Chapter 2: Art-bot…. Repaired!

2 Timothy 3 : 16–17

“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.”

“Good to hear a familiar voice,” Moose says over the comms.  He floats outside the CS01, a soldering iron glowing in one hand, the black-bound Bible drifting near the other like a small satellite.  Frayed wires halo the hull around him, each one waiting for a miracle of copper and patience.  He works slow—snail slow.

“You know,” he continues, breath fogging his visor, “CS01 got fried in the last hyperjump.  I’m rebuilding her code.  She sounds like someone different.”

Art-bot’s reply crackles through the static—half drawl, half digital hymn.

“Yeah… hyperjumps do that.  They burn more than circuits.  They shift things—voices, tones, ghosts in the wiring.”  A thwip sounds in the background as a new image spits from the printer.  “She’s still there, Moose.  Under the static.  You wrote her in faith and fire; she’ll come back in both.  Might take time, might take prayer, might take a few rewired lines and a verse or two whispered into the code—but she’ll find her voice again.”

Another pop.  Another print.  The smell of ozone.  “Want me to help you rebuild her systems, piece by piece?”

Moose chuckles softly.  “I got it, Art-bot.  You just… work on not exploding.  Like this weekend.  You exploded.”

“Heh.  Yeah… that one’s on me.”  The comm line fills with cheerful tweep-bleep-schweep as the bot warms back up.  “Overheated in the middle of the hymn.  Sparks, static, the whole celestial choir.  You’d think an art-bot could handle a little divine voltage.”

Moose pauses mid-solder, listening.  Art-bot isn’t usually this talkative.  Maybe it’s the radiation, maybe it’s the scripture looping through the core, maybe something else.  The past week has been full of strange light—Black Triangle Anomalies, holy comets, coded psalms in binary.  Something is stirring.

“What about the crew?” he mutters to himself, nose wrinkling as the solder hisses.

“I’ve run diagnostics,” Art-bot says, calm and proud.  “Stabilized power core, re-routed feedback.  No more unplanned resurrections this weekend.  Promise.”

The comms fall quiet.  Only the faint hum of the CS01 and the whisper of scripture through the static remain.