Amish Vampires in Space (29 page)

He nodded once. Tried to show compassion. “And he’s been gone for how long?”

“At least ten hours now. It isn’t like him.”

Greels shrugged. “It is a big ship. Lots of places to hide. Does he play games, your son?”

Abraham scowled. “Nee, he’s too old for games. In his second decade. Has a wife. Put away childish things.”

Greels shook his head. Early bonders, these Amish. A wife already? Not even a bonding learner’s permit would be approved so early, much less a license. Better to spend a long time talking to the woman first.

Especially when they aren’t talking back. Greels almost smiled.

“We have over a dozen able men here,” Abraham said. “We could find more. The whole community, if necessary. Just let us search, Englisher.”

“We have ways of finding things.” Greels pointed up in the general direction of one of the bay’s ceiling corners. “We have things that watch. Ways to log people’s movement. We can find him.”

Abraham indicated the intern. “He said they were turned off. Said there was no record of my son leaving. That your ship hasn’t seen anything.”

Greels looked at the intern. “You need to hold more things in.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Just trying to—”

There was a shout—a female squeal—from behind the crowd of men. Somewhere near the settlement area. Then came more commotion. The crowd of men started to stir. Turn in the direction of the noise.

Greels saw a number of dress-and-bonnet-wearing women, and behind them, a young man. No hat, but otherwise Amish. Otherwise seemingly unharmed. Smiling. One of the woman clung tightly to his hand. The group walked along the outskirts of the settlement. Following the row of temporary dwellings. “Who is that?” he asked.

Abraham pushed away from the others. “David!” he called.

Greels glanced at his intern, who watched the reunion as well. Shrugged. “Must be the missing boy,” he said.

Greels felt a sense of relief. People didn’t disappear on the
Raven
. They could hide a few things, yes.
Find
things. But disappear permanently? Never. Excepting delivery stops, it was a closed system. “So it looks like we’re okay, then…” He contemplated what he should do next. Now that he’d temporarily broken free of the other bay’s spell. The one with her in it. He took a breath, noticed a scent of animal waste. Shook his head. Started to turn toward the bay door.

Then he saw something that stirred his stomach. Made him remember a situation he wanted to forget. Just beyond the settlement boundary. On the other side of the reunion.

Congi.

Greels stormed that direction. When he reached the midpoint, Congi seemed to notice him and brought a hand to his cheek. Stroked it. Smiled. That only made Greels more unsettled. Angry. He was almost to Congi when his path was blocked by a large Amish man. The boy’s father. That Abraham guy.

Abraham was looking straight at Congi, though. Both hands were outstretched. “I hear I have you to thank.”

Congi looked genuinely surprised. His eyes widened and he raised a hand to stop any embrace. “It’s okay,” he said. “No big thing.”

Greels could tell from the reaction of those standing nearby that Abraham’s demonstrative behavior was unusual for them too. “I don’t think they touch,” Greels muttered. “I don’t think they hug.”

Abraham didn’t try to hug Congi, though. He only extended a large hand. “I would shake your hand.”

Something about that didn’t seem right either. Greels remembered again the image of Congi. How very sick he’d been. How strangely sick. He took a few hurried steps. Put an arm between the men. “Where did you find the boy?” he asked.

Congi smiled. “Between Bay 14 and here, near one of the entrance slides. He was following an animal.”

“An animal?”

“Yes, a goat, I think. It was injured. Must’ve fallen into a slide gear. Something. Pretty chewed up.” He looked at Abraham. “Sorry for your loss.”

Abraham nodded. “That is unfortunate. But my son is here. Among us again.” He glanced in the direction of the group of women with his son in the middle. Nodded. “As it should be.”

Greels wasn’t buying it. “There was no record of his leaving. That’s hard to believe unless someone helped him. Someone used to being undetected…sneaky.”

Congi pulled back, feigning outrage. “I have
never
been sneaky. Quiet, perhaps. Not barging around like a gorilla.”

Greels found he’d clenched his fists. “What are you insinuating?”

“We’re talking, Greels. Just speaking together.” He looked at Abraham. “It is the start of fellowship, isn’t it?”

