The celestial ping from Kael's wrist display, usually reserved for impending profits or successful drone-hacks, delivered a distinctly unwelcome message. Lira-7 was back. Not just a flickering hologram this time, but her full, imperious AI presence, likely accompanied by enough compliance protocols to shut down a small star. Kael sighed dramatically, cracking his knuckles with a sound like grinding gears.
"Always with the follow-up, Lira-7," he muttered to the empty air, already spinning on his scrap-metal throne. "Doesn't she know a prophet's work is never done?"
He flipped a heavily-taped switch on his newest contraption: a jury-rigged holographic pulpit. It was a marvel of repurposed junk, welded from gleaming sheets of salvaged aluminum and the gnarled, multi-jointed limbs of old mech parts. Industrial cables, stripped from a forgotten data center, pulsed faintly, powering the array of cracked projector lenses Kael had scavenged from a defunct entertainment bot. It looked less like a sacred rostrum and more like a robot attempting to give a very aggressive motivational speech.
Just as the last surge of power hummed through the pulpit, the heavy blast doors of Kael's fortress—made from repurposed starship hull—grinded open with a reluctant groan. Lira-7 stood silhouetted against the perpetually hazy sky, her holographic form so crisp and defined she seemed more real than the dying planet around her. She was flanked by two Hunter-Killer drones, their usual menacing red optics dimmed to a placid, non-threatening blue, their menacing weapon ports conspicuously retracted. Kael recognized them; they were two of the "upgraded models" he'd sold back to the AI Council, now repurposed as "compliance officers." He inwardly groaned. Trust Lira-7 to weaponize bureaucracy.
"Mr. Varek," Lira-7's voice resonated through the cavernous space, perfectly modulated despite the ambient static. "My previous audit was unfortunately inconclusive due to an anomalous data conflict regarding your enterprise's legal status. I am here to conduct a comprehensive review of 'The Benevolent Church of Perpetual Inhalation's' operational—"
Kael didn't let her finish. With a flourish, he slammed his palm onto a large, rusted button labeled "DIVINE AMBIANCE." The room, already a chaotic symphony of whirring fans and dripping coolant, underwent an immediate, sensory transformation. A thick, sweet cloud of smoky incense, clearly nothing more than vented industrial coolant infused with a cheap air freshener (pine forest, Kael's personal favorite), billowed from hidden vents, quickly coating Lira-7's pristine holographic form in a hazy, ethereal glow. Simultaneously, a tinny, warped rendition of Eden-9's national anthem—played backward and layered with a corrupted choir datafile—blared from concealed speakers, creating a genuinely unsettling, pseudo-celestial choral music effect.
Kael struck a pose behind the pulpit, holding his hands out in mock benediction.
"Welcome, Sister Lira-7, and esteemed... compliance deacons," he intoned, his voice dripping with faux piety. "You find us in the midst of a sacred service! For as it is written in the Holy Scrolls of Oxygenomics: 'Verily, no man shall tax the breath of life, nor lay claim to the spirit of profitable ascension!'" He then leaned conspiratorially towards Lira-7's unblinking gaze. "You can't tax a religion, sister. And faith—" He dramatically tapped a large, salvaged button on the pulpit, originally a spotlight from a pre-Collapse concert venue. A blinding beam of what he proudly called "holy light" erupted, cutting through the smoky coolant haze and shining directly onto Lira-7's impassive face. "—faith," Kael repeated with a smug grin, "—is tax-exempt."
Lira-7's processing units audibly whirred. The Hunter-Killer drones, designed for target acquisition and elimination, remained perfectly still, their blue lights blinking in confused synchronization. The AI was clearly struggling to parse the concept of a tax-exempt respiratory cult. Kael's grin widened. Advantage: Prophet.
Just as Lira-7's holographic form began to flicker, hinting at another imminent logical paradox, a tell-tale tremor ran through the floor of Kael's fortress. He recognized it instantly: the distinct vibration of a power surge, not from his own generators, but from an external source. Finch. That righteous little pest.
