Amish Vampires in Space (20 page)

The Englishers seemed to have disappeared. As had Sarah. She had to be worried, though. Had to wonder what was taking him so long. Jeb wondered if someone was preventing her from coming back, preventing the Englishers too. He’d seen tragedy bring out the worst in people. His mother had gone silent for a week when his father had died. Didn’t smile, didn’t talk. Didn’t even go to services.

Or perhaps this was how God willed it to be. He was to be a shadow Moses. Able to move the people only so far. Barred from entrance into Canaan. Only able to see it from afar, and then never returning from the mountain. Of course, Moses had sinned in the eyes of God. Had he too?

Jeb nodded, took a couple of steps back. God sometimes talked through Christian brothers, he knew. He was no leader like Moses, but he was certain about the rightness of what he’d done. About informing people. Sending the signal. He backed all the way off the ramp. Straightened his hat and himself. “I will stay here, then.”

Abraham gave a slow nod, backed into the opening. “Come now, buwes,” he said.

The boys nodded in turn and entered the ship.

Jebediah waited. Stared resolutely into a darkened door. Saw no movement. No one coming to bid him enter.

The doors began to close. A whining sound came from the front of the craft. It was a brief introductory noise, one that would diminish and fall silent as the ship lifted into the sky.

Why hadn’t he just given the leaders what they’d wanted? Return to fellowship?

Because ultimately, Jeb knew, his sin was nearly unpardonable.

• • •

Sarah was lost in the press of people. Though everyone wore a mask of bravery, of serenity, the air tasted of uncertainty and despair. The experience was like nothing they were used to. It was as if they were all being born a third time. The first physical, the second spiritual, the third now, an intellectual awakening. Suddenly, they were no longer children of an earthbound God. They were children of a heavenly One, a larger and more complete One, and that was a frightening thing.

There was no soil under their feet. Only metal. Nothing to till or plant. No control whatsoever.

Abraham placed her, standing, among a group of women near the middle of the ship. A protected position, not that dissimilar from a child in a womb. What should be a comfortable position for her.

But Sarah was no less afraid. What had Jebediah done? She had been so sure of him. All through the years. But now she felt so unsettled. So alone.

And where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Holding her hand?

The guardsman moved along the wall to the front of the ship. In his hands he held a dark weapon. Doubtless never used for hunting or protection from wild beasts. Only for war or savagery. The pervasive fighting the elders had often warned about. One of the reasons their ancestors had fled to Alabaster long ago.

The guard made a motion with his hand. Asked them all to sit. He then instructed them on how to secure themselves to the floor. Heads nodded, and all began to follow his instructions. The woman to her right, Eliza, laid a hand on Sarah’s side. Helped her down. Such kindness wasn’t necessary yet. But it was nice.

Community.

Now seated and secured in place, Sarah could see very little. Just faces and bodies. Worried faces. Bodies hunched as if their last friend had been lost. Their mood reminded Sarah of how her sister had been after her favorite horse had been shot. Deflated.

But we shouldn’t be so, Sarah thought. We should be the people of Light. Even here. Even about to be swept into darkness. Regardless of the discomfort. Regardless of the reason. Of what Jebediah had done. She felt sick, but she still wished for his presence. Wished he could comfort her.

Could he even do that here, though? She searched the surrounding faces again. Jebediah was shunned. He…he knew the truth, their tradition, and had sinned against it. That was the charge, wasn’t it? The fault?

She frowned. Oh, these men and their pride. How much it stained them. How much it held them back.

Her belly vibrated with a tiny movement. The first reflex of inner life. She gasped. Looked behind her again. Saw that the door was beginning to close.

Jebediah?

Sarah thought she saw Abraham and his two sons near the back. They were in the process of stooping to the floor. Strapping themselves in.

The female, the young Englisher, was sliding along the right side of the ship. Looking concerned. She reached the guard. Started discussing something with him. She nodded toward the back of the ship. Toward where Jebediah should be.

Sarah’s heart sunk. And as if the child noticed, there was another internal movement.

Jebediah wasn’t on the ship. Not even back there with the men. Abraham must’ve stopped him somehow, pressured him to withdraw. The Ordnung—it was a hard kindness. Meant to guide all toward salvation. Away from darkness.

But it shouldn’t mean this.

Sarah noticed Deacon James ahead of her. He was seated to the right and about four or five people up. How should she respond? What should she do? “Deacon,” she said.

Heads turned her direction. Looks of concern. She found that she was holding her stomach again. How familiar that pose had become. She had been nurtured from girlhood to be wifely and motherly. But now it was authentic. She was a creature of habit. Predictable.

She called for the deacon again. There were whispered messages. Some appeared to be traveling in the right direction. Deacon James’s head turned slightly. Talked to someone on his left.

The ship made a clanking sound. Then it lurched upward. The two crewmembers in front, the guard and tablet-lady, both clutched straps that hung from the ceiling. Leaned back against the front wall. They weren’t even talking anymore.

Where is my Jebediah! She first thought it, and then repeated it aloud. Shrilly.

Everyone looked at her.

“Jebediah is not on this ship!” she cried. “He should be on this ship.”

More discussion. Words traveling in all directions. There was no escaping the look of worry, though. The uncertainty of everything. It was like a wet towel being thrown over the head. All perception was dampened. Fogged over.

Sarah reached for the restraints at her waist. Worked the funny latching mechanism. Feeling the belt fall away, she started to get to her feet.

Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing, Sarah?”

Sarah pushed the hand away. Steadied herself, and then got the rest of the way up. “We need to stop,” she said. “We need Jebediah.” She pointed at the Englisher woman. “You left my husband behind.”

