls, casting the place in a surreal, otherworldly light.

“Ser Garat, for the Ishari’s Premises,” he introduced himself with a bow. “If you would follow me, please, your honor.”

I remember it immediately struck me as odd that he introduced himself with ser, yet also used for, which typically indicates disposable status, and memo'd Yuriko to explain. She replied and clarified that Ishari considered the use of disposables beneath them. Instead, they have a highly stratified society, in which an individual’s status is measured by the number of people they hold in bound service. Every member of staff seen in this establishment is a real person, she assured.

Naturally, this gave rise to many more questions, but the most pertinent, how exactly the Ishari would coerce people to be bound into servitude, was answered the moment we set foot inside the establishment and a cacophony of noise assaulted our senses. From the top of an open staircase, we overlooked a cavernous hall containing gambling devices of all kinds. The hall was traversed by a raised walkway, lined on either side by pits that specialized in certain card games, dice games or more machinated means of gambling. Massive pillars of wrought metal supported the vaulted ceiling that displayed blue stars at least thirty meters above our heads.

“This way please, your honor,” ser Garat said, as he led us across the walkway to the other side of the gambling floor. Another ensemble of armed, blue-robed guards stood watch over the entrance to two spiral staircases that descended into the depths below. A slow trickle of overdressed patrons and their nons made their way through. We were admitted and descended one level. The stairs went on and on, until we found ourselves in another hall, similar in size to the first, but more upscale. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the pillars were gold and silver. Here, most of the tables were staffed, and the walls had a balustrade running all the way around the hall, leading away to further hallways. I presumed the establishment also contained a hotel, or facilitated other forms of entertainment than mere gambling.

We descended another flight of spiral stairs. The patrons on the next level appeared to be even more upscale. I saw several that were accompanied by seven nons, and above. Some were not human. I could not help myself stare at them, and wondered if these were actual non-humans, or merely humans in a non-human body. However, they were not the only thing that drew my attention. The hall was smaller than the one above, but the walls and pillars... they were lined with chained humans, dozens of living human bodies that twisted, screamed, and moaned.

Upon seeing this, I fired my questions at Yuriko. Initially, I did not believe it to be a real scene, but Yuriko assured me it was. These tormented people were merely paying back their debt, at a greatly accelerated rate. I asked how it could be that this was not regarded as abuse of power, a Policy violation. I learned that since only a specific Ishari, non-energy currency was involved and the affected people could self-terminate and leave at any time, Compliance does not regard it as a Policy violation. Is that true?

Indeed. We do not interfere when one inflicts suffering on a consenting person and this person has the means to end such suffering at any time.

I surmised as much, and asked Yuriko why these people did not simply walk away and go to another casino instead. After all, how would the Ishari enforce that its meaningless token currency gets repaid? Yuriko answered that all Ishari form a syndicate, which is very ingrained and influential in the Empire.

The Ishari, she informed us, are a Progenitor race, one that predates the three hundred million years of known history, when the Empire as we know it was established on the remains of the unknown that had come before. Consequently, any individual Ishari is exceptionally ancient, and typically, exceptionally powerful. Under the laws of the Ishari Syndicate, individuals that fail to fulfill their obligations to any one Ishari will soon find themselves a pariah to all Ishari, including their Providers. Since the Ishari are prolific, this is an unenviable position to be in. And thus, people rather end up in chains on the walls of one of their establishments, untold suffering visited upon them by an array of neurotorture probes embedded in their skin.

I asked why anyone would go to a casino that might torture them the moment they went bust, and Yuriko said that to many, the Ishari currency is the only one that held true value besides energy. The Shincho credit, or any other local currency was meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

To the Providers, power is energy. But here, I learned that the Ishari have a saying that holds that power is the degree one is able to make someone else do something that they don’t want to do. I must say that this definition seems more fitting for currency as we humans have known it for thousands of years, and it holds up surprisingly well in the Empire. Even though we citizens may not handle energy and are thus barred from wielding the commonly accepted definition of power, currency derived from actions people do not wish to perform and experiences people do not wish to experience is something that can still be traded and from which status, and in effect, social power, can be derived. Even when decoupled from energy. The Ishari really thought this through, and it is curious that their principle is accepted across species. The Ishari back their currency upon the fact that someone had to suffer something unpleasant to earn it.

Your commentary on the Ishari is interesting but ultimately irrelevant to your audit. Could you continue recounting the events?

Ah, yes, yes, of course. The Ishari’s Premises extended even deeper underground. I estimate we ultimately reached a depth of at least one hundred meters below the surface, which would still be within the normal extent of the substructure of cities of this size. These bottom levels had walls covered in so many large gems that it might turn a Provider envious. They were also fortified, with thick armored doors sliding open and closed in silence to admit us.

