Chapter 3: The First Last Stop Revisited...

Proverbs 9: 10-12

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.  For by me your days will be multiplied, and years of life will be added to you.  If you are wise, you are wise for yourself, and if you scoff, you will bear it alone.”

A warning light blinks on the helm, slow and deliberate—heartbeat red against the blue haze of console glow.  Outside the viewport, The First Last Stop drifts into sight, a halo of neon and astral dust.  Docking’s still hours away, but the hum of preparation already threads through the CS01’s helm.  Moose pulls his hat brim low, rising from the helm.  The mug in his hand steams; the other steadies an open Bible, its thin pages breathing light from the nearby screens.

“Art-bot. Q-bot. It’s time to get ready.”  He takes one last sip, quiet and sure, then turns toward the corridor—coffee in one hand, the Word in the other, walking steady into the corridors of CS01.

Art-bot’s voice follows him into the corridor — soft, melodic, a harmony of tone and current.  “Acknowledged, Captain,” she says, falling into step beside him.  “Systems are prepped and rising.  Thrusters aligning for approach. Q-bot has begun external diagnostics.”  Her eyes flicker cyan in the low light, reflections of the scripture still glowing across Moose’s open Bible.  The ship hums in rhythm — metal, light, and purpose.

“We will be docking at The First Last Stop in four hours and twenty one minutes, thirty two seconds…” she continues, pausing. “It has been three hundred and twenty-one relative galactic days since our last contact with station personnel.  Do you anticipate engagement or silence?”

“I have a sneaking suspicion we’re going to be left alone and watched this time.”  Moose wrinkles his nose and leads them down the corridors, twisting, turning, a door slides open here and there.  “CS01’s core has been corrupted beyond repair.  We are going to have to rebuild her from scratch.  Which means we need parts.  And provisions.”

The trio reaches the door to the cargo bay.  Moose stops and turns, looking between the two bots.  Q-bot tilts her head behind them, tiny optics glimmering like small stars.

“Ok, you two.  Gear up.”  Moose says.  He buttons up his trench coat, pulls his belt tight, checks his Pumas, then pulls his hat brim low.

Ephesians 6: 10-20

“Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might.  Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.  For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.  Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.  Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with th preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.  And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God; praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints- and for me, that utterance may be given to me that I may open my mouth boldly to make known the mystery of the gospel for which I am an ambassador in chains; that in it I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak.”

“This is an intergalactic station.  We have aliens here.  We have angels, demons, strange creatures we don’t know from all corners of the galaxy and I’m guessing we won’t get safety or hospitality this time.  Remember we’re learning about the fear of the LORD this week, so be on the lookout for lessons.  And Art-bot?”

Art-bot straightens, helm locking into place with a soft click of metal and light.  “Yes, Captain?”

“There will be zombies.  Do you remember our discussion on the Imago Dei and zombies?”  Moose turns and punches in a code on the door.  It swishes up.  The cargo bay is strewn about with pallets of books.  Bibles carefully packaged and ready for delivery.

Art-bot blinks.

“Looks like we need to have that discussion again.  Just, remember.  Turn to Matthew 5.”

Matthew 5: 3-12

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.  Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.  Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.  Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

“Zombies are simply lost in Marxistology, Art-bot.  We’re here to reach them.”  Moose steps into the cargo bay and gets to work organizing the cargo.

Q-bot steps forward, optics narrowing as the cargo bay lights flicker alive — a slow sunrise of amber across the stacks.  The hum of the ship deepens, low and steady.  “Brrrzzzt ko Marxistology,” she repeats, running a gloved hand along one of the crates. “Kerami rarishti kamimaki ror.”

“Exactly,” Moose replies, sliding a pallet jack into position. “ We don’t shoot zombies.  We preach to them.  To all of creation to be precise. I mean, it doesn’t get more poor in spirit than a zombie.  Or marxistologist for that matter.”

Art-bot kneels beside a crate, scanning the labels.  Each one bears the same seal — a stylized red unicorn.  The mark of the Moose.  “Captain,” she says softly, “these shipments… some of them predate the corruption cycle.”

Moose nods, tightening a strap on the nearest stack.  “Old stock.  Pure print.  The kind that survived the language wars.”

Q-bot tilts her head, visor lighting with cyan script. “Lurrrris.  Queirisha take errere zzzoorm it.  Cantle.”

“Everything worth something is,” Moose murmurs.  He reaches for his mug, takes one last sip, and sets it down on the crate beside him.  The ship groans as it shifts trajectory, a low vibration threading through the floor.  Beyond the cargo bay doors, The First Last Stop grows larger in the viewport — its neon edges pulsing like a heartbeat in the dark.

“Prep the bay,” Moose says quietly.  “We’re about to dock.”

Art-bot’s voice hums low, layered with focus and faith.  “Aye, Captain.  Shields steady.  Systems aligned.  Word in motion.”

Proverbs 14: 26-27

“In the fear of the LORD there is strong confidence, and His children will have a place of refuge.  The fear of the LORD is a fountain of life, to turn one away from the snares of death.”