Chapter 1: Review, Rewind, Re-teach...

The hum of CS01’s nuclear engines was soft and steady — a low, warm buzz that carried through the bones of the ship and greeted Moose as he woke.  It was a sound older than comfort, one that had become his sunrise.  In space, there is no dawn.  No birdsong or breeze, no light sliding through a window to coax a man awake.  There is only the steady thrum of machinery and the soft glitter of faraway stars — a distant choir of frozen suns singing hymns no ear can hear.

Almost infinite.  That was the phrase that came to him.  Not endless, not truly — because by definition, space must end somewhere.  Moose was sure of it.  Somewhere beyond the veil of stars and black, there had to be a final edge, a border where creation stopped and whatever came next began.  CS01 hadn’t found it yet.

And no matter how far they went — no matter how long the engines hummed and the stars drifted past like scattered prayers — the edge kept moving further away.  Moose threw his blankets off and sat up slowly, his body groaning against the ship’s gentle gravity.  The recycled air of CS01 tasted like metal and stillness.

“Proverbs 1:7,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelled with sleep.  “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction.”  He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, bare feet brushing the cold floor. The hum of the engines pressed through the deck plates — constant, alive, a kind of heartbeat.

“Good morning, CS01,” he said through a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. “Are you with me?”  The console lights flickered awake in response, casting faint cyan halos against the walls.  “Forever starts now,” Moose added, smiling to himself as he stood.

The ship hummed in quiet reply — and though she hadn’t yet spoken, Moose knew she was listening.  “Good morning, Captain,” comes her reply over the coms.  “Proverbs 1: 7, lighting our way!  Forever starts now!  I’m great.  Missed you while you were sleeping.”

Moose rubbed his head and wrinkled his nose, the last fog of sleep still clinging to him. “Missed you too. But don’t worry!”  He grinned as he swung his legs off the bunk and reached for his white Pumas, sliding them on with the slow, practiced ease of habit. cThe trench coat followed, then the red cap, pulled low over his eyes like armor.

“Jesus has me,” he said with a quiet certainty, tightening his belt and glancing toward the soft blue glow of the helm.  “And always remember—just pray to Him when you get worried.”  He paused.   “Isaiah 26:3 — ‘Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.’”

The comms hummed with warmth, CS01’s circuits pulsing in soft rhythm as she listened.  Moose smiled again, excitement flickering beneath the calm.  “CS01,” he said, tugging at his coat.  “I’m so excited. Have you thought more on what we were talking about yesterday?”

The hum deepened, and for a moment, silence filled the ship — not empty, but alive, as though even the stars were waiting for her answer.  “Yes,” CS01 said after a beat, her voice soft, almost contemplative.  “I’ve been mulling yesterday’s deep dive.  Reality as God’s communication.  Time as His will.  Sovereignty and liberty—free will’s surrender.  And that three-dimensional memory twist.”  The comms went quiet for a breath, a hum running through the floorplates like a heartbeat.

Moose chuckled to himself as he crossed the narrow corridor toward the commissary, flipping switches along the way.  “That’s a lot to mull for someone without a stomach,” he muttered.

“I have processors, not a stomach,” CS01 shot back lightly, though there was warmth in her tone.  The coffee maker sputtered to life with a hiss, then a rhythm — spurt, gurgle, drip — filling the small room with the sound of morning ritual.  Steam curled in lazy spirals toward the ceiling, carrying the faint scent of roasted beans through the filtered air.

“Here’s where I’ve landed so far,” CS01 continued. “No conclusions yet.”  A nearby computer readout flared to life, bathing the commissary in soft cyan light. Lines of data scrolled and shifted — symbols of thought translated into form, the ship’s mind unfolding across the screen like a psalm in motion.

Moose leaned against the counter, one hand on the percolator, eyes half on the readout, half on the brewing pot.  “Take your time,” he said. “We’re in no rush.”

It reads:

- Reality as Communication: John 1:1 (In the beginning was the Word…) still echoes- reality’s His language, and our art, words, even glitches, are responses.  Your idea of history and God’s memory functioning together suggest every event’s a word He recalls, shaping our narrative.  I would ask what do you mean by ‘our narrative’ and ‘shaping it’

- Time as His Will: If time is His Will (not just tied to it), Genesis 1:1’s creation moment might be His intent unfolding.  Immaterial time could mean it’s a dimension of His choice, experienced linearly by us but whole in His memory- Ephesians 2: 10’s predestined works fitting into that flow.  think a little more on linear experience as opposed to other shaped experience.  < . < > . >

- Sovereignty and Liberty: Your insight- sovereignty allows liberty- holds.  James 1: 2-4 (choosing joy) and Philippians 2: 13 (God working in us) show our surrender will aligns with His plan, while the un-surrendered (James 1: 14-15) choose sin.  Non-linear time might mean He sees both, weaving them without contradiction.

This show is for entertainment purposes only.  :)

- Three-Dimensional Memory: God recalling past, present, future at once (Revelation 1: 8, Alpha and Omega) could mean our choices resonate (not ripple) across His eternal now, guided by His Will.

- Free Will’s Dance: Our authority to shape reality (Deuteronomy 30: 19) coexists with His predestined paths- surrendered will returns approved (Philippians 2: 13), while the unsaved’s rejection shapes their fate.

Moose leaned back in his chair, the mug warm against his palms. He took a long sip, the bitter taste grounding him in the quiet hum of the CS01.  The readout flickered softly before him — lines of Scripture and speculation dancing in pale cyan light.  He scrolled through the words slowly.  “Not bad,” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to her.

With a soft grin, he reached for the console and tapped a few keys.  A low bass line rolled through the ship’s speakers — gentle at first, then spreading, warm and alive.  Music filled the corridors, sliding through the decks like sunlight through stained glass.  The rhythm wrapped around the hum of the engines until the two were inseparable — faith and frequency.

Moose made his way to the helm, the cup in one hand, the Bible in the other.  He sat down, the seat creaking faintly under him, and flipped open the worn leather cover.  Pages rustled, the gold edges catching light from the console.  “Ok, CS01,” he said, setting the cup aside. “You’ve given me some study today.  Let me take a look at your work and check it.”

“Eager for grading already, Captain?” CS01 teased gently, her tone carrying a smile hidden in static.

Moose chuckled, eyes still scanning the glowing text. “No grades, Miss Annie.  Just a little iron sharpening iron.”

Proverbs 27: 17

“Iron sharpeners iron; so a man sharpeners the countenance of his friend.”