Amish Vampires in Space (16 page)

“You people know the Word in your universe then?”

“Some do,” she said. “In some places.”

Jeb studied her for a time. He then looked at Sarah and sighed. “And what do you think, my frau?”

She looked at her lap, seeming sad. “I don’t want to lose our settlement, our home. But…”

He nodded. “We’ve waited a long time to have a child on the way.”

She looked at him, eyes wide. “Is that selfish?”

He shook his head. “No. I feel the same way.”

“Family is the first community,” Ezekiel said. “The most important.”

Jeb frowned. Nodded. Took a deep breath. “If I could, I would go to each family individually. Attempt to convince them. To save as many as I can.”

Singer looked perplexed. “But you can’t do that?” She glanced at Ezekiel. “Ezekiel told me about the recent vote. About how you were among the potential pastors. That must mean something. People would listen to you.”

“If I go behind the leaders’ back, the first family I talk to will go to the pastors with what I’m doing. And if not them, then the next family or the next.”

Singer’s eyes widened. “They’d report you? Turn you in?”

“To save my soul from damnation? That they would.” Jeb glanced at the stove again. “And perhaps I should thank them for their kindness.”

Singer crossed her legs, leaned forward again. “And the consequences for you if the leaders found out you’d been talking to families?”

Jeb managed a smile. “Shunning, and excommunication.” He looked at Sarah. “And in a world like this, such a sentence might kill you. Here, a man needs what others have grown. The work of their hands. As they need his.” He shook his head. “Repentance comes quickly on Alabaster. It has to.”

Singer looked from Sarah to Jeb to Ezekiel. “So what can we do?” she asked. “Nothing?”

Jeb sniffed, gave her a half-smile. “Nee, we can always do something,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Pray.”

• • •

A day later, the decision was reached.

There were other smaller communities on the planet, of course, each with its own bishop and deacons, some more than a day’s walk away. But the others were philosophically linked to the Lancaster community, Jeb’s community, and even after generations, still had familial ties here as well. Whatever they did, the others would certainly do.

A meeting was called at the Mast homestead. Theirs was not the largest of homes, but they did have the largest barn. And that was what it would require to house all those necessary to ratify the leader’s decision.

During the time of their stay, Singer and the others had managed to procure clothing in keeping with the Ordnung. It was a hassle, and absolutely outside her wardrobe comfort zone—certainly not Guild-approved—but it was necessary. She thought it would showcase her leadership and decision-making skills, so she had done it.

She and Darly, both dressed in grey dresses with kapps, rode inside Jeb and Sarah’s buggy. Sarah had felt ill and had stayed home. Ezekiel had taken her place inside the Millers’ buggy. Thankfully, it had seating enough for four. It was modestly comfortable. It would’ve been better if they could’ve simply flown in one of the shuttles, of course, but that was out of the question. Singer was just glad they didn’t have to walk. It was raining, hard.

They stopped at the end of a long row of black buggies, similar in construction to Jeb’s. Some were a little longer, some a little shorter or wider, but all were exactly the same color. And none screamed “Look at me!” like land vehicles on Freehaven would. They were just vehicles that served a purpose. Not that different from the
Raven
or any of the other delivery ships in the fleet, in fact.

The barn was quite long and painted white. There was a white fence trailing off a long ways behind it. Two teenage boys approached Jeb’s buggy, and taking the reins from Jeb, secured the horses. Jeb and Ezekiel stepped out, and offered Singer and Darly their hands. As she exited, she noticed how muddy and mixed with manure the ground on the other side of the fence was. She was glad the approach to the front of the barn was mostly grass. Though it was quite slick.

Ezekiel opened an umbrella and offered it to her. He did the same for Darly, who smiled sheepishly. Singer walked around behind the buggy, and together they followed the grass near the dirt road. Some form of pavement would stay cleaner and more level, obviously, but she guessed that paving technology wasn’t on the list of approved devices here. A pity.

