Chapter 10: Dawn At Sixshot...

Romans 13:1-10

“Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority resists the ordinance of God, and those who resist will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to evil. Do you want to be unafraid of the authority? Do what is good, and you will have praise from the same. For he is God’s minister to you for good. But if you do evil, be afraid; for he does not bear the sword in vain; for he is God’s minister, an avenger to execute wrath on him who practices evil. Therefore you must be subject, not only because of wrath but also for conscience’ sake. For because of this you also pay taxes, for they are God’s ministers attending continually to this very thing. Render therefore to all their due: taxes to whom taxes are due, customs to whom customs, fear to whom fear, honor to whom honor. Owe no one anything except to love one another, for he who loves another has fulfilled the law. For the commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ ‘You shall not murder,’ ‘You shall not steal,’ ‘You shall not bear false witness,’ ‘You shall not covet,’ and if there is any other commandment, are all summed up in this saying, namely, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no harm to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.”

The town of Sixshot clings to the northwestern Texas foothills like a stubborn relic from another age—dusty, sun-bleached, and quietly defiant. Nestled at the ragged edge of what passes for civilization, it serves as the last real waypoint before the land itself turns wild and mysterious. To the west rise the jagged, mist-shrouded peaks of the Rocky Mountains, their slopes laced with ancient pines and shadowed canyons that seem to swallow light itself. In every other direction stretch endless orange-red deserts and rolling badlands, where the wind carves strange shapes into the rock and carries whispers of dust devils that dance like restless spirits under a merciless sky.

Main Street is little more than a wide, rutted dirt thoroughfare flanked by weathered wooden storefronts intermingled with alien tech and high-technology fixtures. Faded signs creak in the breeze beside the occasional rusted hover-bike propped against a hitching post where real horses stand tied next to gleaming robot steeds and cybernetic mounts. A single water tower stands sentinel against the horizon, its paint peeling under the relentless sun.

The air carries the sharp scent of creosote, mesquite smoke drifting from cookfires, and the faint metallic tang of old machinery. Folks here move with the measured pace of people who know the land doesn’t forgive haste—ranchers in worn dusters, alien mechanics nursing cups of chicory coffee, and grizzled prospectors with their eyes on the next strike.

The cargo bay lights of the CS02 dimmed to night cycle as Moose made his way to his quarters. The faint scent of old paper and sealed digi-crates lingered in the corridor behind him. Sleep came in fits at first—images of layered city spires and might-makes-right enforcers flickering behind his eyelids—but eventually the station’s gentle hum pulled him under.

Morning cycle arrived with a soft chime. Moose rose, splashed water on his face, and pulled his hat low. He checked the small Bible tucked in his jacket pocket before heading back toward the main hatch.

Artbot was already at her post near the docking controls, blue optics bright and focused. A fresh holographic overlay floated beside her, showing real-time feeds from the external cams trained on the Texas landscape outside.

“Captain,” she greeted with a crisp nod. “Ship systems are nominal. I’ve run a full diagnostic on the pocket dimension aperture—still holding at nineteen-hour intervals. The next window opens in fourteen hours and twelve minutes. Cbot is packed and ready for surface excursion. Qbot has the comm array primed and is running quiet drills.”

“Chirp chirp,” came Qbot’s affirmative from the overhead speaker, followed by a quick static click of acknowledgment.

Moose gave a small smile and rested a hand on the bulkhead. “Well done, Artbot. Hold down the fort. If anything feels off while we’re in Sixshot, call us immediately. We’re not rushing the Charolette insertion until we’ve got eyes on that local church here.”

“Understood, Captain.” Artbot’s metallic fingers danced across the console, locking in the recall beacon frequencies. “I’ve cross-referenced the town’s public grid. The church is a modest structure on the east side—good sight lines, low foot traffic this time of day. I was thinking of deploying some recon drones. Nothing intrusive, just enough to watch your back.”

Cbot rolled up beside them, her dark frame humming softly with stored reconnaissance gear. Her optical band flickered in greeting. “Ready for ground operations, Captain. Local dialect analysis uploaded and complete. I will maintain a low profile and assist with any data collection at the church.”

Moose nodded firmly, the weight of the coming decisions settling on his shoulders. The pocket dimension waited—dangerous, legendary, possibly vital—but first came the quiet obedience of the present moment. A church visit in a dusty Texas town. The hatch hissed open to the warm Sixshot morning air, carrying the faint smell of dry earth and distant mesquite. Moose stepped out with Cbot close behind, the Texas sun already climbing.

Back on the ship, Artbot watched the feed until the two figures disappeared into the spaceport. She murmured to herself, optics softening for a moment, “The Lord directs the steps… even on strange worlds and pocket dimensions.”

Proverbs 3:1-6

“My son, do not forget my law, but let your heart keep my commands; for length of days and long life and peace they will add to you. Let not mercy and truth forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart, and so find favor and high esteem in the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”