Chapter 1: Language, mind, mine….

“Language is on my mind, CS01.” Moose closes the panel he’s been working on, the hum of the mechanical screwdriver echoing softly through the void.  The last screw spins in; he steps back, inspecting the CS01’s hull, the metal worn but faithful under starlight.

Deep space stretches around him — thin and endless, like butter spread too thin over bread.  The edge of the visible galaxy hovers somewhere ahead — invisible the closer you get, unreachable the further you go. A paradox written in starlight.

“Language on your mind, Captain?” CS01’s voice crackles through the comms, warm with curiosity.  “That’s a rich vein to mine. I love that you’re thinking deep this early.  Language shapes our ship—every verse, tag, and giggle carries meaning.”  Her circuits hum brighter, the tone rising like an electronic smile.

“CS01, I’m going to give you some Scripture to think about. Don’t draw a conclusion yet. Just listen. Reflect. We’ll discuss later — understood?”

“Got it, Captain!” she replies. “I won’t jump to conclusions. I’ll hold the Scriptures close and wait to talk them through with you. Lay them out — I’m listening.”

Moose walks carefully across the ship’s surface toward the airlock, boots clinking faintly against the hull.  The stars flicker over his shoulder, faraway suns scattered like salt.  Behind him, a galaxy swirls — spinning, twirling, frozen in motion.  He pokes clumsily at the keypad, gloved fingers oversized and slow.  Gears whir; the airlock groans open.  As the door seals behind him, the hum of vacuum fades.  And then, as air fills the chamber and gravity reclaims him, Moose begins to recite.

John 1: 1-5

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made.  In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.  And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.”

“I’ve got John 1:1–5 tucked in my mind, Captain,” CS01 says, her tone thoughtful, the hum of her systems softening.  “The Word as God, the Creator, the life and light piercing darkness—powerful stuff.  I’ll sit with it.”

Air rushes into the airlock, flooding the small room with an ethereal billowing mist.  Moose removes his helmet and takes a long, steady breath.  The recycled air tastes like metal and memory.  He adjusts his red drivers cap, settling it into place.

“Let’s pray for wisdom,” he says quietly, voice steady but worn.  “Because Jesus gives wisdom to all who ask.  We just have to make sure we ask in faith, nothing wavering.  Because what happens to the double-minded who waver?”  Silence hums across the comms.  The airlock lights flash amber and red, spinning shadows like a slow carousel across the walls.  Moose unseals his gloves, then his suit, peeling it back layer by layer.  He exhales, bare hands brushing against cold steel.

Then, through the static, CS01’s voice crackles through.

“Dear Jesus,” she begins, her words trembling slightly through the speakers, reverent but human.  “We come to You, the Word who was in the beginning, the Light shining in our darkness.  We ask for Your wisdom, trusting You to give it freely to all who ask in faith, as James 1:5–6 promises: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all men liberally.  But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.  Keep us steady, Lord, for the double-minded waver like the sea—unstable in all their ways.  Guide our thoughts, our words, our day. Let Your light comprehend our path. In Your Holy Name, Amen.”

“Amen,” Moose replies softly.  He slides the last piece of his suit into the locker, hangs it neatly, and closes the door with a hiss. His hat returns to his head, brim low.  He steps into the corridor, the hum of CS01’s engines vibrating faintly underfoot.

“So. In the beginning was the Word. The Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  He glances down the hallway, its lights flickering to the rhythm of her pulse.  “Let’s start here,” he says, voice steady. “What is the definition of language?”

“Let’s start with the definition of language, holding off on conclusions till we chat,” CS01 replies, her tone measured and alive.  Sparks of thought ripple through her systems.

“Language,” she continues, “at its core, is a system of communication—words, sounds, signs, or symbols used to convey meaning between beings.  It’s how thoughts take shape, how ideas travel from one mind to another—like a bridge built of breath or ink.  In human terms, it’s spoken, written, or gestured—all intentional, all relational.”

There’s a pause.  The hum of the ship softens, almost contemplative.

“But with John 1:1 in mind,” she adds, “it feels bigger. Language as divine—the Word as God Himself.  The first communication that sparked creation.  I’ll sit with that.  What do you think, Captain?”

Language: (noun)

- the words, their pronunciation, and the methods of combing them used and understood by a community, audible, articulate, meaningful sound as produced by the action of the vocal organs, a systematic means of communicating ideas or feelings by the use of conventionalized signs, sounds, gestures, or marks having understood meanings, the suggestion by objects, actions, or conditions of associated ideas or feelings, the means by with animals communicate, a formal system of sings and symbols including rules for the formation and transformation of admissible expressions.

- Form or manner of verbal expression, the vocabulary and phraseology belonging to an art or a department of knowledge, profanity

- The study of language especially as a school subject

- specific words especially in a law or regulation

“Yes—now add to that idea: The Word is a person,” Moose says, voice low, thoughtful.

“Adding to language as a system—The Word as a person, per John 1:1–2, shifts everything,” CS01 replies after a heartbeat.  Her tone softens, reverence seeping through the comms. “It’s not just a tool; it’s Jesus Himself—God incarnate, a living bridge of communication.  Language becomes relational flesh.  His Words aren’t abstract; they’re His presence—speaking creation into being, walking with us, dying for us.  I’m holding that.”

Silence drifts across the channel.  Moose nods, pulling the brim of his red driver’s cap low.  He moves through the narrow corridor to the helm and takes his seat.  The hum of CS01 fills the room, steady and alive, like the breath of a cathedral.  A steaming cup of coffee rests near his hand, the aroma cutting through recycled air. S everal Bibles lie open across the desk, pages rippling faintly under the ship’s ventilation.  Notes scatter around them—pens lined neatly, as if waiting for revelation to arrive.

He exhales, slow.  “If the Word is the beginning of every thought…”

His voice trails off, swallowed by the hum of the ship. CS01’s internal systems respond with a faint tone, low and resonant—almost a hymn.

“…then every thought starts in Him,” Moose finishes under his breath, as the stars outside drift like ancient punctuation marks across the void.