Amish Vampires in Space (21 page)

The excretorium door opened and Congi stepped out, smiling. His dark hair was slicked back, clearly just combed. His shirt was regulation Guild wear. Dark blue. Neat and pressed. His pants were on, thankfully, and equally pressed and per reg. He could be ready for the accounting office himself. He seemed slimmer somehow, taller.

She raised her med scanner.

Congi put out a hand. “You don’t need that, Darly. I can tell you how I am. I’m fine! Wonderful!”

She eased the scanner down. “I just want to do a quick check. Of your heart, lungs…”

Congi breathed in, smiled, blew his breath out again.

There was a scent of something…almost a floral bouquet. Crushed roses, her subconscious told her. Darly raised her eyebrows. Shook her head. “You have nice breath,” she said.

“Why, thank you,” Congi said. “It is natural.”

“I see.” A smile. “You should market whatever wash you use.”

A tip of his head. “I use nothing. Seriously.” Another smile, and a motion toward the interior of his quarters. “Would you like to see the place?”

Darly nodded, smiled. “I would.” Congi took a few steps backward, allowing her access.

She walked in front of him, smiled again, and stepped into the room proper. As she had glimpsed before, the bed was completely made. Smooth. As if it had never been touched. There was nothing—nothing—on the floor or tables, aside from the mounted lights and standard accoutrements. Odd, because she’d heard that Congi was a bit of a packrat.

“Satisfied?” Congi asked. “I was sleeping. Got cleaned up when you arrived.” He took another deep breath. “Feeling good. Ready to go on the clock.”

Darly felt suddenly ambivalent. She knew there was something she should be doing. Demanding, even. But she felt no reason to do it. Also, she’d heard about some animosity between the loading supervisor and Congi. This certainly wasn’t part of a game, was it? Greels trying to badger a rival?

She didn’t have time for games.

“Shouldn’t you check him out?” Dixon said from behind her.

Darly scowled, turned. “What?”

Dixon’s eyes widened. He pointed halfheartedly toward her right hand. “The scanner. You were going to check him out.”

She looked at the scanner. “Right, I was.” She turned back toward Congi. Smiled.

He returned the smile. “Wouldn’t you rather give me a full examination? Say…at your medical office? Or your quarters?”

Darly should’ve been offended by the implication. But she found she wasn’t. What was it about this Congi, this maintenance man and rumored thief, that made him so appealing? She shook her head again. “So you’re refusing a scan?”

Congi straightened. Smiled. “I’m refusing nothing, young lady. I’ll allow you to do anything you would like.”

This man is happier than I am, Darly thought. Happier and probably healthier. She glanced behind him at the room again. And clearly cleaner. “I should—”

Congi raised both hands, as if leading them out. “You should,” he said. “I’m sorry for it, but you should go back to your work. I’ve heard you have lots of it.”

She frowned. “I do,” she said. “Lots of people. Lots of work.” She found herself turning toward the door.

“And you, Dixon,” Congi said. “I can see you’ve found your place. Your spot. Miss Darly needs you.”

Dixon looked puzzled, but he turned too.

In what seemed an instant, they both found themselves standing in the hall, pointed in the direction of the nearest slideway access.

Darly’s heart felt hollow. Longing to talk with Congi more. To understand him. His psychology, his intellect… Well, it required investigation. Of a purely medical sort, of course.

Both started walking, neither talking, until after many turns Dixon actually stepped on the back of Darly’s shoe.

She winced, paused, adjusted the shoe, and shot Dixon a look. “Dixon!”

“Sorry, ma’am. Don’t know what happened.”

She managed a nod. “Well, we need to get back to work. Come on.”

• • •

If I go up to the heavens, Jebediah thought, You are there.

In front of him was a wide expanse of gently curving transparency that provided almost 180 degrees of visibility. The pilot sat directly behind that transparency, obstructing a small portion of the view. But it was a singular seat. Not much blockage.

Jeb’s rescue had been unexpected but wonderful. A small carriage—shuttle—had zoomed in from the south just as the larger one had taken Sarah away. The pilot had told him to get on, that they had quarters for him on a larger vessel. So Jeb had gotten on, and here he was.

