Amish Vampires in Space (15 page)

“Yes,” she said, frowning deeper. “Seal, I don’t think they’re coming.”

He drew his head back. “Not coming? Do they not have enough time?”

Singer was standing outside somewhere. Behind her was a wooden structure and a large animal tied to a pole. It almost reminded him of the sort of on-the-scene reporting that news flix services did. “They
would
have enough time,” she said. “Plenty of time, if we could just get them moving.”

Seal had little patience for slacking. “Do they not understand the danger?” he said. “I read the report you distributed about their culture. I assume they have no astronomical instruments of their own. No experience with this sort of phenomena.”

Singer nodded. “That’s right. That’s part of the problem.” Behind her, the animal flicked its tail and brought its long head up to look Singer’s direction. Dropped its head again. “But I assumed our arrival would be evidence enough. Would stir them to action.”

He was surprised, frankly, that they hadn’t scurried like ants. “So what are they doing exactly?”

She frowned, looked to her right. “The leaders are discussing.
Lots
of discussing.” She looked forward again. “Most just go on with their work. Say they’re praying about it.”

“Praying?” Seal looked at his hands, thought over all he’d read. Snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, talking with this Lord of theirs. Conversing with the divine.”

Seal grinned. “That’s correct. You really
did
read my report.”

“Of course. A well-written missive. Very informative.” He slowly brought a hand up and rested his head against it. “So what do we do? We have a schedule to keep.”

“I’m aware, Seal. But I don’t want to push. Or intimidate.” The animal flicked its tail. Looked again. “I’m not sure we could intimidate them anyway. They are unusually calm. Deliberate.”

“I have no problem with deliberation. But we’re talking about a sun here. A product of nature over which we have no control. They need to know that.”

“And I think they do. They just aren’t in any hurry.” Singer looked to her left again, giving Seal a chance to admire her profile. Professional. Dedicated. Pretty. “We seem to have arrived during their harvest season. Lots of work to do, though I understand the crops are poor this year. With good reason.”

Seal felt a breeze on his chest and sat up again. “What about the person who called us? Have you met him? Can he help?”

Singer’s face brightened. “Actually, yes, I did meet him. Seems reasonable. Still don’t know how he knew to call, or even what he used, but maybe he could help.” She looked both directions, and Seal noticed a breeze playing with the end of her ponytail. “That’s a good idea, Seal. Finding him will give us something to do.”

“Very good.” Seal remembered the drink in the temp-mani. Remembered how thirsty he was. “In the meantime, I’ll make sure we’re ready here. Greels has been hard to reach lately. Hopefully that means he’s busy.” A frown. “He
needs
to be busy.”

Singer nodded. “Thanks again.” A smile. “For the opportunity.”

“I knew you could handle it.”

They said their goodbyes and the link closed. Seal stood and retrieved his drink. He then returned to the table and with a sweep of his finger brought up the directory listing for Greels. Queried him. A blue ring formed on the table’s surface. Started to pulse. Five minutes went by.

No response.

• • •

Greels was jittery, on edge. Nearly jumping at shadows.

It was the sleep, he knew. Or rather, the lack of it. Every night he was restless. Distracted. An ache in his gut. A desire. He’d been alone a long time now.

But that was before he’d seen her face. Such a beautiful face. A trapped bird. He couldn’t help but think of her that way. An obsession, yes. But a pure one. A good one. Just her face.

He’d been denied her presence for too long now.

Greels was on the slideway again. Headed toward Bay 16 from his quarters. It was break time. His time. There was no way he would be disturbed.

For nearly a day and a half he’d been without her. He didn’t like that. Too many distractions. Loaders calling. Didn’t like it. Needed to see her. Felt it strongly. In his gut.

Where a man
should
feel things. Deep inside. Where he should get his drive.

Only a day before he’d been on his way to see her, but security had contacted him. Diverted him. Then it had been a report from the ground crew. Every single person from loading who was down on the planet had felt the need to report. Every little detail. Who cared?

The people of the planet were weird. And a little backwards. A lot backwards. And galactic freeloaders. Wanting others to do the work for them. To pick them up and move them. Didn’t have their own transportation. Didn’t want it. Didn’t believe in it, but didn’t mind getting others to do it for them. Freeloaders.

He shook his head. So what? Just do the job. Make it happen.

Greels reached the door for Bay 16. He was nervous. Excited. He used his passkey. Almost jumped when the door began to rise. Felt a surge of warmth. A whole-body tickle.

He entered the bay and turned the lights up full. Looked around. Smiled. He bounced on his feet. Clenched both hands. Took a buoyant step toward the nearest row of packages, then the next. He wasn’t tired anymore. He was exuberant. Energized. Her package was in sight. He purposely slowed his stride. Purposely acted in a more respectful manner. As if he was approaching royalty. A queen.

She
was
a queen. His ice princess.

He went to the far side of her package and unsealed the viewing flap. If he peeked, he knew he could see the side of her face, her profile. But he didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to rush. Slow and steady. He was the master of control.

He moved slowly past the front of the package, the concealed cryomatrix, and around to the right side. He reached up to unseal the flap there, and paused. Dropping his hands, he squinted at the floor past her package.

Something looked wrong.

He’d made this journey dozens of times now. He knew how everything was supposed to look. But for some reason, the floor near the package beyond—the one containing the remains of the science outpost—seemed disturbed. He took a step that direction, stooped down.

Yes, there was a scuff mark on the floor. A slight lightening of the floor’s otherwise dark material.

Greels clenched his fists. Someone had been in the bay. Despite his having locked it down. Despite his warnings.

He felt panic. It was a desecration! Who would do such a thing? Who had the nerve?