The large barn doors were wide open. At the entrance, standing just out of the rain, were more men greeting the participants. To each they nodded and, with a word and a hand motion, directed them inside. The main room of the barn was vast and surprisingly well lit—especially since there was only gas lighting available. On the left side was a long cattle pen, and the exterior wall there had windows all the way down. There were also large windows in the second story, above the loft.

Already hundreds of Amish were gathered. There was some seating available, but a glance showed that to be designated for the group’s elderly or ill. Singer noticed Darly studying this group. No doubt diagnosing afflictions and planning root canals. Beyond the seats stood several groups of Amish. All talking in quiet voices. Some looked at Jeb.

Singer found herself walking with her head down. Though she feared no ill treatment, she still felt the outsider. And she was just present to observe. Not interfere. Better to be discrete.

She followed Jeb and Ezekiel to one corner of the room, over near the cattle pen. She winced as the odor of the livestock became apparent. Even though she was from a high-tech farming background, with animals engineered to be nearly maintenance-free, the smell of manure was impossible to eliminate completely. And it never quite left the mind.

She glanced at the cattle, most of which were lying in the mud-caked straw. They looked fairly sedate. Moving them might not be too hard. Right now, the loaders were constructing field barriers to keep the more aggressive animals hemmed in. A black and white cow looked her direction, chewed, and snorted—pushing a cloud of breath into the chill air. Wow, but they looked large. Heavy. Awkward.

How did people live like this?

Minutes went by and a continual stream of people entered. All were dressed the Amish way. It was surprising how odd it felt, but also familiar. It wasn’t that different, after all, from how those in the Guild dressed. She had a closet full of Guild clothing. Just substitute blue for Amish black and grey, and it was all the same. All a uniform.

Minus the beards. No one on board had facial hair. Most men had those follicles, or the growth ability, spliced out. Why have the hassle? Women did the same with their legs and underarms.

A small commotion started near the barn door. There was a row of people in front of them now, but Singer was able to see between heads. Darly stood on her tiptoes, frowning.

The pastors had arrived. The oldest, Samuel, was in the lead. On either side of him were Mark and James. One of the largest land owners, Abraham, came in with them, as well. It was his barn they all now sheltered in.

There was lots of head nodding and hand clasping. Aside from a few greeting smiles, though, most everyone looked somber. Singer thought she understood some of what they felt. To face leaving everything behind. She’d done it twice herself. Once, to school on Cedna, and then again, when she’d joined the Guild.

She glanced down at her dress, smiled, and shook her head. And look at her now.

Mark stepped forward. He nodded and said, “Let’s pray.” They all bowed their heads. Singer and Darly joined them. Mark’s was predominately a prayer of thanksgiving. There was little mention of the coming crisis or the decision at all. Just a reflection of gratitude and a plea for wisdom. Singer was surprised.

After the prayer ended, Mark nodded and stepped aside for Samuel. The older man stood as if his legs and arms had been tied down. Hands in front, with a black book—a Bible, she presumed—held over his waist.

“I know you’re all aware of what faces us,” he said. “Or what the Englishers tell us will happen.” Samuel’s eyes scanned the crowd. “We have no reason to distrust their sincerity or their honesty. Indeed, we—” he indicated the deacons—“truly thank them for their diligence and for their concern. It is admirable. It adheres to the Word’s teaching.” A slow nod. “Looking out for your fellow man. For each other. It is the foundation of our society, as well.”

“As you all know, your pastors have met to discuss the Englisher proposal.” He held his book up. “We follow rules. Rules that are meant to preserve the community.” He grimaced. “But a community that someone is free to easily leave or rejoin is hardly a community at all. It is just a loose gathering of people. A gathering often governed by self-interest. By selfishness.

“On Alabaster, we share the good and the bad. We take whatever God gives us with gratitude, remembering that our final home is not this world but the world to come. A place where all live in fellowship with the Lord and with each other.”

He lowered his head and took a few steps to his left. “So our deliberations led us to an uneasy place. We are charged with preserving our way of life, yet we face the possibility that that life may end.” He held up a finger. Took a few more paces. “Unfortunately, that life may end no matter which path we choose. Neither option
guarantees
our way of life, so we were left to decide which guarantees more of it.