Jeb was seated on a long bench along the back wall. Strapped in. It was one of the most comfortable chairs he’d ever known. Undoubtedly the result of forbidden technology, but it was wonderful.

And the view was incredible. On Alabaster, the nights had always been a wonder to him, an inkling of heaven. This experience made it seem like he’d been looking through a fogged lens before though. Everything was crisp and real. A panorama of stars of all shapes and colors.

Then he saw a large mass of brightness on the edge of the starfield. It was ball-shaped but not solid like the other stars. There were dark spaces, making it clear it wasn’t a single entity. It was a structure composed of a many individual lights.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing.

The pilot didn’t turn. “To the right there? That’s the Palisade Nebula.” He made a circle with his hands. “It is a dense collection of stars. Probably thousands of them.”

Jeb nodded, continued to gape. After a few seconds, he realized the overall shape of the “Nebula” was familiar. It had greeted him nearly every morning of his life. “The Nebbit,” he said. “The Morning Nebbit.”

“Nebbit?” The pilot chuckled. “All right. If you say so.”

The craft made a wide turn to their left. The planet Alabaster came into view. It was another impossibility. A brown and blue globe, now seemingly far enough away that he could hold it in his hand. “He hangs it on nothing,” Jeb said, shaking his head. “How did He do it?”

“How did
who
do it?” The pilot asked.

“Der Herr—the Lord,” Jeb gestured toward the planet. “He hung Alabaster on nothing. Nothing holds it up.”

The pilot glanced at the globe. Shrugged. “I don’t know how it works. Something about gravitons.” A smile. “I don’t have to know that to fly.” He pointed toward their right. “I just know the gravity of your sun keeps it where it is supposed to be. And my instruments tell me where everything is supposed to be.” He glanced back at Jeb. “And we go from there.”

Jeb looked toward the sun and then at the rows of gears and lights in front of the pilot. It was a far cry from the tug of the reins and commanding voice he used to steer their buggy. “And what makes us—this,” he motioned toward the floor, “go?”

The pilot chuckled. “You’re drifting into another area outside my expertise there, sir,” he said. “I know it is a fusion-based engine, but I couldn’t tell you what they are fusing. I have some equipment on board that test and retest it as we fly. There are also built-in routines to attend to any unexpected variations. To keep us flying safely. Plus, there are human mechanics that do routine safety inspections on the
Raven
and at HQ.” He shrugged. “I’ve yet to have a problem. It is all very routine.”

Jebediah crossed his arms, looked out at the diminishing circle of Alabaster. “You don’t know where we are. You don’t know how things out there move. Don’t know how this thing works. Couldn’t fix it if you had to.” He shook his head. “I hope you won’t take offense, but what
do
you know?”

The pilot laughed again, harder this time. He checked the instruments in front of him, and then looked at the center of the transparent section. Pointed. “Well, in this case, Mr. Miller, I know the way home.”

Jebediah noticed a place where the darkness of space was being obscured by something. He leaned forward, and squinted. It was rectangular, blue, and slightly-sloped. He watched for many minutes as it grew larger and larger. First it outgrew the pilot’s seat in perceived size, took nearly half the view, and then all of it. In fact, only a small portion of the ship could be seen now, it was so big.

The pilot looked back at him, smiled. “What do you think of that?”

Jeb shivered at the size of it. Shook his head. The largest barn he’d ever helped construct could fit inside the ship a hundred times, maybe two hundred.

“Well?”

Jebediah could only gape.

• • •

Sarah couldn’t wait for the ride to end.

Even with the assurance that Jeb was taken care of, that he was on his way as well in another vessel, she felt unsettled. She had acted completely on her own too! She had allied herself with the Englishers over her own people. Put her faith in them over Abraham and Deacon James. Trusted in their mercy and generosity. How unusual. How wrong it must be. But also right. They would’ve left Jeb behind!

Finally she heard clanking noises, and the lighting in the room changed. The two Englishers—the small woman with her talking device, and the security man—unstrapped themselves and stood. They scanned the room as if looking for any injured passengers, and after exchanging nods, the woman began talking into the device again. A few moments later there were more heavy clanks, and the door behind them began to open. There was more light, and a gentle breeze brought foreign smells into the vessel. Unnatural smells. A mixture of grease and lacquer and parchment.

