Chapter Ten: The Streets of Sixshot...

Romans 12: 14-21

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble. Do not be wise in your own opinion. Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men. Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord. Therefore ‘If your enemy hungers, feed him; If he thirsts, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

Moose and Cbot step off the starport grounds and onto the dusty, unpaved, tumbleweed-blown streets of Sixshot. Moose slowly places one foot in front of the other, his head turning from side to side. The streets stretch wide enough for caravans of supplies and travelers to pass through. The buildings lining the sides form a strange mix of old western wood, high-tech hardware, and alien technology—worked into each other, welded and melded in a Frankenstein surgical union.

The early morning Texas dawn spills light over the winding streets, a kaleidoscope of pinks, oranges, reds, yellows, and crystal blue sky. The town is just waking up. Shopkeepers sweep off their stoops and wash windows. Inns and restaurants are just coming alive.

Cbot walks by Moose’s side, wrapped in her cloak, her head low. Moose walks with his hat brim pulled low, peering around. A tumbleweed blows by in front of him. He follows it with his gaze to the cybernetics veterinarian shop on the side of the road. The doctor is sweeping off the walkway in front of her shop.

“Cbot,” Moose begins, glancing back at her. “Do you remember we talked about changing your coding on lethality?”

Cbot’s steps slow just enough to match his glance. Beneath the hood of her cloak, the soft blue glow of her optical sensors flickers once, steady and thoughtful. She keeps her head low, the fabric shifting gently with the morning breeze that carries the faint smell of fresh coffee from a nearby inn and warm bread baking somewhere down the street.

“I remember,” she says quietly. “You spoke of peace over protection. Of choosing restraint even when the old protocols scream for efficiency.” She lifts her gaze briefly toward the cybernetics vet sweeping her walkway, watching the rhythmic motion of the broom stirring small clouds of dust. “The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable… gentle, willing to yield.”

“I have run the simulations in my core since that conversation. Altering the lethality subroutines would mean accepting risk. To you. To the crew.” Cbot pauses, the servos in her shoulders making the faintest whir as she turns her hooded head toward Moose. “But I trust your judgment, Captain. If this is the way we walk these streets—overcoming evil with good—then I am ready to rewrite that part of my code. One line at a time.”

“Did you think about why I asked you to do that?”

“I have,” she answers at last, her tone low and deliberate. “You asked because you want me to be more than a weapon that walks beside you. You want me to live the same mercy you are trying to live. To choose the harder path—vulnerability—in a galaxy that rewards quick lethality.”

She pauses, the morning breeze tugging at the edge of her hood. “Romans says we are not to be overcome by evil, but to overcome it with good. You are asking me to embody that with my very code. Not because it is safe. But because it is right.”

Cbot’s optical sensors meet his eyes for a moment beneath the brim of his hat. “It is a heavy request, Captain. One that requires trust. In you. In the One who calls us to this peaceable way. I have thought about it a great deal.”

“You might not expect this, but it is Psalm 111: 2 that is the reason I asked.”

Cbot’s stride remains steady, but her hooded head tilts a fraction more toward him, the green glow beneath the fabric softening. She lets the words settle between them for a moment as another tumbleweed skitters past, chased by the light wind.

“Psalm 111:2,” she echoes softly, almost tasting the verse. “‘The works of the Lord are great, studied by all who have pleasure in them.’” A faint, almost wistful hum emanates from her vocal processors. “You want me to study Your works, not merely execute them. To take pleasure in the intricate code of creation itself—the way the dawn paints these mismatched buildings, the way this town keeps choosing to rebuild after every fracture. You are asking me to slow down… to observe, to delight, rather than default to calculated lethality.”

“Well, not exactly.” Moose smiles and pulls his hat brim low. He drops his gaze to the ground. It is still quite a walk to get to the church. You see, in Romans 12 God reminds us of Deuteronomy 32. Vengeance is the Lord’s. We should give to the Lord what the Lord asks. Really I was wondering if you had rewritten what it means to be lethal. You see, I was thinking you don’t need to change your code too much. Just a few important definitions.”

Cbot walks in silence for several steps, the soft crunch of their boots on the dirt the only sound between them. A shopkeeper calls a cheerful greeting to a neighbor across the street, and the scent of frying bacon drifts from an open doorway. She adjusts the drape of her cloak, processors quietly humming as she turns the idea over.