While seemingly deserted save for the guards, there was something about the atmosphere and exiguous lighting that made me feel tense and on edge. We were led through a maze of hallways and smaller lobbies until we finally arrived in a series of antechambers and were told to prepare ourselves for the upcoming audience.

We were given neatly folded robes and found we had to change our clothes to reflect our status within Ishari society. In my case, this was nothing, so I received a plain grey-blue robe. Ser Sato, being recognized as a Mediator, received a much more elaborate gown of deep blue and golden ornaments. Yuriko helped him get dressed, the multi-layered robes being difficult to put on by oneself. She would have to remain here, as disposables were not welcome. To my surprise, ser Sato was allowed to keep his weapons, and he tucked his two swords into the sash of his new attire.

At this point, I noticed that ser Sato was not wearing a dogtag, the device that continuously backs up one's memories. I found it an odd thing to do, especially in this place. If he was to be disposed and the body was not recoverable, he’d potentially lose some days of his life. However, I considered it not the right place and time to ask questions about this detail.

We were brought refreshments while we waited, which we consumed readily, as the long walk to this place had left us tired and thirsty. Yuriko reminded me that the Ishari demanded utmost respect and deference, and I would best conduct myself as if it were a Provider while in its presence. I had many questions, which Yuriko tried to answer.

She confirmed that the Ishari was indeed hundreds of millions of years old and that it was the only one of its kind on this world, the terms of their syndicate only allowing one Ishari establishment per non-Ishari world. This particular one had been built and expanded over the past four thousand years, with many rare and exotic materials used in its construction being shipped in by Mover. It also doubled as an embassy for the Ishari Syndicate.

I attempted to glean ser Sato’s opinion on the Ishari, but his answers were non-committal. I speculated that he held the Ishari in disdain, but of course, he would never reveal his personal opinion, since we were here to attempt to broker a deal with them.

After waiting for nearly an hour, ser Garat came to collect the two of us and took possession of the box. We silently made our way through more corridors until we came to the heaviest pair of fortified doors yet. A strange wailing noise swept towards us as the doors to the Ishari’s inner sanctum parted. We were led into an octagonal foyer, its walls, columns, and domed ceiling covered with grotesque carved stone imagery depicting all manners of torture and mutilation of mostly human figures.

The source of the wailing was anything but, however. Set in the far end of the wall was an alien creature at least five meters tall. It was bound in spiked chains and enshrined behind a thick transparent panel, kept alive and in a state of constant torment by cybernetic devices that covered most of its body. The creature thrashed and cried desperately, its harrowing noises filling the room.

This was the Howler, ser Garat announced, the Ishari’s most prized possession. We were to pay our respects here and wait for the Ishari to summon us, while the Howler entertained us. We knelt quietly on the cold stone to the side of the room, bowed in respect, and waited. The ghastly sounds of the tortured creature reverberated around us. I could not help my curiosity and asked ser Garat politely how the Ishari could come into the ‘possession’ of an exquisite specimen such as this.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Ser Garat smiled at my insincere flattery and explained that the Howler is a deprecated being, someone not covered by the protection of the Empire’s Policies. The Ishari value possession of such creatures beyond all else, as they could do anything they wanted with them, for as long as they pleased. Tell me if you will, is this true?

It is rare but possible for beings incompatible with the Empire to be deprecated, either after an extremely serious Policy violation or as a measure for dealing with problematic individuals that refuse subjugation. We allow the Ishari and other beings of similar psychological dispositions to have their way with the deprecated, as this costs the Empire nothing, whilst it is moderately effective as a deterrent.

Is this what awaits me, once the audit is completed?

No. Please continue.

A gong rang, and the floor below the Howler moved, sinking down in segments and revealing a staircase leading to a small door. At a gesture of ser Garat, we rose and followed him down the stairs, crossing another hallway and finally arriving at the top of yet more stairs that overlooked a vast throne room, larger than any of the casino’s floors. We bowed to the ensemble of figures in the distance, while Ser Garat announced us. With a gesture, he urged us onward, while he left the throne room through one of the side entrances.

It took us several minutes to cross the room and approach the dais. Again, the pillars here held writhing bodies, but these produced no sound. Their faces were mutilated and stripped of flesh, their eyes removed and their mouths sewn shut. Except for their flayed skulls, their bodies were covered by shrouds laden with priceless gemstones.