“Everyone can unstrap now,” the Englisher woman said. “Stand up and stretch. Turn toward the back. We’ll take you to your settlement onboard.”

Sarah could barely contain her agitation. She freed herself, stood and turned with all the rest, but she wanted to push through to the back. To make sure Jebediah was out there somewhere. That she hadn’t been deceived.

She noticed Abraham and his sons getting to their feet. Abraham only glanced her direction before returning his eyes to the floor. He then busied himself with making sure those around him were free and ready to go.

Ya, she thought grimly, he’s a real helpful man.

Deacon James didn’t even look her direction. Was that because of his own shame? Or the shame she’d brought onto herself for interfering? Her heart ached. This situation. Their lost homes. Everything broken and asunder.

Those in front of her began to shuffle forward. Heads looked up as they reached the opening. Clearly the room beyond was large and held other Englisher shuttles. She could see a portion of one shuttle behind them. She thought she heard another touching down. Where was Jebediah?

She finally exited the craft. So many heads were in her way. If only the men would remove their hats. It was hard to take it all in. To orient herself. She saw a high dark blue ceiling with a crisscross of supports, a dark grey floor. She counted more shuttles—at least ten. There were groups of Amishers near each one. Blue-suited Englishers leading them. It was overwhelming. More strange smells. Everything foreign and wrong. She fought her panic. The child inside moved once in response. No doubt sharing her distress.

The group thinned enough that she could move toward the side where the Englisher woman stood. She was again talking on her device, but she acknowledged Sarah’s approach. Raised her eyebrows.

“Where is my husband?” Sarah asked.

“One moment,” the woman said to her device. “I’m sorry…your husband?” The woman recognized Sarah’s expression of panic then and raised a calming hand. Smiled. “Oh, right. Sorry. The outcast.” She nodded to her right. “He rode in an equipment shuttle.” A frown. “Not sure where they are now.” The device drifted near her mouth. “I can call someone.”

“I need to see him. Where did he go? Where have you taken him?”

Deacon James appeared at her side. Laid a comforting hand on her elbow. “You’re always with family, Sarah. Remember that.”

She nodded. “I know that, Deacon. But my service is to my husband, as well.”

James nodded. “Scripture teaches that a believing wife can win over a lost spouse. Your role is most important to his return.”

“Mrs. Miller?” A voice said.

Sarah turned to see the Englisher woman named Singer. Though she wore no kapp or dress, she always seemed beautiful and modest. A difficult feat for someone in such a manly leadership role. Sarah felt certain she could trust her.

Singer pointed toward the side of the room, past a row of shuttles. “Jebediah is here,” she said. “Waiting. We’ve made some special arrangements. He wants you to join him.”

Sarah tried to see past the shuttles. To see him. Her heart felt comfort, though. Renewed strength at his presence. “He is here?”

Singer smiled. “Yes, yes, he’s here. Safe and fine.”

“But he’ll not be with our group?”

Singer shrugged. “I knew your unique…um…” she glanced at Deacon James… “situation, so I took the liberty of finding you, finding him, separate quarters. At least until you figure things out.”

“You should be with us, Sarah,” Deacon James said. “You could always visit him. The
Bann
doesn’t separate man from wife.”

Singer frowned. “Unfortunately, his quarters are on the opposite side of the ship. It was the only place I could find. We’re pretty full now.”

Sarah touched her midsection. Felt disconcerted again.

“I am unsure how to console you here.” James’s eyes searched the room. “If I find Samuel or Mark…”

Sarah stepped so she could see around the nearest intervening shuttle. She looked toward the room’s edge and saw a raised section—an overlook of some sort. Jebediah was bent over a metal railing there. Looking her direction. He raised a hand when he saw her. Her heart swelled. “I need to be with my husband,” she said. “It is the only way to win him, Deacon. He will never come to it on his own.”

James studied her for a moment. Stroked his beard in thought. “I most wish for him to be with us again, Sarah. I pray for it daily.”

“He is fearfully stubborn. Like a mule at times.”

James nodded. “You know what the Ordnung allows. How you should behave?”

Sarah nodded. “I do. I will work to hasten his return to fellowship.”