Amish Vampires in Space (51 page)

“But what do you think?”

A shrug. “If he truly is First, and if you killed him, there would be some confusion, yes. Possible despondency. But I can’t guarantee that. Or how long it would last.”

“How did he get infected in the first place?” Singer asked. “He couldn’t have been bitten by another man-bat.”

“There was an initial delivery method,” Tenra said. “A carrier organism. He must’ve found it somehow.”

“And someone packed it and shipped it?” Seal said. “Like it was cargo? What sort of morons did you work with?”

Tenra’s eyes misted. “We had a fire. An explosion. I don’t know what was saved. Or who packed it all up. Only that I lost a lot of colleagues. A lot of friends.” Her face sagged, and she shook her head. “I was in the matrix, sir. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You should be, young lady. I think your people probably got what they deserved.”

Singer bristled. “Not helpful, Seal.”

“But it is honest,” Seal said. “Absolutely.” He placed both hands on the desk. Sighed. “Okay, what we need now are solutions. Even if Congi is the key, I doubt we’d be able to find him. The ship is too big. He has an army between us and him. We are too few.”

“And we have limited weapons,” Singer said. “We’re charging them again now, of course. But I must say, they’re not much help. It took a lot of shots to bring just one of the vampires down. And even then, I’m not sure they were really dead. They might have recovered after we left. They’re really strong.”

“And scary,” Tenra added. “And heavy.”

Seal sighed again. He looked at the blue ceiling and nervously drummed on the seat padding near his legs. “So how do we stop them?”

There was a long silence.

“Would there be more weapons, bigger weapons, in the shipments somewhere?” Singer asked.

Seal shook his head. “Transportation of armaments is against Guild regulations. And they’re stringent about it. It is possible some were smuggled on, of course…but I wouldn’t know what to search for.”

Silence returned.

“We were brought here in smaller carriages, smaller ‘ships,’” Samuel said. “Could they not be used again? Take us away and leave the larger vessel to those who are lost?”

Seal frowned. “Leaving is not an option. Not while they have free rein in the ship, and certainly not while we’re in the slip fog. So, no shuttles. No abandonment.’’

Darly curled her lower lip, looked away thoughtfully.

“Darly?” Seal said. “You have something?”

“It’s just… Congi mentioned pheromones.”

Tenra nodded. “Bats are affected by pheromones, just like many mammals.”

“He wasn’t just affected by them,” Darly said. “He
used
them. Managed to kill Candle with them, without so much as touching her.”

“So there may be an answer there,” Seal said. “A concoction that will disable or kill?”

“Possibly… I wouldn’t know where to start, though.”

Seal threw up his hands. “Okay, that’s a blind trail too. Is there anything we
can
use besides the guns? Some way to really stop them?”

“A stake to the heart would do it,” Darly said. “The symbiote positions itself right next to the heart. A rupture of the organ or the entity itself, and the vampire is done.”

Mark scooted to the edge of his seat. “Captain, I think we could help with that.”

“Brother Mark!” Samuel said. “Must I remind you of your calling, even though the situation is dire? Remember Peter’s failure in Gethsemane.”

Seal looked at Singer.

“Part of the Easter story,” she said. “Soldiers came to take Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. Peter, one of his disciples, sliced off a soldier’s ear. Jesus rebuked him. Healed the soldier. Let himself be captured and killed.”

Mark held up a hand. “You misunderstand me, Bishop. I wasn’t advocating the use of force. Just that we could build the stakes they need.” He looked at the faces behind them. “We have carpenters and blacksmiths here. And if there is a chance we can help others, shouldn’t we do that? Perhaps we’ll save even our own.”

“By providing
weapons
to kill them with?”

“No. Pens were mentioned, Samuel. Some of our own might be in bondage. Used for food.” Mark’s face hardened. “Jesus came to free the slaves. So should we.”

Samuel harrumphed, noisily repositioned his feet. Winced. “What we
could
do does not matter. We have no supplies. And our tools are with our affected members. I have no desire to return to that place. I doubt anyone else here does.”