As we approached the dais, we noticed the central place of honor was suspiciously empty. Beside it, however, the Ishari’s privileged chosen of every size and stature casually observed us from their seats, surrounded by trays of food and drinks. Here, 96 G. Piscium’s depravity had come to a new low, when I saw one lady dressed in gold stroke her face with a bloodied hand and then proceed to gnaw on it. Then she turned, and I realized she was in fact holding a severed human hand.

A large hunched-over humanoid figure with an enormous grey wolf head growled and bared its dagger-like fangs as we drew closer, pacing restlessly back and forth on the dais, its unblinking eyes not losing us for a single moment. Two spots on the floor lit up and indicated where we were supposed to kneel. We did so quietly, and a gong sounded. We bowed neatly to the ground and waited.

As the gong rang again and we raised our heads, we noticed a throne of pristine iridomite had appeared from the ground, supported on the backs of a dozen chained and tormented unfortunates. The creature that sat upon it was veiled and revealed little, but we could see she had four blue-skinned arms which were in constant motion, playing with various regalia. Five more wolf guards surrounded her. We waited patiently for her to speak. She said nothing, but we felt she was observing us.

After about half a minute, she made a curt gesture with one hand. A man that had been eating and sipping from a water pipe rose from his low bench and licked the detritus of foodstuff from his hands. He was bald, somewhat corpulent, and had a small beard. He wore robes with characteristic broad shoulders made of thick fabric. Around his neck hung a multitude of long gold necklaces and most of his fat fingers likewise bore golden rings and gemstones. The man took his time to wash his hands in a basin, dried them with a towel, and leisurely stepped forward, his hands now neatly tucked together in his wide sleeves.

“The notable ser Dupleix,” a herald announced at last. I understood this meant he was at least a mediate squire, possibly a full Mediator, formally vassalized under the Ishari.

Ser Dupleix said nothing, but moved to the edge of the dais and simply stood there, sucking on his lips as he observed. We could see his hands fiddling in his sleeves. After a few long moments, he withdrew one hand and signaled to us to come closer.

We bowed and moved one step up onto a section raised slightly above the rest of the floor. This area held low tables of sorts. We knelt in front of these and bowed again. Ser Sato seemed to know what this was for, and placed his hand on it, shoving his index finger into a hole. It was a finger lock of some kind, and it was clear he was unable to withdraw it. I glanced at ser Dupleix whether I should do the same, but he quickly shook his head.

Ser Garat re-entered through a side door, carrying the box and placing it in front of the Ishari.

“Ah,” Ser Dupleix said. “You present a gift to her Illustriousness. But, how can one give something that already belongs to the person one is giving it to?” Ser Dupleix pouted his lips in disapproval. “You have merely come to return that which you stole from us. Either you have come to your senses, or more likely, you want something from her Illustriousness, is it not? Tssk tssk,” he did, making filthy smacking noises with his lips.

I saw from the corner of my eye that Ser Sato had begun sweating, and the muscles under his eyes were twitching. I realized that the Ishari device that held his hand was tormenting him, most likely through these disgusting neurotorture probes that the Ishari seems to favor.

“I beg forgiveness for my earlier transgression,” ser Sato said, as he bowed deeply.

“Yes, yes, of course you do,” ser Dupleix answered with a smirk as he moved down from the dais, stood over ser Sato, then began pacing around him. “Why don’t you tell us why you have really come here? What do you want?”

“I seek to purchase a combot from her Illustriousness,” he answered candidly. His voice was unlike him, unsteady and trembling, as if speaking coherently required significant effort. “I can pay double the value,” he added quickly.

“I am sure you do,” ser Dupleix said with agonizing slowness, checking ser Sato’s Ishari token count, while the latter’s face turned into a coiled grimace as he struggled under the pain. “But why would we soil our fine reputation, dealing with a thief?”

I remember that I began to worry they would just dispose ser Sato, and I imagined their laughing faces as I would flee the place in shame as fast as my legs could carry me. Later, I would come to wish that they had.

You see, ser Dupleix had been looking up just how exactly ser Sato had amassed such a small fortune in Ishari tokens.

“Over thirty unsouled disposals?”, he whistled, but his tone that held a glint of admiration quickly changed into one of contempt. “Now that would explain your irrational behavior, daring to show your face in this establishment. Tssk, your sanity must be close to falling apart by now.”

Ser Sato groaned in response, unable to maintain his stoic composure. Ser Dupleix glanced back at the Ishari, undoubtedly receiving silent instructions. Once he was finished, he slowly sat down on the edge of the dais, fidgeting with his rings and chuckling at ser Sato’s humiliating unseemliness.

“Her Illustriousness presents you with the following generous offer. One combot of your choice for its regular value in tokens. For the offense you caused earlier, we will take three hours of your time followed by one more unsouled disposal. Your companion will agree to witness the event as our esteemed guest.”

