Amish Vampires in Space (7 page)

“Is it all right?” he asked.

Darly looked at her medicinal assistant and then at him. Nodded.

Seal glanced at Greels, who just shrugged. “So, do you want us to open the window?” Seal asked.

Darly leaned forward and squinted at part of the package’s front exterior, twisted her lips, checked the assistant, and nodded again.

Seal approached one side of the package, while Greels walked around to the other. “There’s a pull strap on the top there,” Greels said.

Seal found the four centimeter strap and gave it a tug. The side of the exterior wrap split open with a pop. He put his fingers in and loosened the flap all the way to the front. Greels met him in the middle and together they folded the cover back.

Seal found himself face to face with the occupant.

Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping. Thankfully. The last thing Seal wanted was someone’s vacant eyes staring out at him.

Her hair was long, dark, and straight. Her head was bowed slightly, and her skin color was a bit light—common for those in cryo—but otherwise she looked perfectly normal. There was no sign of injury. Only her head and shoulders were visible, however.

Greels took a spot to Seal’s left, a few paces back. And Darly behind him. “She’s beautiful,” Greels said. “Like an ice princess.”

Darly just made a “hunh” sound and started looking at her med pad again.

“She’s frozen, Greels,” Seal said. “A scientist, presumably. A survivor.” He nodded toward the mammoth package they’d already placed, not three meters behind. “Of whatever happened in there.”

Greels stared at the woman, eyes wide.

“Greels. Frozen!”

“Huh?” Greels looked at him. Frowned. “Yes, I know. I get that.”

Seal sniffed. “So you can’t date her. She’s not coming out. She’s just a shipment.”

Greels’s eyes flared. “I
know
, Captain. I got it.”

“Good.”

Darly stepped in front of Seal and got up on tiptoes to look at the woman and then the area inside. She waved her assistant over the window, checked it again, and walked around to the side of the container. There was a narrow strip of indicator lights there, which she squinted at. “Matrix appears to be fine, Captain,” she said. “Working perfectly.”

Seal nodded. “So, she’s safe. Sleeping tight.”

Darly returned the nod. “Yes, she should require no further supervision.”

“Do you detect an injury?” he asked. “A sign of trauma?”

Darly nodded. “Matrix says she has some burns. On her legs. And some lacerations.”

“But that’s it?” Seal said. “Doesn’t sound significant enough for…” He squinted at the cryomatrix, frowned. “You know.”

“Those burns would hurt a great deal,” Darly said. “And it is not that uncommon for SciCon. They are sticklers.” She flashed a smile. “I should know. I used to work for them.”

“I see.” Seal glanced at Greels. His eyes were still on the girl. “Seriously, Greels. Have you never seen a female before?”

Greels didn’t budge. “Yes, just never one like this. One so…”

“Incapacitated? Unable to resist? To reject? What?”

A grimace. “Beautiful. I think she’s lovely.”

“I’ve heard that.” Seal looked at Darly, but she was focused on her assistant again.

“Like putting a diamond in a cardboard box.”

“We’re shippers, Greels. We do that all the time.” Another glance at Darly. Still occupied. Seal approached the cryo and put a hand under the detachable flap. “I’m going to close this back up.”

“Okay,” Greels said, sounding disappointed.

Seal just continued the process, pushing the flap into place across the front. When he reached the halfway point, he gasped and quickly drew back his hand.

“What is it, Boss?”

Seal peered at the face of the woman, watched her for many moments without speaking.

“Sir?” Darly said.

Seal scratched the back of his head, frowned. He lightly touched the flap, almost expecting it to be either hot or cold. He was surprised to find it was neither. Just simple room temperature. He quickly slid the flap over her face. Continued until the process was complete. “Okay,” he said. “You can push it back.”

Greels nodded and reverently placed his hands on the sides of the package. Eased it back a few steps to join the row of white.

“That’s it, then.”

Seal thanked Darly for coming.

This time she was staring at him, though. “Are you well?” she asked.

“Of course.” He motioned to the clearly-marked exit door. Waved at Greels. Just like any other day.

What he didn’t want to admit, though, was what he thought he saw as he closed the flap.

For an instant—for a tiny fraction of a second—he thought the patient’s eyes were open.

• • •

After the stop at the Maple System, Congi began his usual rounds of the storage bays.

Congi’s official title was “Maintenance Supervisor,” but that was only a fraction of what he really did. He liked to think of himself as a “finder.” Every bird in the fleet had at least one finder on board: a man or woman who filled in the cracks. Someone who made things work a little smoother. Greased the wheels.

In a typical cross-system transit, there were thousands of packages. Millions of items. A nearly incomprehensible amount of objects that could be misplaced or damaged. Some might even split a seal and become partially emptied. Many of those things were exceedingly valuable.

All of those things were valuable to someone.

So Congi took it on himself to locate things, and for a price, return them to their rightful owners. Or barring that alternative, to other people that
wanted
to be the rightful owner
,
those who had more credits to spend. Like Danielle and her science-loving nephew.

He had to be cautious about his finding, though. There was a slim percentage of loss that was allowed for every journey. He had to watch that percentage and not exceed it. Make sure they always came in just below it. Otherwise, someone might be suspicious. Start an investigation.

He’d heard the latest pickup had gone to Bay 16, and that the number of packages were few. The rumor was that at least one was a large item, and was classified as “miscellaneous technical supplies.” That got his interest. The larger the package, the better the chance that something would be “lost.” And technical supplies were always in demand.

