[center][h3]Act I[/h3][/center] A rapping sound came from the door to Graft's laboratory. High frequency plus less-than-strident volume, with the inclinations of his various minions in mind, meant it could only be one person. “Come in, come in,” he said, not looking up from his work. Using the magnification function of his spectacles, he kept his eyes on his subject, the recycled head of a Guard half-melded with one of his devices, in this case a Bionic Regenerator. The procedure he was performing, being plugged into the operating table and able to manipulate its myriad arms, was by no means easy, but he could still spare the effort to listen as his visitor slid open the door. A heavy thing replete with bones and solid, calcified gristle, it took some effort to move for someone without his ability to command mechanisms, but no effort on this visitor's part was wasted. As he connected a wire to a neurode bundle and started welding them together with nanoflesh, he heard the sounds of swishing fabric and clinking metal grow louder as the source drew nearer. After another moment Graft wrenched his hands free from the connective innards of his terminal, leaving his project suspended. “Tabula,” he greeted, speaking first as always. “Are you not in the middle of your studies?” She nightgaunt nodded. With the suit Graft originally gave her since replaced by garb given by Aurora, including white cloth and light armor, she looked every inch a fledgling cleric. Of course, her flexible purple-black horns, wings, and tail might sour that impression in the eyes of some. As the days went by, the listless emptiness on her face and the dull misery in her eyes had been replaced by interest, inquisitiveness, and even eagerness. She remained soft-spoken and generally low-energy, but she gave of an air of real engagement that made her boss proud. “Yes, sir. Actually, I have a question for you.” “Well then, ask away. Do you mind if I operate while you do?” “Not at all.” With her blessing, Graft resumed his work on the specimen. She kept silent for a few moments, trying to find the words to express the matter her curiosity fixed her upon, and holding tight the holy book from Kath's library. “Well...I wanted to ask you about your faith. Since I'm trying to become a paladin, and all.” “Hmm,” the Director remarked, using a tiny grabber to test the strength of the connection from before. It would need more reinforcement. “Go on.” “The root of all faith is strong belief, as I understand it. In our old world, the gods people worshiped were beings whose presence was clear as day. They gave signs, granted miracles, and even appeared sometimes. But apparently, some people worshiped gods who did not do such things. They worked in mysterious ways, so subtle that it was hard to tell if they were doing anything at all.” “That sounds about right,” Graft prompted her to continue. “So I wanted to ask, which type is yours? How does...your god manifest?” Graft narrowed his eyebrows, confused. “...My what?” Tabula scratched her head with one of the claws on her right wing. “Er...a while ago, you told me that you worshipped a powerful god called Profit. You seemed very...enthusiastic.” “Oh!” the Director laughed. “Of course. Well, profit has signs, and it grants miracles, and it can definitely appear before you, or in special places. Some might think its workings mysterious, but it really is a concrete and logical matter. So, the first, I suppose.” He snipped a tendon and stretched it around an actuator. For a moment Tabula stared at the project, thinking hard. “So, your belief is not that it exists, but that it is righteous. The one true path to the good life. Or...is it eternal life?” Her musing got cut off. “That's exactly right! Nothing is more righteous than profit!” Tabula crossed his arms. “So, why aren't you a Bishop or something too? If you're such a strong believer, you should be able to do all sorts of incredible things.” Graft sputtered, missed a connection, and scratched a circuit. “Drat! Hmm?” Drawing back from his operation, he considered what Tabula said for a moment. “Well...profit doesn't work that way. It's not really a god, see. It's a set of principles. Take in more than you spend, invest intelligently, accumulate wealth and power. It's a way of life. Much better than some capricious deity in my books!” Putting her free hand on her hip, Tabula asked, “That sounds pretty easy to believe in. If...you don't mind me asking, sir, what does believing in profit actually do for you, or those around you?” Graft clenched his fist, then raised it upward like a grasping claw. “Simple! It allows me to keep advancing, keep reaching, keep striving for bigger, better, more, more, more! And it gives me power over others, to compel them, to make their lives better or worse as I choose!” When he calmed down, he found Tabula looking deflated. He patiently waited for her to speak, highly interested in whatever came next. “I understand why you're not a cleric,” she said after a few moments. Her boss laughed a metallic laugh, smiling widely. “So you do. I must say, you're speaking and evidently reading just about flawlessly. Your Intelligence must have developed a great deal.” Tabula blushed. “Thank you, sir.” He continued. “And I hear that you're sparing all of the opponents you're being given to grind experience with, correct?” She nodded. “Any reason why?” The nightgaunt thought for a moment, her horns and tentacles wiggling rhythmically, then replied, “Out of all the gods I read about in Lady Kath and Lady Aurora's books, I've chosen to believe in the Forerunner. The god who's seen and lived every lifetime in existence, and who embodies love, compassion, and understanding even in hardship and suffering. He says that everyone deserves mercy.” Graft ruminated on that, and twiddled his claws as he did. “I see. Can't say I agree, but I see nonetheless. Your Faith is also growing well, and I can see that your Strength has not suffered for it.” He spent a moment feeling her muscles with his talons, causing her to giggle. “I am most impressed.” “I am so happy to hear