Amish Vampires in Space (28 page)

The talk was beneficial, though. Jeb discovered that he liked this captain.

Englisher or no.

• • •

The connection closed and Seal leaned back in his chair, reflective. He surveyed his office. It was very neat, very controlled, but suddenly felt very plain. His walls contained framed commendations from the Guild. One for twenty shipments made without incident, another for forty. Another frame contained—along with a picture of him shaking the admiral’s hand—the certificate of his having reached the position of captain. Another showed him standing outside this very office, the door marker showing his name. His position. He was smiling in that shot. It had been a good day.

It all seemed artificial now, though, and he didn’t know why. He was a top performer. A champion schedule maker. But what else? He felt unsettled. Very, very strange.

He had used to say that he only ever felt odd when the ship did. When there was some crisis standing in the way of their deadline. But such a crisis did not now exist. Everyone was onboard. They were in the slip. The ship was running fine.

Still strange.

The Amish man, this Jebediah, seemed like a good man. Seal didn’t understand much of what Jeb had said, didn’t see the point in the dress and belief system, but at least Jebediah seemed genuine. Genuinely good. A shame that such a minor event—and a correct choice, at that—had separated him from his people. More cultural intricacies. Things diplomats and anthropologists studied. Seal had trained in neither.

Jebediah had saved their lives, whether they liked it or not.

Seal frowned and shook his head. He leaned over his desk, thought to check the duty ledgers, maybe go over the latest from the scraddlebox. The updated regulations and company initiatives. There were always some of those, and he typically enjoyed reading them. But after a skim of a few of the headlines, he swiped the reg ledger away. Studied his empty desk.

Then he brought up the personnel ledger, slowly scrolled the alphabetical listing. He played over it with his finger before finally straightening in his seat and searching with purpose. After a few moments he found the name he wanted. Selected it. Paused. Searched the room again. And with a nod, initiated a call. He waited for the call ring to flash.

Singer’s face filled the void. She looked as pretty as always. Hair hanging straight this time. Perfect blue outfit with gold highlights. Stellar. She was smiling. Extra stellar.

“Seal?” she said. “Yes, I’ll have a report for you soon. Our new guests seem to be doing well. The facilities we’ve installed are—”

Seal held up a hand. Shook his head. “Singer.”

“Yes, Seal? Is there something else? Another issue I’m not addressing? Or are the scraddle messages not reaching you again? I don’t know why—”

He sniffed. Smiled. “Singer.”

She looked at him. Bit her lip.

He felt unsettled again. More so than before. But different. “Would you like to share lunch with me?”

Her eyebrows rose. “A working lunch, Seal? Yes, we could do that. Which cafeteria were you thinking?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Seal?”

He cleared his throat. “I mean, cafeteria maybe. Work, no.”

Singer drew back a bit, studied him. “Oh…but what will we talk about?”

He hadn’t thought of that. Was he really that locked in? That focused. He glanced at his office walls again. Frowned. Of course he was. “We’ll be creative,” he said. “Talk about your homeworld, for instance. Where you grew up.”

The hue of her face changed. Warmed. “That sounds fairly personal, sir.”

“Not more personal than regulations allow, I assure you.”

A smile leaked through. “And you would know.”

He nodded. Put both hands on the desk. “Yes, I would. So how do you want to proceed?”

Her eyebrows arched briefly, but she still smiled. “I believe we can make that happen. Seal.”

He found that he was holding his breath. Why would he do that? “Very good,” he said. “Singer.”

• • •

Greels shut his eyes and reached to where he knew the leftmost side of the flap to be. He unsealed it and folded it back using only his sense of touch. He slowly worked from left to right, unsealing and folding, until finally reaching the other side. The entire process took nearly a full twenty seconds.

Eyes still closed, he stepped back, and took in a full lungful of Bay 16 air. Held it. Savored it. It was a climate-controlled scent, clean and animal-free. An Amish-free scent. He smiled. It was like coming home.

He slowly opened his eyes, and nearly gasped. He was seeing the face of a lost love again. The perfect features, the dark hair. The woman, the scientist, resting like a babe in front of him. Frozen in her cryomatrix like an ancient sculpture. Real, yet still beyond his grasp.

All his fatigue, all his anger at Congi and the doctor, all of it faded away. Greels just breathed the air and took in her beauty. Many minutes went by.

“What was your life like?” he asked finally. “On the station?” He searched her eyes. “Did you dream? Did you dance?” He sniffed. “Or were you one of those all-business ladies? Like that Singer chick. Tighter than a loading spring, that one. All sass and gas, if you know what I mean.”

Greels glanced at the ground. He had placed a mug of dark halfcaff there that he’d almost forgotten. He picked it up, took a sip, rested one arm on another. “No…I don’t think so. Not you. You’re a good one. A
real
one. Someone I can trust.”

He shook his head. “Can you believe it, that med? Had me sent to my quarters! For asking a question!” He took another sip, gazing into the woman’s silent face. “That man was sick, honey. Crazy sick. And now he’s running around like nothing happened.”

He paced to the right. “And then there are all these Amish. They all look the same, you know. Using our facilities. Our medical. Eating some of our food. I can’t even find a snack anymore. Machines all empty.” He swore, wiped his mouth, then felt remorseful. “Excuse me, ma’am. My talk. Comes from being in loading. Goes with the job, you know?”

He watched her, suddenly wishing she could be free. “You probably don’t, though, do you? Probably like a library where you work. All neat and clean.” He raised his cup. “Scientific.”

He took a couple of steps left. Sipped again. “Nothing scientific here, my lady. Just a ship full of packages and a schedule to keep. I’m not even sure our engineers know how it all works, the ship. They just sit around swiping code here and there. It would scare them to get their hands dirty. To actually feel the insides of things.”