Abraham looked slightly puzzled, but he bowed his head anyway. “It is. So says the Ordnung.”

Greels frowned. “I don’t trust you, Congi. I know this is where you’ve managed to be assigned, but there’s something wrong here. There’s nothing you should be interested in. No fancy tech you can steal.”

“I’m an honest man, Greels. An honest, hardworking man.”

Greels laughed out loud. “I know you better. What if I write a report? Start an investigation into why the boy disappeared. Talk to the captain.”

“You can do what you like. I’m sure the captain will see it my way. If I can speak to him.”

Greels smelled animal waste. Felt disgusted. He frowned and turned to look at Abraham. “Don’t trust him. Not around your animals, or your sons. Not around anything.”

And with that, he walked away.

• • •

ONE DAY LATER

It was nearly lunch time. Samuel was in his shelter with the curtain pulled. He had his Bible spread out on the small desk before him. Trying to outline a sermon for his upcoming message. It would be their first while inside the leviathan, and he wanted it to be a good one. He needed to ward off the feeling of danger that surrounded them. To pull them closer. To keep them together.

The return of David would help with that. He could use it as an example. A tangible result of praying and working together.

As for Jebediah and Sarah’s continued absence… Well, he could use that too. Illustrate the effects of the outside world. How easily we could all be led astray. Taken in.

There were some illnesses to pray about, as well. Strange maladies—fevers and sleepfulness—doubtless the result of exposure to these new surroundings. Regardless of the Englisher assurances. “A sterile environment,” they called it. Filtered and controlled. Safe.

But it was not. One was
never
able to control as much as they liked. Samuel knew that for certain. Life refused to be controlled.

He smoothed the pages of the book. Squinted. Certainly something in there would apply. But what? There were so many distractions. So little peace.

Samuel heard someone clear his throat. He looked up to find another shadow outside the curtain. The profile was unmistakable, as it was the roundest of his deacons—James. Samuel scratched his beard, bid him enter. “Are more sick?” he asked.

James removed his hat, exposing his hairless head. “I am concerned, Samuel.”

“About the sick?”

James shook his head. “Yes, though I shouldn’t be.”

Samuel glanced at his sermon notes. Sighed. “I am confused, brother.”

James sighed. “Those who were counted as sick all seem better now.”

Samuel nodded. “Ah,
gut.
And not because of the Englisher doctor?”

“I don’t know that any have seen her. They’ve been obeying our latest admonition, Samuel. To avoid mixing ourselves as much as possible. To include the Englishers only in the most severe cases. Initial exams notwithstanding.”

“So she hasn’t seen any with the fever?”

James shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

Samuel breathed a sigh of relief. The coming of the fever had been sudden, but no more so than other diseases they’d weathered. There were some disturbing symptoms, certainly. But again, their society had been on its own for a long time. Who knew what was commonplace now? “There are no remaining ill effects?”

“Nee, none that I’ve seen,” James said. “After the fever comes, the affected tend to rest. When they awake, they seem better than they were before. Energized.”

Samuel smoothed his Bible. “Ya, it is a passing thing then. An adjustment to our surroundings.”

James nodded. “Only a few hours. No more.”

“Derr Herr listens to our prayers. Rewards the faithful.” Samuel waited a moment, expecting the younger deacon to bring his update to a close and leave. He remembered then that James had spoken of concern. “You are still troubled,” he said. “What drives your trouble?”

James shook his head. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Nothing will feel right here. We are no longer our own men. We are indebted to the Englishers.”

“Nee, it is not that.” James shook his head again. “Nee, it is the healing. Those people. They
are
different.”

“You said there were no ill effects.”

“Ya, but that doesn’t mean they are right.”

Samuel shook his head. “The Scriptures warn against using feelings to guide us. Be aware, brother.”

James laid both hands on his midsection. Nodded slowly. “Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I have given in to fear.”

Samuel nodded, returning his attention to his desk. His sermon. “Be at peace, deacon.”

• • •

The next morning, Deacon Mark stood with his older boy, Benjamin, inside one of the cattle pens. This particular pen contained his family’s three first-calf heifers and two not-yet-weaned male calves. The cattle were all black-and-white Holsteins. The genesis of the breed went back to ancient Earth, Mark knew. They had been bred to make milk, and even now, millennia later, on planets scattered throughout the galaxy, they still did just that. Made milk. It was an animal that truly fulfilled its purpose.