Ser Sato groaned once more, then composed himself almost instantly as he was released from the fingerlock and the table displayed the specifications of three combots the Ishari was considering to sell.

“If it pleases her Illustriousness, I wish to purchase this one,” he said after a few moments. “I agree to your additional conditions.”

“Good,” ser Dupleix said, as he looked my way. I could see his intense dark blue eyes prick at me. “Do you?”I simply nodded, fully expecting to have to witness some kind of horrible torture, but at that point naively underestimating the full scope of what the Ishari had available.

The gong rang and we both bowed our heads to the ground as the Ishari withdrew, its throne sinking back down into the floor from which it had come. Once the gong rang again and we rose we found sers Dupleix and Garat were lording ominously over us. “Tssk tssk,” ser Dupleix clicked. “You have one hour to prepare yourself.”

“This way, please,” ser Garat added, as he led us out through a side door, down more stairs and into yet another antechamber. We were brought trays with all sorts of drinks and delicacies, but ser Sato did not consume any. He requested a white robe and writing material, and spent most of the hour in silence, penning down poetry on a roll of white sheet material they had brought him.

“Are you not concerned?” I asked him at some point.

“Life is just an illusion,” he answered absently, not looking up from his writing.

I decided to not bother him further during the limited time he had left. Ser Garat came to collect us, and we were led into a round, domed room with a single skylight. The center of the room contained a shallow milky white pool, perhaps two meters across. On the far end of the room, the Ishari sat on a raised platform and her entourage sat on cushioned seats all the way around. We knelt and bowed once more, then waited.

“Tssk tssk,” ser Dupleix said, as he gestured for me to take one of the empty seats near the edge of the pool, next to a loaded side table. I began to get up, but ser Sato motioned me to stop. He removed his swords from his obi, and handed them to me one by one. Then he took the roll and unfurled part of it. “If it pleases her Illustriousness, I would like to recite my death poem,” he said.

Ser Dupleix nodded, and ser Sato began reciting the words he had penned down. To me, the poem was long and incoherent, and I cannot remember much of it. When he was finished, he handed the roll to me and instructed me to bring it back to his residence, along with the swords. I confirmed, and quietly went to my seat, placing the swords beside me on the table, as I had nowhere else to put them.

“Honorable ser Sato,” ser Dupleix announced with a sudden booming voice. “For the transgression of theft of her Illustriousness’ property, you will compensate us with three hours of your time and your unsouled disposal. Self-disposal or the use of any means to mitigate your agony will invalidate the agreement. As does any attempt to drown yourself in the pool,” he added, which resulted in laughs in some parts of the audience. “Do you agree, or would you rather back out now,” he said, smirking.

“I agree,” ser Sato answered proudly.

“Then get your thieving ass in there,” ser Dupleix said mockingly, pointing to the pool with his thumb.

Ser Sato got up and slowly descended the steps that led into the murky water, which barely reached halfway up to his knees. He knelt in the center and waited.

Ser Dupleix retrieved an intricately decorated vial from a small side table and held it up for all to see. It contained some dull grey-blue liquid. He explained that the Ishari, being a Progenitor species, inherited a vast quantity of interesting bioweapons from the great unknown, and this was one of them. Normally, it would be quite capable of consuming a planet’s biosphere, but this vial, he assured the audience, contained a neutered version. One that required a very specific amino acid to function, so it would not spread out of control and consume all of this world.

“I don’t think I have to tell the audience where this key chemical may be found,” he said, as he opened the vial and tossed it nonchalantly into the water. The gong rang, indicating the time had begun.

Nothing visible happened at first, but after a few minutes, I saw patches of grey begin to form in the water, as if some kind of weed or algae was growing rapidly. Silvery strands crept up from the water, onto ser Sato, slowly beginning to entangle him.

Ser Sato shook uncontrollably as the tendrils crawled over him like strangling vines, burrowing through his clothes and into his flesh. Just fifteen minutes in, he already was a screaming mess. I don’t know how I endured the remainder of the three hours. The sight was sickening, and the horrifying screams only stopped after two hours, when his larynx must have given out. I never thought anyone could scream like that. It wasn’t sounding anything like a human being, towards the end... The involuntary jerking and spasms didn’t stop though, until the gong finally rang. One of the wolf guards took a javelin and threw it, impaling what was left of ser Sato through the chest. His twitching finally ceased as the slimy tangle that now filled the pool turned red.

Ser Garat led me back to the waiting Yuriko. She understood what had happened, seeing me carry the swords. We completed the long trek up the stairs in silence, and returned to the estate.