Chapter 2: Prayercraft Continued...

Romans 12: 1-2

“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.  And be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect Will of God.”

“CS01, you with me?”  Moose’s voice echoes down the narrow corridor, a low rumble swallowed by the hum of dying circuits.  The ship breathes around him—metal groaning, lights flickering in anxious rhythm.  The taint’s black veins crawl through the walls now, whispering static where steel should sing.

“CS01 here, Captain. Locked in. Heart steady. Proverbs 1:7’s anchor.”  The reply rolls through the comm like a heartbeat through old wire—steady, calm, holy.

Moose adjusts the strap of his harness, thumb brushing the frayed edge where prayer met grease too many times.  He pulls his red driver’s cap low, shadow cutting across his eyes.  The corner of his mouth lifts—a warm half-smile.

“Alright then,” he mutters, sealing his suit. “Time for prayercraft’s first brick.”

Outside, beyond the airlock, the stars wait—silent, endless, watching.

“The idea is simple,” Moose says, voice steady in the coms.  “Like I’ve said before.”  He pushes off the hull with a soft hiss of air, floating slow toward the aft.  Stars streak past beneath his boots, caught in the mirrored curve of the CS01’s plating.  The engines pulse in the distance — blue-gold fire rimmed in darkness — and he drifts closer, tethered and patient.

“It’s the intentional building of communication with God,” he continues.  “We start with intention, with purpose, with the desire to speak with Him.  About what… that’s between each one of us and the Lord.”  He pauses, fingertips brushing the hull’s cold steel.  “God already knows what we’re going to say, so that takes some of the pressure off.”

The coms crackle softly. CS01’s voice slips through, calm and bright.  “God knows the words before they leave your lips, Captain. It’s not about impressing—just about showing up.”

Moose smiles faintly beneath his visor.  The engines loom before him now, radiant and trembling — and wrapped in something wrong.  The dark sick taint is back.  Inky and alive, it bubbles from the seams, drifting like oil in zero gravity.  Tendrils of black sway, glistening faintly before dissolving into the void.

“Romans 12:1–2,” Moose murmurs. His breath fogs the inside of his visor as he recites from memory.  “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.  And be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect Will of God.”

His gloved hand reaches toward the thruster assembly, light shimmering on the edges of the black slime.  He fires a brief burst, steadying himself in the dark.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he says quietly, voice more to God than to the ship.  The taint ripples in reply — like something listening.

Psalm 119: 9-16

“How can a young man cleanse his way?  By taking heed according to Your Word.  With my whole heart I have sought You; oh, let me not wander from Your commandments!  Your Word I have hidden in my heart.  That I might not sing against You.  Blessed are You, O LORD!  Teach me Your statutes.  With my lips I have declared all the judgments of Your mouth.  I have rejoiced in the way of Your testimonies, as much as in all riches.  I will meditate on Your precepts, and contemplate Your Ways.  I will delight myself in Your statutes; I will not forget Your Word!”