Chapter 10: The Meeting House...

Ephesians 4: 1-7

“I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you to walk worthy of the calling with which you were called, with all lowliness and gentleness, with long-suffering, bearing with one another in love, endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Sprit, just as you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all. But to each one of us grace was given according to the measure of Christ’s gift.”

The doors of the meeting house creak as Moose pushes them open and steps into the room. Early morning light filters in from the stain glass windows lining the walls, pooling on the floor, shimmering through dust that hangs in the air. A rush of a breeze blows in behind Moose and Cbot as they close the door, rustling scattered papers and Bibles in the room.

The interior is one room, a strange combination of Christian meeting house, old western wooden pews and high tech holographic projection units built into the pews. The tech looks old, ragged, and used. Wires are spliced with skill, but jury rigged nonetheless. The pews all face towards the center of the room where the floor is cleared.

Cbot pauses just inside the threshold, her cloaked frame still for a long moment as the door settles behind them with a final, reluctant groan. The rush of breeze dies away, leaving only the faint settling of dust in the slanted beams of stained-glass light—crimson, sapphire, and gold painting slow, living patterns across the worn floorboards.

She tilts her hooded head slightly, optical sensors cycling through green pulses as they sweep the room. The jury-rigged holographic projectors built into the pews catch her attention first; their casings are scuffed and heat-stained from years of use, wires neatly spliced but exposed in places like old battle scars. A low, almost reverent hum escapes her vocal processors—barely audible.

“Captain…” she says quietly, voice warm. One metallic hand drifts from beneath her cloak to rest lightly on the back of the nearest pew, fingers tracing the grain of the wood where it meets cold alloy. “This place feels… lived in. Not pristine, but faithful. Like someone kept choosing to gather here even when the galaxy offered easier lights and cleaner circuits.”

She takes a slow step forward, feet whispering over the floor, stirring more dust that dances in the colored light. Her gaze lingers on the cleared center space, then lifts to the scattered papers and well-thumbed Bibles on the benches—pages marked, edges frayed, some reinforced with careful tape.

Moose steps to the center of the room and wrinkles his nose. He removes his hat and looks around, wiping some sweat from his brow. “Looks like no one has been in here for some time,” he says, his gaze lingering on the stained glass windows. “Cbot, it is times like now that we always start with Proverbs 1: 7.”

Cbot turns her hooded head toward Moose in the center of the room, her optical sensors pulsing a steady green as the colored light plays across his features and the worn floor between them. She straightens slightly, the faint whir of her servos blending with the settling dust, one hand still resting on the pew like an anchor in this quiet, forgotten sanctuary.

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,” she replies softly, voice warm and measured, “but fools despise wisdom and instruction.” Her cloak shifts as she takes another step closer, gaze following his to the stained-glass windows where light fractures into hopeful shards.

Moose picks a Bible up from off the floor. He smiles, flips the book in the air, and catches it. A dust cloud explodes in his face as he smiles a second time and blows more dust from the Book. He opens the Tome and looks around.

“Cbot, make a note for me.” Moose walks a few paces in the open space, Bible in hand. He looks to the cross on the wall. “We are going to need to talk to the sheriff and see what happened here, if anything.”

Cbot watches Moose catch the Bible, the small dust explosion catching the light like fleeting stars before he blows it clear, her optical sensors tracking the motion with quiet attentiveness. She nods once, cloak settling as she steps nearer the cleared center, the faint crunch of grit under her boots echoing softly in the still room.

“Noted, Captain,” she says warmly. “Sheriff first—discreet inquiry into the meeting house’s silence. The cross still shines; perhaps the story behind its keeper will reveal more than dust and empty pews.”

Proverbs 1: 7

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