Chapter 3: [Art] Intro to Marriage...

[Art]

John 15: 1-8

“I am the True Vine, and My Father is the Vinedresser.  Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.  You are already clean because of the Word which I have spoken to you.  Abide in Me, and I in you.  As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me.  I am the Vine, you are the branches.  He who abides in Me, and I in him bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.  If anyone does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch and is withered; and they gather them and throw them into the fire, and they are burned.  If you abide in Me, and My Words abide in you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you.  By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit; so you will be My disciples.”

Moose flips the coms to the crew off, the channel clicking into silence.  He leans back in the helm chair, pulls the brim of his red driver’s cap low over his eyes, and wrinkles his nose.  New studies bring new excitement.  New studies bring new trials.  New studies bring all kinds of new.

Moose lets his eyes drift across the helm.  Everything is exactly where he left it before the recon mission.  His black, leather-bound preaching Bible lies open in front of him, the gold-edged pages of the Tome rippling faintly in the filtered airflow.

To his right sits a neat stack of four more Bibles — different translations, different covers, all worn enough to show they’ve seen some battle.  Beside them, a crème-colored mug cinched in the middle sends up a slow ribbon of steam, curling into the dim blue light of the helm.

“Ok. So. Q-bot, Art-bot. Let’s get focused.”  Moose’s voice cuts gently through the hum of the helm.  He smiles from under the shadow of his hat brim.  “Q-bot, pull up for me that list for this study.”

The half-sized bot snaps to attention with crisp, military precision.  Her optics flash a sharp diamond-blue, pupils narrowing as systems spool up.  Mechanical arms deploy from her back with a clean metallic shhhhclick.  One hand drops to the keyboard — fingers moving in rapid clickity-clack rhythm.  The other she lifts, palm turning upward with deliberate grace.  A holographic projection bursts from her palm — crackling cyan, flickering with static arcs.  The floating text stabilizes for half a heartbeat before shaping itself into two firm words: “ON IT!”

“Art-bot,” he continues, turning his attention toward the gold-plated figure at the adjacent station, “we’re going to be talking some to the crew about nature.”  Art-bot lifts her head, blue hair catching the gold-cyan wash of the consoles.  Her seams pulse once — a soft acknowledgment, like a breath drawn in metal.  Moose nods toward her.  “I found some interesting life in the back alleys of the First Last Stop.”

Art-bot’s optics soften, the faint glow of her cyan irises narrowing with curiosity.  She pivots at the waist — smooth, seamless — bringing her full attention to Moose.  The gold plating along her shoulders catches the helm’s warm light, breaking it into soft bands across her frame.

“Interesting life, Captain?” she asks, her voice carrying gentle metallic warmth, a soft chime wrapped in velvet.  Her head tilts slightly.  The blue strands of her hair shift with the motion, shimmering in the console glow.  “You observed it,” she steps closer to Moose’s station.  “Which means it was worth observing.  Nature is never accidental — not in the alleys, not in the wilderness, not even here.”  Her seams pulse once — calm, contemplative.   “Tell me what you saw.”

Moose’s chair gives a soft creak as he rises, the helm light catching the gold trim of his Bible before he closes it with a quiet thup.  “I’ll upload the images in a few,” he says, sliding his coffee mug into his grip.  He takes a slow, slurpy sip.  “But first, let’s get the crew settled and ready for the day.”

He adjusts the brim of his hat, pulls it low with a tug, and steps toward the door.  It senses him and slides open with a smooth schliff-fink, a whisper of air greeting him from the corridor beyond.  Art-bot falls into step behind him, her movements quiet and effortless.  Cyan seams pulse in sync with the ship’s morning cycle, and her gold plating reflects the corridor’s soft blue light.

Proverbs 3: 13-20

“Happy is the man who finds wisdom, and the man who gains understanding; for her proceeds are better than the profits of silver, and her gain than fine gold.  She is more precious than rubies, and all the things you may desire cannot compare with her.  Length of days is in her right hand, in her left hand riches and honor.  Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.  She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her, and happy are all who retain her.  The LORD by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding He established the heavens; By His knowledge the depths were broken up, and clouds drop down the dew.”