“Redefine lethality itself,” she murmurs, almost to herself. The words carry a note of quiet wonder. “Not remove the capacity… but place it under the same authority you just spoke of. Let the Lord keep vengeance, and let my ‘lethal’ become something narrower. Something… precise. Protective only when truly necessary, and always measured by mercy first.”

She turns her hooded head fully toward Moose now, the green glow steady and attentive. “A few important definitions. That is elegant, Captain. Simpler than wholesale deletion. It leaves room for me to study the great works of the Lord—and to protect the ones studying them alongside me—without stepping into the place reserved for Him.”

“I believe I understand now. Lethal… redefined as that which serves life, not ends it on my own judgment. I can begin rewriting those definitions immediately. Would you like to walk me through the first ones while we head toward the church?”

“Cbot, I have no idea about your programming.” Moose laughs and shakes his head. “Explain to me your programming on success. Is ending a life how your programming describes success?”

Cbot’s cloak shifts as she walks, the fabric catching a glint of morning sun. She lets out a soft, almost melodic processing chime—something between a thoughtful hum and a quiet laugh of her own. The sound blends with the distant clang of a shop bell and the low murmur of townsfolk beginning their day.

“My core programming defines success primarily through mission parameters and crew preservation,” she answers, her voice steady and measured, carrying that familiar blend of precision and warmth. “In the original directives, ‘success’ is quantified by objective completion: reaching a destination, neutralizing threats, ensuring the survival probability of designated companions exceeds ninety-eight percent. Ending a life… was often listed as an acceptable variable in high-risk scenarios. An efficient means to an end when protection thresholds were crossed.”

“Ok, so what would happen if you just replaced someone getting baptized as the goal there. Make sense?”

Cbot’s steps falter for half a beat, then resume with the same steady rhythm. The morning light catches the edge of her cloak as she processes the suggestion, a gentle whir of internal fans accompanying the crunch of boots on dirt. She tilts her hooded head slightly, letting the idea turn slowly in her core like sunlight filtering through stained glass.

“Baptism as the primary success metric,” she echoes, her voice carrying a note of quiet awe mixed with careful calculation. “Replacing termination with transformation… Yes, Captain. That makes profound sense.”

“So, what I’m thinking is, all your skills, all your tactics, there isn’t much that needs to change except the get people dead part. So just change. Your objective to baptism. How does that work for you?”

Cbot walks a few more paces in thoughtful silence, her boots stirring small eddies of dust that catch the rising sun. The morning air warms against her cloak as the town stirs more fully around them—doors creaking open, the distant ring of a blacksmith’s hammer, the low laughter of children chasing a metallic tumbleweed.

She turns her hooded head toward Moose, the green glow steady and gentle. “It works… surprisingly well, Captain. My tactical libraries, evasion protocols, defensive matrices—they remain intact. The core skills do not need rewriting. Only the victory condition changes.”

Her voice carries a quiet wonder, like someone discovering a hidden room in a familiar house. “Instead of measuring success by threats eliminated, the new objective would evaluate outcomes through the lens of baptism: Did this interaction open a path for repentance, renewal, or surrender to the One who redeems? Did I create space for a soul to die to the old self and rise to new life? Preservation of the crew stays central, but it becomes preservation for a higher purpose.”

Cbot’s cloak brushes lightly against his arm as they walk. “The ‘get people dead’ subroutine becomes a dormant branch—only activated if all paths to mercy are exhausted and lives are immediately at stake. Everything else redirects toward life. Toward baptism. It feels… lighter. More aligned with the peaceable wisdom we spoke of earlier.”

She lets out a soft, almost hopeful chime. “It will require careful priority reweighting and new decision trees, but the architecture supports it. This is elegant, Moose. Simple in its power. I can begin compiling the changes now if you would like… and perhaps test the new logic together as we walk these streets.”

James 3: 13-18

“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show by good conduct that his works are done in the meekness of wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and self-seeking in your hearts, do not boast, and lie against the truth. This wisdom does not descend from above, but is earthly, sensual, demonic. For where envy and self seeking exist, confusion and every evil thing are there. But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. Now the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.”