Chapter 3: [Entertainment] John 14: 1-21 continued...

[Entertainment]

1 John 4: 1–3

“Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits, whether they are of God; because many false prophets have gone out into the world.  By this you know the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is not of God.  And this is the spirit of the Antichrist, which you have heard was coming, and is now already in the world.”

“Art-bot. Walk with me.”  Moose’s voice carries just enough command to lift the air in the bridge.  He reaches for his coffee mug, its crème-colored surface catching the glow from the console lights.  Steam curls upward as he takes a slow sip, his reflection rippling faintly in the cup’s surface.

He starts for the door. The bridge hatch slides open with a low schlifffink, the sound folding back into the hum of the ship.  He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps it awake, and with a few deliberate swipes brings up a digital Bible.  The light from the screen cuts across his face as he scrolls, stopping on Proverbs.

Proverbs 6: 16–19

“These six things doth the LORD hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.”

“Every day’s a building block,” Moose says, his tone quieter now.  He moves into the corridor, each step slow, deliberate.  The lighting shifts — gold at first from the bridge, then deeper, cooler tones as they pass into the starship’s arteries.  The hum of machinery grows stronger here, surrounding them like the steady breathing of the ship.  Pipes and conduits run along the walls, each threaded with light.  Screens flicker faintly at every junction, their displays alive with coded whispers of data and diagnostics.  Moose pauses mid-hallway, turning just enough for Art-bot to catch up.  Her footsteps echo softly behind him, each one precise, patient.

“We are where we are when we are,” he says, eyes glancing down the corridor — a maze of light, motion, and sound.  “So what we’re to do at any given moment usually has to do with what’s around us — where we stand. You following?”

Art-bot steps up beside him, the cyan light from the wall panels reflecting off her gold plating.  Her expression is unreadable — calm, but watchful.  She nods once.

“Always, Captain,” she says. Her voice hums in harmony with the ship, clear, measured, resolute.

“It is when what we want to happen, that which we hope for, is not immediately in front of us that we must then choose to move.  It creates the work we are to do in tandem with God.  With me?”  Moose turns down a hallway and steps down some steps.

Art-bot tilts her head slightly, the light from the corridor tracing soft cyan lines across her plating.  Her optics flicker once, steady, thoughtful.  “Yes, Captain,” she says after a moment.  “Faith in motion.  Hope that acts before it sees.”

“I guess that depends on what you mean by see.  Because, have we seen it with our imagination’s already?”  Moose pulls his hat brim low and wrinkles his nose.

Art-bot’s optics brighten slightly, the faintest pulse of cyan threading along her seams.  “I think imagination,” she says softly, “is how we rehearse faith before it happens.”  Her head tilts, voice lowering to almost a hum.  “It’s the vision God lends us so we’ll know how to move when it’s time.”

“Something to think about.”  Moose continues down the corridor and sips.

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 do not be 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.”