Seal looked down at his desk and pushed the images of Darly and Singer/Tenra to the left side. He brought up the shipping ledgers, searched for any malleable material, specifically wood or a plastic/metal/wood composite. A results ledger appeared. He smiled. Finally something going their way!

“We have a shipment of oak from Dantis to Rockport,” he said. “It is sealed and stored in Microbay 8. On the
even
side of the ship, thankfully. And very close.” He brought up another ledger, searched for tools, but that returned a ledger of thousands of items. He scowled, looked at the room of Amish. “What sort of tools am I looking for, exactly?”

Mark looked at a man standing on the left side of the room, just in front of the aquarium.

He was dark-haired, heavyset, with hands hidden in his pants pockets. The man answered Mark’s stare with a shrug. “Depends on what we want to build,” he said. “To make bows and arrows, we would at least need saws, files, or some other shaping device. String material, of course. Bending a bow would take awhile. Perhaps we could construct a crossbow or two… But we have limited time.”

Seal just stared at him. “Saws and files?” He began to move his fingers blindly. “I could try to find those.”

“Wait,” Singer’s image said. “I know where there are some tools. Probably everything they need.”

Seal grabbed her image and brought it front and center. “Where?”

“Jebediah’s things. Since he wasn’t traveling with the others, I had his stuff put in crewmember storage. Right across from Bay 8, in fact.”

Seal couldn’t help but smile. “Singer you’re a jewel. Do you think he’ll mind? Sharing his things?”

“I don’t think so, Seal. The bigger question is whether or not the Amish with you will be okay with using tools belonging to someone they shunned.”

Seal looked at Samuel. The old man wasn’t smiling. “Are you okay with that, gentlemen?” Seal asked. “Using the tools of—”

Samuel raised a hand. “There is no need of belaboring it, Englisher. We will use whatever tools you provide us.”

Seal tapped his desk. “Very good. Then with whatever weapons you construct, we will attempt to retake the bubble.” He looked at the clock image on his desk. “We have only a few hours before we arrive at Obelisk. Let’s get started.”

It almost felt like Alabaster again.

Microbay 8 was a room of considerable size, despite its name. Jeb reckoned it to be at least as large as the inside of his barn. The ceiling was approximately sixteen feet high and light blue. Packages had been transported into the hallway or rearranged to expose a large section of the onyx-colored floor. Jebediah’s workbench now lined the wall opposite the door.

Tools were arranged along the bench’s surface. Three generations of tools. His father’s tools, his grandfather’s before him.
His
tools. Saws, different varieties of hammers, sanding blocks, files…everything they needed for the task ahead. Even his glass jars were present, still holding their collection of useful items.

A dozen men were at work, along with a couple of the women. It was a quiet affair, with little talking. Only occasionally was there the sound of hammering or sawing or sanding. The smell of sawdust was heavy in the air. The men all showed stubble on their top lips now, circles of sweat beneath their arms.

Samuel was part of the workforce, as well, though mostly in a supervisory role. It was clear that his age was affecting him. He mostly rested in a chair and had projects brought to him for inspection. He would nod, and sometimes would take the piece and turn it in his hands. Squint at it.

If nothing else, they knew how to work together, Jeb had to admit. The processes were known by all. The methodology of work. There had been little food or drink since their flight from Bay 17. And even now, the “Englisher food” that had been gathered and dispersed mostly lay unwrapped. The cups of water were occasionally used, however. Construction was thirsty work.

Jebediah stood near the door, unsure of whether to join in or not. He was still officially shunned, even though internally he continually repented for what he’d done. The evil he’d brought on his family and the community. Regardless, he was able-bodied. He could help, and he was anxious to.

Sarah stood next to him, along with the Englisher woman Singer.

“Who brought all my things?” Jeb asked. “I thought they would be left behind.”

