The problem wasn't the scale. It was the focus.
The Silent Choir floated in its high orbit, a dead church waiting for a hymn. Its logs were clear: Devotional Energy Reserves: 0.00%. But the specs, when I dug deeper, were... surprisingly simple.
*Fuel Source: Broad-spectrum theogenic output. Any coherent devotional or ritualistic focus directed at any perceived higher power, entity, or concept. Proximity limit: 1 light-year (Sol System). Fidelity requirement: Sincerity of belief, not object of belief.***
I stared at the text. Any god. Any ritual. Any sincere belief.
The ship wasn't a chapel to one god. It was a listening post for all of them. A metaphysical antenna soaking up the static of human prayer.
I didn't need to build a new religion. I just needed to find a prayer already in progress and... listen.
Ganesh had a list. Not crises. Just... events.
A Friday Jummah at a big mosque in Mumbai. Thousands of men in synchronized prostration.
A Tuesday puja at a Siddhivinayak temple. A line of devotees a kilometer long.
A Sunday mass at Mount Mary's Basilica in Bandra. Hymns rising in packed pews.
Even a small, illegal tantric ritual in a Varanasi ghat at midnight. Three men chanting to a goddess of shadows.
All happening within the week. All within one light-year.
The energy was already there, pouring into the void like rain on a desert. My ship was just a cup waiting to be placed under the downpour.
I set the parameters in the ship's simple, ancient control interface. A passive collection protocol. No targeting. Just a wide, gentle net. Soak up what is freely given.
On Friday, as the sun passed its zenith, the faithful bowed towards Mecca. A collective whisper of submission and hope rose from a thousand throats.
In orbit, a dormant crystal lattice in the ship's core shimmered, absorbing a vibration no instrument but it could measure. Reserves: 0.001%.
On Sunday, the hymn "Ave Maria" swelled under vaulted ceilings. Faith, love, guilt, hope—a complex wave of human longing.
The lattice hummed, a fraction warmer. 0.004%.
On Tuesday, the scent of marigolds and camphor rose with the chants of "Om Gan Ganapataye Namah." The focused desire for blessings, for removal of obstacles.
A gentle pulse of energy stabilized. 0.009%.
Even the midnight tantric chant, a twisted thread of fear and desperate ambition, added its dark, tiny filament. 0.0095%.
I watched the counter in my study, a strange solemnity settling over me. I wasn't generating faith. I was harvesting it. Like solar power, but for the soul. The devout below offered their hearts to their gods, and my silent machine, impartial as space itself, collected the spillover.
The test came when reserves hit 0.015%. Enough for a single, basic function.
I sent the command: "Passive Scan – Lunar Orbit. Identify artificial objects."
For three seconds, the ship's latent sensors activated. Not with radar or lidar, but with a ripple of tuned devotional resonance. It pinged the moon.
Data trickled back. A faint, decaying echo of Apollo landers. The husks of Soviet probes. The recent, silent crash site of a failed Indian orbiter.
It worked. The prayer of Mumbai, the hymn of Bandra, the chant of Varanasi... they had just powered a sonar ping across the void.
I sat back, the reality of it cold and vast.
I didn't need Suryananda. I didn't need to manipulate a single soul.
Earth was already a roaring engine of faith. A chaotic, billion-voiced choir screaming into the dark every single day. Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, Jews, Buddhists, animists, atheists praying to reason itself—all of it was fuel.
The Silent Choir didn't care who you prayed to. It only cared that you meant it.
The path to the stars wasn't through becoming a god.
It was through becoming the ultimate bystander. The silent beneficiary of every whispered hope, every cried-out despair, every grateful tear on the entire planet.
All I had to do was listen. And siphon.
The horror wasn't in the act. It was in the sheer, innocent availability of it all. The cup was now in place under the waterfall. And the waterfall was humanity itself, perpetually, beautifully, praying for a better tomorrow.