it!” Tabula sang in elation, overjoyed to have pleased her boss. A hopeful look came over her, and she hugged her book tight. “If that's the case, I was wondering if I could ask for something.” After a nod from the Director, she made her desires plain. “I was wondering...if I could go outside again sometime soon. On a break, or something. I've been training in here for a long time. I know that you really, really like to work, but...I might not be the same way.” Graft considered it. “Hmm...I don't know....” He didn't think of himself as a workaholic, but her words did ring true. Compared to just about anyone, he pursued his job with a tireless fervor, to the point of neglecting his basic needs. As much as he wanted quick results out of this project, he reasoned that the results would suffer if he applied too much pressure. While he did not intend to be any less protective of Tabula, he supposed he could allow her some time to relax. “Ah, very well then. But see that you return to your duties all the more spirited afterward.” Tabula didn't run off cheering, but the Director could see her happiness writ upon her features. She left him soon after to return to her room, and he continued with his operation. “Truly remarkable,” he murmured. “It's about time a certain someone else started pumping some numbers up, too. And after that...” He chuckled. “Who knows?” [center][h3]Act II[/h3][/center] Graft approached the Final Chapter with one aide on either side flanking him. He walked upon his cane with pep in his step, looking as impeccable as he was dressed. To his left walked Tabula, dressed in the elegant white cloth and silver armor of a war priestess, with her long black hair braided behind her and her wings hanging low like a cloak, their hands clasped about her waist. On Graft's right walked Papillary, who didn't look quite right. There was a certain slackness to the way she moved, reminiscent of exhaustion. She also seemed...not just taller, but larger overall. She was practically stuffed into her characteristic physician's garb. Graft paused in front of the skeleton butlers before the throne room door. “Why, that's just the ticket,” he exclaimed, taking a drink from one of their trays. After downing it, he smacked his lips in relish. “Mmm, mmm! Just can't get quality sustenance in the Factory. A shame you lot don't have the...stomach...for it, hohoho.” He pressed on. Papillary, not-so-subtly irritated by her boss's implication, took two drinks and splashed them against her head, where they could absorb straight into her bloodstream. “Whoa,” she gasped, reeling, before falling on Tabula. The nightgaunt struggled to hold her up, but managed to steady Papillary until her healing kicked in a moment later and the secretary could follow after Graft. Tabula herself, however, remained behind to stare at one of the fuzzy, plump creatures dozing off in a butler's arms. Her eyes were shining. “What is that?” she asked. “A rabbit.” Papillary had turned back and fixed her blue-vein eyes on the animal. “I thought you read Lady Kath's biology texts?” Tabula leaned closer to the rabbit. “It makes me feel strange. Like I want to touch it. Squeeze it. Hold it close.” The butler complied, holding out the pudgy beast for the demon cleric to take. Gingerly she scooped up the beast, and after a moment without it struggling at all she hugged it against her chest. “Oh! I love it! It is wonderful.” Papillary snickered. “The more you love it, the harder you should squeeze, you know.” Without thinking Tabula squeezed harder, causing the rabbit to squeak and contort in pain. Her eyes went wide. “Oh, no!” Frantic, she waved her hand over it, muttering a panicked prayer. For a moment it seemed like nothing would happen, but then a green light wove between her fingertips, and the rabbit was restored. It stopped struggling, and after petting it Tabula glanced at Papillary with accusing eyes. “How could you?” The living organ shrugged, giggling. “It's just some dirty rodent, silly. No need to get worked up. C'mon, we'll be late.” She turned to run after Graft, and Tabula followed, the rabbit still in her arms. [hr] The initial briefing concluded, every handcrafted chess piece given its role on the great board for the game that would be played, and Graft leaned back in his chair. With an aide to either side and his cane across his lap, he considered the task he'd been handed and found it unsatisfactory. Now that Rodias had ceded the floor to any questioners, he felt it only natural to speak first and air out his concerns, as well as to offer his own suggestion. “My assignment sounds very passive. Given Salem's involvement, Intravis Type S will be used, so I'll have almost nothing to do. I do, however, have a proposal that I can only hope you find worthwhile. You plan to gain the locals' favor by dealing with the cultists, as it stands. A good idea, since they are a threat to such low-level humans, but what about the long term? Once the lurkers in the shadows are gone and that threat is listed, their lives will continue as normal. Things will be better with that incompetent lord out of the way, but if you really want the smallfolk in your pocket, there's an easy and effective way.” He rubbed his claws together, creating a steely whining sound. “Their wallets. Perhaps once this younger relative takes over, he brings in friend of his, a member of the 'Welfare Commission' or some such. This friend overhauls the town's industry, providing a host of jobs with salary and benefits of the likes these poor souls have never seen, and offering special goods. Nothing too costly for us, but a whole new world for mere villagers. For decent pay, good food, and discounts on remarkable wares, they'll be climbing over one another to work the land and mines to supply the Chateau.” Graft grinned. Evidently, he'd given the whole matter some thought. Either he'd been keeping eyes and ears out on his own, or he was just that intuitive. He stroked one end of his mustache. “Of course, this 'friend' would not be me, as I'd be far too busy, but I know just the person for the job.”