Congi’s standard equipment was a rectangular cart that held tools, cleaning supplies, and a small circular waste incinerator. His cart hovered, so it was easily maneuverable around the ship’s slideways and elevators. The only place he couldn’t take it was the pilot’s bubble, but there was no reason for him to go there. Those two rarely left their station, anyway, and the chances of them losing something was small. Besides, he didn’t like to be reminded that he was in space. That others were in control.

Currently, Congi was in Bay 18. It was best to take time when getting to the new arrivals. Bay 18 was completely full, and had been for some time. It was twenty long rows of packages, stacked tightly from floor to very near the ceiling. The aisles between rows were narrow—barely wide enough to allow his floating cart to pass through.

Congi slowly circled the rows. He occasionally stopped and picked up a bit of sealant or packing material that he saw stuck in some out-of-the-way crevice. He threw the material in the incinerator and watched it flash and grow silent. Always his eyes were scanning, though. Looking for something he might have missed before.

At one turn he noticed that one of the topmost packages had a dented corner and a slight tear.

“That’s too bad.” He removed a metal wrench from his cart, weighed it in his hand, “And it’s too bad they have to go up so high.” He scowled. “Makes life difficult.” Sometimes he caught a break and cleaned a bay when the gravity field was down. Then he had free reign. But that rarely happened. Gravity tended to keep things in place, so it was the norm. Sadly.

He gave the wrench a hard throw toward the damaged package. The wrench connected with a
thunk
and split the seal tear a bit more. He caught it and tossed it again, and again…and again.

After a dozen throws, Congi was rewarded with an opening large enough that something fell out. Something wrapped in plastic. It trickled down, bouncing off the edges of lower packages until it finally reached the floor near his feet.

Congi took out a red handkerchief, wiped his brow—made a quick check of the area—and bent down to retrieve the item. It contained six pairs of socks, all of them green with brown stripes. Congi studied the exterior plastic for a moment. The size was right. Not sure about the color, though. It hardly went with his blue pants.

He shrugged and tucked the socks away inside the rack. His rule: Never leave a found item behind.
Someone
would want it.

• • •

It was a full hour before Congi arrived at Bay 16. He paused outside the sliding metal door. It was closed, which wasn’t unusual. Nor did it bother him. He had a passkey for every bay on the ship. Part of the job description.

There was a large sign next to the door that identified it as “Bay 16” in white letters. Noting a dark smudge, Congi brought out a white cleaning rag and a spray bottle. He worked the sign over, spraying and wiping until it gleamed. When finished, he made another quick check of the area, shrugged, and brought out his passkey. He slid it into the slot marked with a yellow arrow next to the door. There was a hum, a click, and the door slid back.

Congi was surprised to find the bay’s lights on at full potential. Typically, the lights were dimmed when no active loading was in process. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the lights left on, but it was the first time in quite some time. Since Captain Drake had taken command, actually.

Bay 16 still had a fair bit of room left. It was about three quarters full, with the rows nearest the door being vacant. Beyond that, though, rows stretched as far as he could see. The nearest full row was a good walk away.

He would have to work to look busy until he got there. Reaching into his rack, he brought out a backpack cleaner and hefted it over his right shoulder. From the bottom of the cleaner a long nozzle extended. On it was a large on/off switch, which he flipped, bringing the cleaner to life. His initial instinct was to turn left and make his way toward the interior part of the bay—where the new stuff would doubtless be placed. But he turned right instead and began casually sweeping the corners along the nearest bay wall.

He had taken maybe thirty steps when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He startled and quickly turned the sweeper off.

“There’s nothing here for you, Congi.”

“Greels…” This was the loading supervisor Congi least liked. Though Greels sometimes looked the other way, he didn’t do so often enough. Not nearly enough.

Congi shrugged. “I’m just cleaning here. I heard we got a new shipment. Figured the bay would need cleaning.”

Greels frowned, shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t need your type of cleaning. Not here.”

Congi studied Greels, noticed the supervisor had a sunken look to his eyes. As if he hadn’t slept in a few days or had been working long shifts. The last load shouldn’t have required those sort of hours, though. Not with just two packages. Something was amiss. “You all right?” Congi asked.

Greels scowled. “Of course I’m all right.”

Congi sniffed. “Well, you look beat, man.”

“That’s because I work for a living.”

Congi pushed out his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.”

Congi pushed his cart a few steps back then drifted toward the first row. He glanced that direction. “So what came in?” he asked. “Anything special?”

“I’ll say it again,” Greels said. “Nothing for you.”

He took a few more steps. “Still might need cleaning, though, right?”

Greels moved to block the cart. “No, it doesn’t. We’re talking accident remains here, Congi. Nothing but burnt-out science junk. Investigative seal. Now get out.”

Congi gripped the side of his cart, leaned his weight against it. “Awful grumpy there, boss. Think you might need a nap.”

Greels grabbed the cart, began to turn it toward the door. Faked a laugh. “I don’t need no nap, thief, now get your stuff out of here.”

Congi didn’t like anyone touching his cart. It was a violation of personal space. Of ownership. Even by higher ups. He contemplated raising the stakes, pushing back, but decided against it. He could be patient. He could wait. “Fine, Greels,” he said. “I’ll leave.”

That seemed to surprise Greels. His eyebrows rose and his voice softened. “Good, Congi. That’s all I ask. Just leave this bay alone.” A smile. “Lots more bays out there, right? Lots more lost packages.”

Congi pushed toward the door. Didn’t look back. Just moved on ahead. “That’s right. There’s other things to clean. Lots of other things.”

For now…

Seal was at his desk again, digital ledgers open,
when the perimeter of the malleable surface began to flash red. Frowning, he pushed the ledgers aside and touched the flashing ring. The screen changed to the image of Crewmember Singer.