Sarah smoothed her dress above her belly and crossed her arms over it. “Ezekiel,” she said. “I think he felt guilty for your treatment. Wanted to make amends. He put some of your things in with his, as well. The milling equipment, for instance. The donkey.”

Jeb nodded. Silently grateful for his young friend. “I have not seen him,” he said. “Not before, when I visited the others. He should’ve been in the crowd, but…” He frowned. “I don’t think he was one of David’s, either. He wasn’t with them.”

“Maybe he is well, then,” Sarah said. “Maybe he and his family have hidden.”

“I hope
many
have hidden.”

One of the workers, a carpenter named Joel, searched the top of Jeb’s workbench, a frown stitching his face. Deacon Mark was at the far end of the bench, clamping two pieces of wood together. Joel said something to him, but Mark just shrugged and shook his head.

Pushing away his apprehension, Jeb walked to where Joel stood. “What do you need?” he asked.

Joel looked at Jebediah. Hesitated. Glanced in Samuel’s direction.

Mark looked up from his work. Saw what was going on. “You can talk to him, Joel. These are his tools, after all.”

Joel nodded. “I need a smaller hand plane. Got a board that isn’t quite the right shape.”

Jeb returned the nod. “If all is where it was, I have one down here.” He stooped to a lower part of the bench, swung open a side door. Amazingly, everything seemed to be where it should be. Tools positioned on the appropriate shelves. He reached for his smaller plane. It was a triangular metal tool with a knob at the one end. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, standing again, “these Englishers know how to move things.”

Joel thanked him and took the tool.

“Except people, you mean,” Mark said. Jeb looked at him, but the young deacon only smiled a bit and raised a hand. “That was wrong of me, Jeb. I’m sorry.”

Jeb nodded. He understood. Everything was colored by sorrow now. Sorrow and uncertainty. “Can I help somewhere?” he asked. “I’d like to help.”

“You’ve done enough already.” Mark looked at the ground. Shook his head. “I think I stepped in it again there. What I meant—”

Jeb shook his head. “You have family with the others. We all do. I am guilty of much, I know that. I should be the one to apologize.”

“God moves as He wills.” Mark said, but he didn’t seem convinced. He pointed across the room to where two young men were hunched over something on the floor. Occasionally the sound of a hammer strike would ring out from their effort. “Those two are trying to reshape some metal for use in a crossbow. They’re full of ambition, but I’m not sure they have the muscle. Maybe you can supervise?”

Jeb chuckled. “I can try, regardless.”

A few minutes later, he held a hammer in his hands. He brought it down on a chisel and watched the metal bend beneath it, reshaping into something closer to what they needed. It felt good to be doing something. To atone in some small way.

He would be a part of the solution, whatever that solution might be.

• • •

Seven hours later, they were ready. Everyone—the captain included—was gathered in Microbay 8 now. They were formed in a circle, with the fruits of the Amisher labor stacked neatly on the floor in front of them. It was an outstanding achievement, considering how little they’d had to work with. Seal was grateful for it. But it still didn’t look like much to use against a blood-crazed superhuman army.

They had a small stack of arrows, a similar stack of crossbow bolts, four plain wood crossbows, and four standard bows. Two of these latter weapons were smaller, perhaps for a female hand.

“This is all we could do with what we had,” Mark said. “Normally, we would treat the wood. Stain and varnish it against the elements.” He frowned. “We figured they won’t see many natural elements…”

“Yes, we don’t expect any rain…” Seal nodded slowly. “These will do fine. I appreciate all you’ve done. Now all that remains is to plan.”

Seal scanned the faces in the room. The crewmember and Amish remnant. Wasn’t much to work with
there
either. “I will lead the assault on the bubble. I’m the only one who knows how to fly the
Raven
, aside from the pilots. We can expect to meet a fair share of resistance. If what Tenra tells us is correct, there may be an entire community of vampires living there, amidst what used to be our office pool. Or we may find it abandoned. But since my desk tells me the ship is still maintaining course, I doubt that. Someone is flying us.”