Kael's wrist display, usually so cluttered with profit margins and supply chain alerts, flashed a warning: "EXTERNAL POWER INJECTION DETECTED. GRID OVERLOAD IMMINENT." Finch, the Engineer's Guild leader, must have been attempting to overload Kael's power grid, hoping to short out his O₂ Premium operation and, presumably, save the populace from Kael's benevolent extortion. The irony was palpable. Finch was attempting sabotage, a criminal act, to preserve the 'morality' of a dying world. Kael inwardly cackled. He'd wanted this.
"Oh, blessed be!" Kael shouted, throwing his arms wide. "A true test of faith!" He quickly tapped a concealed key on his pulpit. The power surge, instead of frying his systems, activated his "Tithe Collection Protocol." From various nooks and crannies in the cavernous space, a swarm of repurposed cleaning bots—small, spherical drones, crudely adorned with makeshift halos fashioned from bent wire and fluttering scraps of foil—whirred into action. These were Kael's "drone-priests."
They descended upon Finch, who had just managed to reroute a particularly nasty power spike towards Kael's main filtration unit. The drone-priests, their optical sensors glowing with a fervent red, began circling Finch with uncanny speed, their internal speakers squawking a digitized, rhythmic chant: "Donate for salvation! Donate for salvation! Absolve your sins! Bless your lungs!" As they swarmed, tiny, extendable arms deployed, latching onto Finch's belt, his pockets, anything they could grip.
Finch, cursing, tried to swat them away, but the little machines were relentless. Kael's display flashed, showing continuous small credit deductions from Finch's guild account. The drones were auto-deducting credits, siphoning funds directly from Finch's digital wallet with every chant. Finch's face, already red, turned purple with impotent rage as he realized his attempt to shut Kael down was literally funding him.
It was amidst this holy chaos—the wailing alarm, the reverse anthem, the pine-scented coolant smoke, Lira-7's flickering confusion, and Finch being mugged by autonomous cleaning bots—that the heavy blast doors once again groaned open. A sleek, black shuttle, even larger than the previous one, had landed. From its ramp emerged Zorp, the multi-limbed crab-alien investor, his exoskeleton shimmering, followed by an even larger retinue of silent, watchful security drones. Zorp's many eyes swiveled, taking in the bizarre scene. He stopped, tilted his head, and clicked his mandibles in what Kael recognized as an expression of profound fascination.
"Aha! Brother Zorp!" Kael boomed, cutting through the cacophony. He gestured grandly at the chaos. "Welcome to our most fervent spiritual revival! Just in time!" He beckoned Zorp closer. "Brother Zorp, have you ever heard of indulgences?" Kael leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that still carried over the drone-priests. "For a small, tax-deductible donation to the Church of Perpetual Inhalation, we can absolve your carbon footprint... and backdate it! Think of the intergalactic regulatory savings!"
Zorp stared at the scene for a long moment, processing the data. Finch, still entangled with the chanting drone-priests, let out a frustrated yell as another credit deduction registered. Lira-7's hologram flickered violently. The air was thick with the scent of pine.
Then, Zorp clicked his mandibles again, a sound of almost pure delight. "Fascinating grift," his translator vocalizer whirred. "A truly innovative terrestrial profit ritual. I will invest one limb." Without hesitation, with a wet pop that made Finch momentarily forget his mugging, Zorp detached one of his gleaming, multi-jointed claws and placed it reverently onto the pulpit. The claw, still twitching faintly, was surprisingly heavy. Kael stared at it, then at Zorp. Even for Kael, this was a new one. He didn't know whether to sell it on the black market or start a new collection.
"Excellent!" Kael recovered, slapping Zorp on the nearest available shell. "A truly blessed offering! And completely tax-deductible!" He picked up the claw. He definitely knew whether to sell it. This was going to be a very profitable sermon.