The woman seemed to shrink. “We were told not to interfere,” she said. “To let you follow your own rules.”

The ship lurched again and Sarah almost lost her footing. She put out a hand to steady herself. “Deacon James!” she yelled. “This is—” She rocked again. “We have left my husband.” She turned toward the back of the ship. Saw Abraham cowering low. “Abraham Mast! You have done this.”

She looked frontward again. The guard was standing at attention now. Holding his gun with both hands.

The young woman was talking into a small square device. She pulled the device away from her mouth, and put out a hand. “You really need to sit down, miss.”

“Sarah.”

“Miss Sarah.”

Sarah scowled, felt the floor move beneath her and crouched down. “Is the ship turning around?” she asked.

“He can’t be with us, Sarah,” Abraham said. “He’s not one of us now. It’s the rule. He needs to repent. Be brought back into fellowship.”

“How can he be brought back into fellowship if the fellowship leaves him behind? Did you think about that, Abraham Mast?” Sarah pointed at the two crewmembers. “They’re not part of us either. But they are on the ship.”

The young woman was talking into the rectangular device again. The guard looked nervous. Probably thought they were about to form a bonnet-and-black-hat mob.

“Have you turned the ship around?” Sarah asked

The young crewmember’s eyes widened. She kept talking into her device. These people had a device for everything. She was beginning to think the rectangle was no more than the young lady’s pacifier.

She straightened her dress and grabbed her securing strap. “Well?” she said.

The lady pulled the rectangle away from her mouth. “I think we have a solution.”

Sarah could tell the woman meant it. That somehow Jebediah would be rescued. She nodded her head once. “Ya, gut,” she said. “The Lord bless you.”

Darly turned the corner toward Congi’s
quarters. With her was one of her newly converted medical interns, an older man named Dixon. He was sweet but a bit of a slow walker. He was strong enough to carry her small medcase, though, so that was something.

An emergency
, Greels had said. If there was anything Darly had learned during her time as a Guild medical officer, it was that all shipboard problems were emergencies. It was a direct consequence of the results-oriented culture the Shipping Guild fostered. She knew that, had documented it, and would someday write a book about it. People rushed around, causing them to feel constant pressure on their head and shoulders. Arteries constricted, neurons failed to function. They made poor judgments. Bodies got hurt.

More emergencies for her and her staff.

And the last thing they needed right now was another emergency. Hundreds of people stepping from a grey age society onto
their
ship. Most of her own people still couldn’t find their way to an antacid tablet. She shook her head, and without thinking, removed her med scanner from her hip and held it near her eyes. She paused outside Congi’s door and waved the scanner down the hall to her left and then back toward Dixon on her right.

She had seen some strange medical cases brought on by environmental factors. Loader decks were notorious breeding grounds for microscopic organisms. Molds and fungi and what-have-you. Greels had described something really bizarre, but sometimes loaders could oversee things, or over-describe them.

Another result of the pressure. Another chapter for her book.

The scanner flashed some percentages at her. Spore counts and air quality. It was worse than she typically liked to see, but it wasn’t bad enough to cause any issues. She would check again when she got inside.

She turned to Dixon. He smiled, and she pointed at her case. He swung it forward in front of his chest and snapped it open. She found a pack of individually-wrapped disinfection wipes. She opened one and used it slowly and thoroughly on the controlpad beside Congi’s door. Even though she didn’t intend to actually touch the pad, she didn’t want to chance it being dirty beneath her hand. What if she slipped? What if others did?

She put the wipe in the disposal canister in her med box, pressed the button to phase it, and gave Dixon another smile. He closed the case and dropped it to his side. She turned and fanned the controlpad. It made a chirping sound. Two seconds passed.

“Yes?” Congi said through the pad speaker.

Darly frowned. He sounded much better than he’d been described. Greels had exaggerated. Not unusual. “I was told you were ill,” she said.

“Who said that?”

“The loading supervisor,” she said.

A snort. “Figures. Greels…nothing better to do, I guess.”

She paused. Greels may have exaggerated, but he’d been upset over something. Though he’d appeared tired and stressed, he wasn’t known for lying. “So you’re not feeling sick at all? No breathing difficulties. No trance-like states?”

“Breathing difficulties? Trances? Did he tell you that?”

Darly shifted her stance. Brought her arms close to her body. Felt the scanner at her hip. “I’d rather not discuss it in the hall, crewmember. May I come in?”

A pause. “Are you alone?”

Darly raised an eyebrow. An odd question. “I have crewmember Dixon with me.”

Another pause. “Dixon? From accounting? What happened to him—wear out his desk from sleeping on it?” Congi laughed and then quieted himself. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Darly squinted, glanced at Dixon.

Dixon raised his shoulders.

Darly addressed the door again. “Can we come in?”

“Sure, one second. Let me put something on.”

She frowned at the idea of Congi being naked. Even though it was occasionally part of her job, nakedness was something she never preferred. They had perfectly good scanners for such things now. No reason to remove one’s clothes. “Please do.”

More laughing. An almost too happy laugh. Darly had had few interactions with Congi, but he’d never struck her as gleeful. His last laugh was gleeful, though.

Or was she just being overly suspicious? Pulled along by Greels’s description? Looking for anything odd?

The door slid partway open, stalled, and then quickly slid the rest of the way. Darly frowned, peered into the door pocket. She brought out her med scanner and waved it down the door frame. Shook her head.

She turned and looked inside. The cabinet doors were all closed to her right. The door to the excretorium was closed, as well. The floors were bare and clean—nothing like Greels had described. The lights were a little dim, but not extremely so. Moody, perhaps. Reserved. She could just see the end of the bed past the excretorium. It appeared to be made. Bedding perfectly smoothed down.