Mark nodded at the nearest heifer—Doe, the boys had named her—and started to walk in her direction. Tracking him, Benjamin circled around to the far side of the animal. Together they raised their hands in a sign of comfort.

Doe, for her part, seemed unworried. Her dark eyes glanced Mark’s direction as he approached, but she didn’t raise her head from the tuft of hay she was invested in. Only when the boy placed a hand on her backside did she stomp a few times and begin twitching her tail—swatting Mark’s direction as if he were a fly trying to land. She raised her head and looked at the boy then. Stomped again.

“Now, now, Doe,” Mark said. “We don’t need to go through this
every
time.”

Doe’s calf had been placed in another pen with similar aged males. All had already been castrated, and so were more manageable. Docile. Doe didn’t miss her calf. That wasn’t her problem. She was just ornery. Some always were.

“Deacon Mark, may I speak with you?”

It was a feminine voice, coming from the opposite side of the cow. Mark frowned, raised an eyebrow. Tried to place the voice. One of the young wives, he thought. For some reason, most of the women came to him before going to Bishop Samuel. Same could be said for many of the men, as well. Maybe because he was younger, or less stuffy. Ah, yes, it was David’s wife.

He nodded to Benjamin. Got up and walked around the cow. Deborah was standing along the fence there. Blond hair barely visible under her kapp, small hands clasping the fence rail. Arms close to her body. Nervous. Timid.

“Yes, Deborah, what is it?”

Deborah looked over his shoulder to where Doe and Benjamin still stood. “Pardon me for interrupting. I know milking time is important.”

Mark nodded. “It is difficult to keep the schedule here, with no sun. And so much going on. But if we don’t, they’ll dry up.”

Deborah nodded. “I understand. I’ll try not to take too much of your time. You see, it is David.”

“He is unharmed, correct? I know he was lost for a time. Does he remember where?”

She shook her head. “Nee. But it is very strange. He is very different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Up all night. Sleeping at odd hours. Seems hungry, but he barely touches his food.”

Mark noticed that another Amisher—Zechariah Strong—had entered the pen behind Deborah, intent on milking. He and his two sons were approaching one of their cows, a tan and white Guernsey. It was standing completely still, of course. Waiting.

“Perhaps he was eating while he was gone,” Mark said. “They have strange food, the Englishers. Small pills that can suffice for days, I’ve heard.”

Deborah looked nervously at the blue floor near her feet. “There are other things,” she said. “That trouble me.”

Doe mooed. Impatient. Wanting to get it over with. “What things?” Mark asked. “What is it that troubles?”

“He watches me at night.”

“He what?”

“Last night, when I stirred. I noticed he was sitting up in bed. Watching me.”

Mark smiled. “I sometimes watch my wife at night, as well. It is a…” Mark searched for the proper word… “serene time. The day’s toil fades from her face. I think most highly of her then.”

Deborah shook her head. “It is not like that. It is not in appreciation, like Solomon gazing on his lover. It is a look of hunger, Deacon.”

Mark glanced back at his boy. Made sure he was out of earshot. “This is not a subject we should be discussing. Perhaps one of the ladies—”

Deborah’s eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. “Nee, I do not mean that. Not lawful desire.
Hunger
, Deacon.” Her eyes scanned the nearby cattle. “Like a man looks at a steak.”

Mark squinted. “And you saw all this while feigning sleep? His watching you with hunger?”

“It was a sense. And his breath now: It is unnaturally pleasant.”

“I’ve heard the Englishers have devices for that, as well. Perhaps he found something while he was gone.”

“I’ve never seen him use it. And there’s something else. Something worse.”

“Worse?”

Here Deborah looked at the floor, and Mark noticed the muscles in her arm flexing as she gripped the fence rail. She didn’t look up again. “Yes, with others.”

“Others?”

“Other women, Deacon. I see him with them.”

Adultery? It was unheard of. Could the Englishers have corrupted young David so quickly? “With who? When?”