Chapter 10: The Letter, The Spirit...

Leviticus 19: 1-8

“And the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them: ‘You shall be holy for I the LORD your God am Holy. Every one of you shall revere his mother and his father, and keep My sabbaths: I am the LORD your God. Do not turn to idols, nor make for yourselves molded gods: I am the LORD your God. And if you offer a sacrifice of a peace offering to the LORD, you shall offer it of your own free will. It shall be eaten the same day you offer it, and on the next day. And if any remains until the third day, it shall be burned in the fire. And if it is eaten at all on the third day, it is an abomination. It shall not be accepted.’”

Moose and Cbot walk side by side, rounding the corner onto a wider stretch of Sixshot’s main drag. The early dawn light show fades as the sun climbs higher, turning the sky a clear, relentless blue. Heat rises in waves from the packed dirt, carrying the faint scent of baked earth and distant engine grease. More people move along the street now, minding their own business—shopkeepers unlocking doors with metallic clicks, a woman balancing a crate of produce on one hip, two older men arguing quietly over dominoes on a barrel. The rhythm of the town picks up in the warming air.

A steady cloppity-thump, cloppity-thump builds in volume in front of them. A man on a robot steed canters past, the machine sleek yet rugged with matte black plating and brass accents, its amber eyes glowing steadily. A shining silver star gleams on the rider’s dusty vest. His hat ten gallon hat brim low. As horse and rider pass close, the steed’s rear hooves kick up a sudden cloud of fine red dirt that billows over Moose and Cbot.

Across the street, perched on a small rise like a quiet sentinel watching at its post, stands a single-room meeting house. Tumbleweeds roll lazily across the dry ground and pile against the weathered wooden picket fence, their brittle branches catching and whispering in the rising breeze. A bright blue glowing cross flickers steadily above the double entrance doors—its light stubborn and faithful, cutting through the dust and disrepair.

Vines climb the old walls in thick, stubborn ropes, curling over faded boards and half-covering the stained-glass windows whose colors still hint at stories long told. Two unnamed graves rest on the small grounds nearby, simple stones fresh cut. Untouched by time and wind, bearing silent witness to lives once lived.

“The letter of the Law,” escapes Moose’s lips as he surveys the scene from across the street. He wrinkles his nose and pulls his hat brim low. “Cbot, run a perimeter check.”

“Yes, Captain,” she replies and wraps herself in her cloak. In a flash she takes off running around the property. Moose looks to the left down the street. Not too many people on this part of Main Street. He turns his head to the right. The coast is clear. He crosses the street casually and pauses by the door of the waist high fence in front of the meeting house.

Cbot returns moments later, her cloak swirling with the motion as she slows to a smooth stop beside Moose at the fence. A faint swirl of dust trails her feet. Her optics glow a steady, alert green, scanning the immediate area one final time before settling on him.

“Perimeter check complete, Captain,” she says, voice low and precise. “The grounds are quiet. No active surveillance or recent footprints besides the tumbleweeds and local wildlife. Structural integrity is… compromised in places—loose boards on the north wall, one window latch broken—but nothing that would prevent entry. The two graves show no signs of recent disturbance. The glowing cross emits a low-power energy signature, likely solar with backup. No immediate threats detected.”

She tilts her head slightly, the faint whir of internal systems barely audible over the morning breeze. “It feels… forgotten, but not abandoned. Like someone still cares enough to keep that cross lit.” Her optics soften a fraction as she glances toward the meeting house, then back to Moose. “Your orders?”

“Do you remember the Scripture Jesus talked about not having somewhere to lay His head?” Moose take a deep breath and holds it a moment.

“Matthew 8: 20,” Cbot replies. She settles still from her perimeter run, hood pulled low over her eyes. “And Jesus said to him, ‘Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no where to lay His head.” Her servos whir as she turns her head and looks at Moose, optics flashing a deep green. “This comes right after a scribe offers to follow Jesus, highlighting the cost and sacrifice of true discipleship- homelessness, dependence, and total commitment.”

“David had a dream to make a house for God, you remember?” Moose smiles and places a hand on the gate’s door. The wood is warm from the sun, rough under his palm, splintered in spots but still standing. He gives it a gentle push. The hinge lets out a soft, reluctant creak.

Cbot’s optics brighten with quiet recognition, a soft emerald pulse flickering across her faceplate as she processes the reference. She stands a little straighter beside him, the cloak settling around her frame like folded wings.

“Yes, Captain. David wanted to build a permanent house for the Lord—a temple worthy of His glory—while he himself lived in a palace of cedar. But the Lord told him no… that his hands were too stained with blood for that honor. It would fall to his son instead.”

She pauses, glancing again at the weathered meeting house and its stubborn blue cross. A tumbleweed bumps gently against the fence near her boot. “Yet God still honored David’s heart. The desire itself was good. Even if the fulfillment looked different than he imagined.”

Her voice drops a little. “This place may not be a grand temple… but it still stands. Still shines. Maybe we’re meant to help it remember what it was built for.” She turns back to Moose, head tilted in quiet readiness. “Shall we go inside?”

Matthew 5: 13-16

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men. You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lamp stand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”