He studied the frostline that formed a large circle around her face. It gave the impression that she was trapped inside a snowflake. A diamond within a crystal. “How long have you been in there now?” he asked. “A month?” Another sip, to chase away the chill he suddenly felt. “Not long enough to be damaged, I know. Cryo is safe for years, they say.” He chuckled. “Those scientists.” He shook his head. “I guess at least you have some trust in what you do, right? Putting your full weight into the seat of science.” A frown. “Maybe not by choice though. Probably not by choice.”

He raised his mug in half-salute. “Bah, I’m rambling now. Using air for nonsense. Still, it is good to have you to talk to. I’m glad we’re at this point.” A smile. “Where we can talk. To be past the awkward glances and smiles. I need someone to listen. Someone sane.”

Greels’s communicator beeped. He scowled, and removing it from his waist, brought it up where he could see the small screen. He had to hold it a good distance from his face to see it. Eyes didn’t focus like they should, and no medic knew how to fix that. He hated the small screen. Hated the medics.

The communicator showed the image of the young male intern. The one he’d sent to the planet to get him out of the way. Pity they didn’t have any more stops before Obelisk. More places to send him.

“What do you want?” Greels growled.

The young man startled, then attempted to recompose himself. “I have a new issue at Bay 17, sir. Thought I should share it with you.”

Greels was careful to keep the communicator as close to his face as he possibly could, despite the legibility disadvantages. He didn’t want anyone to be able to ascertain where he was from the background. Or ask questions. He paced far away from the matrix to be sure. “The Amish again?” he said. “I thought they were all settled. Handling themselves.”

“Yes, sir. But apparently they have had someone go missing. A young man, early twenties. Name is something unusual.” The intern squinted at something to his left. Doubtless the pad he always carried. “Ah, yes, Day-vid. Or Da-veed, Or something.”

Greels nodded. “One of those crazy Amish names, okay, fine.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. So he went for a walk and hasn’t come back yet. I thought those people were all over the island now. Off getting our food and medical treatment.”

“I think the medical exams have ended. But yes, there has been some of that. Following a schedule Singer arranged. “

“Singer.”

“Yes, Crewmember Singer.”

Greels scowled. “Right, so she has them out taking tours. He might’ve gotten lost somewhere. Distracted. Caught the wrong slide.”

The intern shook his head. “I’ve checked the schedules, sir. This David hasn’t been out of the bay. Officially, anyway.” He glanced behind him. The Amish settlement was just visible there. “They like to stick to their own. They have things they do. Together.”

Greels rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But he must’ve walked off on his own. They probably still have some curiosity, these Amish. Probably get whipped for it, but still.”

“Whipped, sir?”

Greels shook his head. “Never mind. So why are they concerned?”

“Because he had a night duty. Watching the animals, I guess. And his relief didn’t find him. Hasn’t shown up for chores since then either. Chores, that’s what they call—”

“I know what chores are.”

“Right, well, apparently he never misses. Plus they have some classes set up. They discuss their new planet. Singer has shared all the information we know there. He didn’t show up to that, either.”

Greels felt the tug of responsibility. He drifted toward the door but then remembered the cryomatrix. He couldn’t leave without resealing it. “So why don’t they just get Singer on this disappearance? She’s obviously up on everything. She’s in charge.”

The intern shrugged. “I don’t know that they like Singer, sir. Or maybe it is just women they don’t like.”

Greels thought of the cryomatrix again. His own affinity for the woman within. “They have women. They’re married to women.”

The intern twitched nervously. “Women in authority, I mean. I don’t think they’re comfortable with it.” A pause. “Some of them. I think I was the first man they found.”

Greels scowled. “No, probably not.” He looked at the door, frowned. “Have you told the captain?”

The intern shook his head. “Should I?”

“No. Not yet. It happened in my bay. I’ll handle it.” Greels brought the conversation to a close, then walked over to the cryomatrix again. Took the flap of the seal. Started to lift it. “Have to go now, darling. I’m sorry.”

And in his mind, he heard her sigh.

Greels arrived at Bay 17 to find a group of
Amish men standing just inside the door. As always, they were all in hats and dark coats. Some held sticks in their hands. Possibly canes or handles from farm tools. They surrounded his hapless intern, who looked truly overwhelmed.

The intern hadn’t mentioned it was approaching this. They’re like villagers chasing a monster now, Greels thought. An uncontrollable mob.

Greels squared his shoulders and approached the group. “What do we have here?” He brought his hands up, started waving slowly. “We all need to back off. Need to go back to your business. Let the boy have some room.”

The men looked at him like he was speaking another language. Many crossed arms. Stared. All were serious.

Greels scowled and raised his voice. “I know you can understand me. Do I need to say it slower?”

The intern lifted a hand. Called Greels’s name. “Sir,” he said then. “I’m all right. There’s no problem here. No problem.”

“Well, it looks like a problem.” Greels moved into the circle of men and slowly worked his way toward the center. The Amish parted to let him by. Arms remained crossed, though.

Greels resisted the urge to shove, even though the smell of Amish clothing threatened to smother him. He’d never realized how strong non-synthetic materials smelled. Musky. Part of that was probably the Amish too. Don’t wash enough. “Well, what is this about?” he said when he finally reached his man.

“They just want to help,” the intern said. “Want to form a search party.”

Greels sniffed. “Yeah, that’s just what we need: more people getting lost.”

The intern nodded but looked nervous. “I explained that we have cameras. Ways to track movement—”

A larger man stepped out of the crowd. Big hands. Heavy. “We need to find my boy,” he said.

Greels crossed his arms. “And you are?”

“Name is Abraham,” he said. “It is my boy that’s missing.”