“There are many unknowns, of course. Will the calamity come, as it has been predicted? And how long will that take? Months? Years? Decades?” He turned, began pacing again. “If we choose to go with the Englishers, can we trust them? Are they the good sort of Englisher? Or the bad? Will they take us to the world they promise? And would the long association with them forever change us? Already it has changed us…”

Samuel paused, looked at the floor, and then up at the people again. “So we decided to put our faith in what we know. We know God brought us to this planet for a reason. We know He allowed us to live in it, and to subdue it for our own use. He controls the growing season from the rainfall to the heartbeat of the man who harvests.” A nod. “Knowing that, certainly He controls the sun and can repair it.” He paused, turning to acknowledge Mark and James. Nodded at Abraham. “So we’ve decided we should stay. Maintain our settlement here. Trust in Gott.”

Singer bit her lip, shook her head. “They can’t be serious,” she whispered. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ya, but it is a decision we want to place before the congregation,” Samuel said to the crowd. “To hear your voice. Since we are making no change, it doesn’t require ratification by the community.” He smiled. “But your affirmation would be appreciated.”

Jebediah had told Singer that typically these meetings were just that: an affirmation of whatever the leaders had decided. These men were shepherds, after all, leaders chosen by lot. They were trusted to do God’s will.

She wanted to scream though. In this instance, their affirmation would be an act of throwing their lives away. Their sun
was
dying. This wasn’t a discussion on whether to allow electricity or indoor plumbing—it was life or death.

For many seconds, no one spoke. Singer looked at Jebediah. He’d said he couldn’t help, but what would he do now? Would he challenge the decision? She sensed he was already seen as reckless, as someone who walked the line. There was a penalty for his having contacted the Guild, whether it was recognized publicly or not.

“We’ve always been a people of peace,” Deacon Mark said. “Every man knowing his heart and standing behind his decision. With that in mind, we’d like to have an affirmation by show of hands.”

Hands went up across the barn. It was unbelievable. Unacceptable. She would have to do something.

The bishop nodded, and the hands went down. “So we have a plurality,” Samuel said. “The fellowship’s voice.”

Singer couldn’t let it stand. She had to say something. She started to raise her hand, but before she could, Jeb spoke.

“I would like to give my voice,” he said.

All heads turned their direction, kapps and dark hats alike. Jeb stepped into the open space before Samuel and Mark. “As we all know,” Jeb said, “the Lord led our forefathers to come to Alabaster. One of those forefathers, my father’s great uncle, was given a machine to hide and rules on how to use it. He was also given two pieces of glass.”

Jeb reached into his coat pocket and brought out something that glinted in the window’s light. He held it up so everyone could see. “These pieces of glass.” He brought that hand down and looked at the glass in his palm. Moved it with his fingers. “They’ve been secret companions to me, these shining things. A pair of glasses that, unlike those men commonly wear at my age, seemed to be of little benefit. Glasses I hated having to use.”

He frowned. “But like all of us, they were made for a reason: to reflect and amplify the light of the sun. And what these pieces of glass tell me is that our sun is changing. Growing. Blighting our crops. Becoming less like the sun we have loved and more like something else.” He gave a slow nod. “The Englishers tell us that this changing of the sun means that it will soon explode, and I’m inclined to believe them.” He searched the room. “Even if you don’t believe them, you can believe your own eyes. We all know that something is changing. That the crops aren’t as good as they once were. Not in our fathers’ time, or our grandfathers’.”

Jeb slid the glass back into his pocket. “We can be, will be, a community no matter where we go. Our fathers proved that when they came here to Alabaster from some other world. They made the right choice to leave where they were and come here, to a new place. Now it is our turn. We can be a community—this Lancaster community—somewhere else. You are good people. People I trust and admire.” He indicated the pastors. “I know our pastors aren’t familiar with my special glass, with how it works. I’d be glad to show them if they like.” Jeb nodded. “But I believe we need to go with the Englishers. To be a community on some other world. We need to pack up our animals and, like the ancient Hebrews, go where God leads.”