Meanwhile, on the planet supporting Lake Point...
Richard McMillan was a bit aggrieved today. One of his shareholders, one Pastor Ferguson, had been very vocal about his daughter's cyborg chassis being an abomination before the natural order. To Mr. McMillan, the man was obviously utterly insane; he had simply given life to his injured child, and how could uploading your daughter's undead spirit into an operating system that is hard coded to only obey him be morally untoward? He smiled to himself, utterly self satisfied as he and the other shareholders were greeted by the glowing, nearly identical onsen workers, only distinguished by their emitted color patterns. The future is here, now all I'd need is a starship...
Pastor Ferguson was having a much, much different internal monolog. First, he'd noticed a massive fleet in the night sky while praying, which he interpreted as the end times. Second, he was about to sacrifice all his wealth and connections to prove his loyalty to heaven.
This Peruvian crucifix my old friend gave me is going to be this town's salvation...
Mr. Ferguson was, of course, sweating bullets as he tried to reconcile everything happening with his more worldly rational faculties. He imagined his family out on the street because of what he was about to do, and fought back tears. Philipians 4:11... there's no situation mightier than God...
About 3 minutes into his magic-induced sermon to MTI, the onsen split open, the geodesics of the earth birthing moon after moon as the entire land shrank to only those aligned to Pastor Ferguson's elect. Jae had been right, this rock had destroyed the world. Most of it, anyway. Lake point was still there, as one moon among many.
