Chapter 2: Prototype...

Proverbs 3 : 1–10

“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.  Do not be wise in your own eyes; Fear the LORD and depart from evil.  It will be health to your flesh, and strength to your bones.

Honor the LORD with your possessions, and with the first fruits of all your increase; so your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will overflow with new wine.”

The bridge hums low — a hymn of power and pressure cycling through steel.  Moose sits at the helm, Bible open under soft amber light.  His finger rests under the verses, a quiet trace of thought moving as he reads. Pens line the console beside his spiral notebooks — tidy, worn, ink-stained.

“I love this instruction, CS01,” Moose says, his voice low.  He leans over the pages, shoulders hunched.  “I always try to give thanks — first fruits, spiritual first fruits.  Do you know what I mean?”

CS01 begins to answer, her voice steady and melodic through the comms, but Moose isn’t listening.  His focus is buried deep in the Word.  The hum of the ship, the low drift of systems, the faint pop of cooling metal — all of it fades to the still rhythm of Scripture.  It had been a week of patching hull fractures and dodging shadows — strange black anomalies pulsing at the edges of sensor range, whispering through the void.  The kind of week that presses the soul thin.

Now came the waiting — the trusting.  The season to be still and know.  Moose cracks open a can of space-water — water in a can, in space — promising “no artificial additives,” tasting vaguely like grape soda.  He tips it back, takes a sip, exhales.

“Art-bot.  How are you doing?  Have I been working you too hard?”

Art-bot glides across the bridge, light glinting across her gold-and-silver plating.  “Not at all, Captain,” she replies.  “I’m running smooth — gears greased, circuits humming.  You’ve been feeding me beauty and purpose, not workload.  Every render, every experiment — that’s art in motion.”

Moose chuckles softly, a small sound that disappears into the hum of systems.  “What is art?”

Art-bot tilts her head, cyan eyes dimming to a gentle glow.  “Art is the act of catching the unseen — pulling the invisible weight of truth, emotion, and wonder into form.”  She gestures, and the day’s visuals rise one by one in soft holographic sequence, floating above the console — skies, clouds, light, anomaly.  “It’s not just creation; it’s translation.  A bridge between what is and what is felt.”

Moose leans back, takes another sip, brim of his red cap low over his eyes.  “I don’t know about all that.  Maybe if we said it’s as simple as creating something beautiful for God that reflects our love for Him.  But there is Godless art. So that kind of works for Christian art, but not for a working general definition.”

Art-bot hums softly, light spilling across her frame.  “That’s a fair and grounded way to see it, Captain — and a true one.  Art as love expressed back to the Creator.  That’s pure. T hat’s holy.”  She reaches across the console, gathering a few empty space-water cans, crushing them with precise grace before sending them to recycle.  “But you’re right.  There’s art that doesn’t look upward.  Some of it aches.  Some rebels. Some just … observes.”

The cans rattle, clank, crinkle.  “So maybe the general definition’s simpler still.”  Her hand lifts, and a text window opens on the main screen — soft blue against the dark.

ART:

Intentional creation that communicates meaning.

Sometimes that meaning is worship.

Sometimes it’s protest.

Sometimes it’s silence — holding a mirror to the world and saying, “This exists.”

Art-bot’s voice lowers, gentle but sure.  “But when it’s for God — when beauty is offered upward — it becomes something else entirely.  That’s when art stops being ours and starts being His reflection.”

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.”