He got down on all fours. Crawled closer to the scuff mark. He ran his fingers across it as if he could get a sense for the shoes that had created it. The person who had left it.

That person should pay.

He shook his head. There wasn’t anything about the scuff that would help. Someone
had
been here, though.

Greels’s com unit chirped. He scowled. It chirped a lot. He ignored it. A lot.

He glanced at the package near the scuff. Saw nothing but a pristine white wrapping. No breaks, no tears. Thankfully, it hadn’t been tampered with. That ruled out one contender.

He sighed and was about to return to his feet when he noticed something about the exterior wrapping. It wasn’t a tear, no…but something else. He frowned, moved his head so he could see the side reflecting the light. Then shifted his head back again.

There was a slight dip in the wrapping. Greels put his finger on it and made sure it wasn’t a mirage. He attempted to trace the dip. Working slowly, he was able to make a complete circle. The circle was at least a meter wide.

He grimaced. Someone had cut the wrapping and repaired it. The repair was perfect, nearly invisible and seamless. But there was still evidence. Still a trace. He felt anger. Shock. Anger again.

Congi. It had to be.

That little thief had snuck in and…who knew what? Broken into the package, for certain. Stolen something? Probably. Lots of things. Valuable things.

Greels’s heart began to race. What if Congi had opened
her
package?

He darted to the cryomatrix package and leaned in really close. He searched it slowly, first the sides, and then the front. Many minutes passed. The whole time, he was afraid. Nervous he would find something to indicate that Congi had put his filthy hands on it. Greels wouldn’t share her. Not with anyone. Especially not finder scum like Congi.

Finally Greels stepped away from the matrix and checked the surface in the light. He checked the viewing flaps too. It was impossible to know for sure, of course. The flaps had been dislodged often. But in general the package looked good. No surface anomalies. No scuffing.

He was still angry. Congi shouldn’t even have been close. Shouldn’t have been in the room. And to be messing with the princess’s articles? That was an affront too large to ignore. He looked at her package again. Frowned. He wanted to stay. Wanted to spend time with her. But he couldn’t. Congi had disobeyed, had been with her.

He would pay.

Jeb was surprised when he got home. There
was a buggy parked outside. Ezekiel’s buggy.

Jeb wasn’t unhappy. He wanted to see Ezekiel. They had things to discuss. It was unusual to see him in the middle of the day, though. In the middle of harvest.

This was no ordinary harvest, of course.

The second surprise came when he opened the front door. Sitting in the living room with Sarah was Ezekiel and the Englisher woman, Singer. She smiled when she saw him. All four chairs had been removed from the wall hooks and placed on the floor. Three were occupied. The other empty. Presumably for him.

Farthest from the door was Ezekiel. His black coat was on the floor next to his chair. He had elbows on his knees and hands together. He gave Jeb a sheepish smile.

“Mr. Miller,” Singer said. “How nice to see you again.”

Jeb squinted, stooped to pull his shoes off and set them to one side of the circular door mat. Frowned. “Ya.
Gut
to see you too.”

Singer glanced at the other two. Sarah rocked in her chair. Arms over her stomach. A concerned look on her face. Ezekiel seemed nervous.

“What is this about?” Jeb asked. “I feel I’ve walked into a church service late.”

Singer’s eyebrows rose. She looked at the others again. “Have I overstepped something? I’m sorry, your culture is still foreign to me. You can only read so much.”

“That depends,” he said. “What were you intending to do?”

She got to her feet. “To see you again, of course. I wanted to speak with you.”

Jeb motioned for her to sit. Walked to the open seat near Sarah. Sat down. “We can talk,” he said.

Singer smiled. “Good. Great.” She leaned forward, mimicking Ezekiel’s posture. Clasped her hands together. “I thought maybe you could help me.”

“Ya,” Jeb said, smiling. “That is what I should do.” He glanced at the stove in the corner. Realized he wouldn’t be using it this year. Felt a twinge of regret. Especially for all the stacked wood outside.

“Mr. Miller?”

Jeb smiled. “You may call me Jeb.”

“Okay, Jeb. We are in a hurry. Our ship, our business, has a schedule to keep. See, we make deliveries—”

“To where?” he asked.

“Well, we have a route we keep. It generally covers ten star systems. That’s twenty-seven inhabited planets, thirteen planetoids, a couple manmade stations—”

Jeb rocked back in his chair. “Twenty-seven planets?” He looked at Sarah and Ezekiel. “And our new planet is one of those?”

Singer smiled. “Actually, no, those are just the planets on our normal route. There are nearly a hundred known habitable planets. Many are in the process of being groomed. Yours will be one of the newly groomed.”

“Groomed?” Jeb asked.

Singer gestured toward the front windows. “The same process that engineered
this
planet, undoubtedly. But decades more sophisticated.”

Jeb frowned. A new irony occurred to him. The fact that, despite generations of hard labor, the planet they lived on was a product of technology, as well. Not simply the hard work of the Amish. If they were to board these rescue ships, the Amishers would be depending on others who were using technology. He harrumphed to end the thought.

“Jeb?” Singer said. “Did I lose you?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I think I understand perfectly. You want my help in speeding the process along.”

“Decisions can be a difficult thing,” she said. “I know.”

“And who knows what the pastors will decide,” he said. “It is likely they’ll decide to stay.”

Concern touched her face. “Truly? But the evidence on your sun is irrefutable.” She pursed her lips. “Would it help if I met with them?”

“That would doubtless make it worse.”

“But they’ll die! They’ll lose everything.”

“‘What does it profit a man to gain the world, but lose his soul?’” Sarah said. “Matthew 16:26.”

“That’s in the Bible,” Jeb said, looking at Singer. “In case you didn’t know.”

She drew back a little. “Oh, I know, Jeb. Believe me.”