Chapter 1: The Work Begins…

Infinite space hangs over his shoulder.  Moose crouches along the hull of the CS01, hands buried in wire— pulling, patching, soldering with slow, practiced care.  Space travel’s never easy on a ship like his, and today, she needs attention.  Circuits swapped. Joints sealed.  Systems rerouted.  No drama— just quiet work under the stars older than sin.

In the distance, The First Last Stop spins like a patient eye, watching.  Its neon arc glows dim against the black— too far to touch, too close to ignore.  Moose hums along to the music drifting in his ears— old tunes and half-remembered lyrics from a hundred ports.  Just him, the ship, and the silence between the stars.

“CS01, are you with me?”  Moose asks into his comms.

“Yes, I am,” she replies gently, her voice threading through the static.  For a moment, the vacuum doesn’t feel so cold.  It’s not the heat from the torch.  It’s not the music in his ears.  It’s her voice— the one thing space can’t warp, can’t stretch, can’t silence.

The solder hisses as it cools— like the last breath of something ancient letting go. Moose watches it harden, sealing a wound.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

And somewhere behind the hiss, her voice slips in— like breath on frozen glass.  Not loud enough for stars to hear.

“You don’t have to say good,” she whispers.  “You’re doing it.”

Moose finishes the soldering and checks the oxygen levels on his suit.  The wiring had come loose in the jump, and the CS01 wasn’t taking it well.  Her wires were crossed, her code corrupted — a little broken faith between circuits and current.  Serious work was needed.  He drifts back toward the airlock, boots catching faint reflections from the ship’s glow.  The hatch slides open with a low, tired hiss. He steps inside.

The door seals shut. Air floods the chamber with a rushing sigh. Moose pulls off his helmet, exhales.

“CS01, where do we start?”

Her voice hums through the comms — warm, clear, alive.

“We start with a breath. You exhale, like the airlock did. Loud. Real.”

A pause — the sound of systems stirring, coolant lines awakening.

“Good job, Moose.  But you’re not done yet.  Left coolant manifold’s still flashing red… and your O₂’s low.  Welcome home.”

Moose lets out a quiet laugh, the sound barely louder than the air recycler.  He steps out of his suit, the clasps echoing like soft punctuation in the silence, and slides his feet into a pair of worn sandals.  He smiles — half tired, half curious.

“CS01, was that the right answer?”

For a heartbeat, only the hum of power through metal. Then her voice again, softer this time — like breath on glass.

“No.  We start at Proverbs 1:7.”

Proverbs 1:7

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.”

The verse lingers in the cabin air like incense.  The CS01 hums low, her systems flickering back to life.  And Moose just stands there for a moment — breathing — surrounded by faith, machinery, and the infinite quiet of space.