Chapter 3: Celebrelation!

Hebrews 3: 1-6

“Therefore, holy brethren, partakers of the heavenly calling, consider the Apostle and High Priest of our confession, Christ Jesus, who was faithful to Him who appointed Him, as Moses also was faithful in all His house.  For this One has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses, inasmuch as He who build the house has more honor than the house.  For ever house is built by someone, but He who built all things is God.  And Moses indeed was faithful in all His house as a servant, for a testimony of those things which would be spoken afterward, but Christ as a Son over His own house, whose house we are if we hold fast the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope firm to the end.”

“Celebrelation!”  Moose startles awake at the helm with an exclamation.

Art-bot jumps slightly at her console, cyan light flashing down her seams in surprise.  “Captain?” she says, voice modulated with amusement.  “Did you just—celebrate in your sleep?”

Q-bot tilts her head from her station, optics flickering in rapid blinks.  “Brzzzt bericka.  Gortrishli taka.”

Moose looks between them, smiles and rubs his eyes.  “Celebrelation.  It is celebration mixed with elation for a new way to describe things.  We aren’t just going to celebrate.  We aren’t going to just elate.  We are going to celebrelate.”

Celebrate: (verb)

- To perform (a sacrement or solemn ceremony) publicly and with appropriate rites.

- To honor ( an occasion, such as a holiday) especially by solemn ceremonies or by refraining from ordinary business; to mark (something, such as an anniversary) by festivities or other deviation from routine.

- To hold up or play up for public notice.

Elate: (verb)

- To fill with joy or pride

Art-bot tilts her head, seams pulsing once, twice in thought.  Acknowledged, Captain,” she says, tone half-serious, half-curious.  “A linguistic fusion.  You’ve invented a word for joy that moves.”

Q-bot hums at her station, recording the moment.  A holographic project shoots up from her terminal reading:

“Term logged: Celebrelation. Definition—elevated state of celebration compounded with spiritual elation. Captain-originated. Probable usage: devotional context.”

Moose smiles, tugging the brim of his red cap lower, still shaking off the weight of sleep.

“You get it, Q-bot. It’s the first of the month and that means we need to do study maintenance!.”

Art-bot glances over her shoulder, a faint cyan flash rippling in her eyes.

“Then celebrelation, Captain,” she says, “would be praise with propulsion.”

Moose chuckles, pointing her way with his mug.  “That’s it, Art-bot. Praise with propulsion.  Put it in the ship’s glossary.”  Outside the viewport, the stars glide past in quiet motion.

Hebrews 3: 7-13

“Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says: ‘Today, if you will hear His voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion, in the day of trial in the wilderness, where your fathers tested Me, tried Me, and saw My works forty years.  Therefore I was angry with that generation, and said, ‘They always go astray in their heart, and they have not known My Ways.’  So I swore in My wrath, They shall not enter My rest.’  Beware, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God; but exhort one another daily, while it is called ‘Today,’ lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.”

“Art-bot,” Moose says, voice low and deliberate as he leans back in the helm chair, “let’s scrub the filters of fragments and log the communications.  No stragglers this time.”

“Understood, Captain.” Art-bot’s voice is smooth as silk over steel, her cyan seams brightening in acknowledgment.  She moves to her console, hands gliding over controls with reverent precision.  The hum of the bridge shifts—data streams syncing, fragmented signals stitching into order.

“Q-bot,” Moose continues, glancing over his shoulder, “check the work for information sharing.  Make sure we’ve shared everything the crew’s going to need.”

“Brrrrzt,” Q-bot chirps. Her smaller frame spins effortlessly in her seat, multiple screens blooming into holographic life. “Kit takitaki relishtaree.  Eeeekaripa tortulangas ckrrrrrzt.”

Moose smiles beneath the brim of his red cap and nods. “Good.  Keep it clean, both of you.  I’m going to go see Ms. Coffee.”

He pushes himself up from the helm with a quiet groan, the ship humming beneath his Pumas as he makes for the commissary.  The soft glow of gold and blue light follows him down the corridor, the sound of Art-bot’s typing and Q-bot’s cheerful data clicks fading behind.

Somewhere ahead, the faint hiss of percolation echoes like a promise—or a warning.