Broadcast warning. The following record designated
the testimony of Solme Varr has been cleared for
restricted transmission under the oversight of
the Departamento Vox Communicatus and the Department
of Civic Flower Imagining. This material has
been deemed partially heretical, mildly contagious
and linguistically unstable. Auditory exposure
may result in emotional synchronisation with
unknown frequencies, unscheduled remorse for
actions not personally committed. The sensation
of being remembered by unfamiliar machinery,
transient episodes of lucidity followed by deep,
grateful obedience. Listeners are reminded that
Solmayvar's testimony is not to be taken literally,
figuratively, or at all. Avoid repeating any
of her phrases aloud, especially those that rhyme
or hum back at you. If your Vox unit begins to
leak light, immediately close your eyes and pray
to whichever authority still answers. All responses
to this transmission will be logged, evaluated
and possibly forgiven. By continuing to listen,
you consent to witness. By witnessing, you consent
to inclusion. First I must clarify that my congregation
is fully compliant with all devotional regulations.
Attendance is consistent, genuflection angles
are within acceptable variance, and we no longer
incorporate foreign hymnals into our liturgies
following the audit. I only report this because,
well, I suppose it began with events. There's
a tone, you see. Not unpleasant, like a choir
warming up beneath the floor. The first time
we heard it was during the evening prayer cycle.
The hymn Righteous Pressure Differential was
in progress, and the air began to join in. A
hum, soft and steady. The vents shivered, and
the dust danced in the candlelight. At first
we assumed it was the building settling, or perhaps
the Emperor himself acknowledging our diligence
in maintaining proper atmospheric sanctity. So
we sang louder, and the hum? It harmonised. Some
of the older parishioners began to weep. They
said they felt the sound in their bones, like
a benediction that started from within. Others
described a warmth, a sense of being known. I
admit, I felt it too. By the second week, new
faces began to attend. They said they had heard
the call through the ducts. Most wore their rebreathers
wrong. A shame, but we allowed it. The Emperor
sends all sorts. One woman brought a piece of
something she claimed had fallen from the ceiling
of her hab. A small, curved fragment, ivory pale
and ridged with metal veins. She said it sang
when held near the vent. We placed it on the
altar, between the candles and the recycling
quota slips. The hum grew louder. The children
began to draw shapes of it in the dust. All those
twisting lines. The many little mouths. I reminded
them that unauthorised icons are subject to confession.
But they said the shapes moved when you looked
away. So we let them continue. It's strange.
The congregation has doubled since then, but
the air still feels thick, heavy with kindness.
No one's ill anymore. No one's tired. We share
food, dreams, sometimes words we don't remember
learning. I've tried to contact the local ministerial
office, but the vox just hums back now. The same
note we hear at prayer. It feels like the Emperor
is finally listening. Thank you.