Amish Vampires in Space (8 page)

It was a not altogether unpleasant change. She had her blond hair down today, with only a regulation Guild-branded hairclip to keep it in place. Her blouse—the only other portion of her outfit that was visible at the moment—was the pinstriped variety. She looked very classy. Competent.

Typically interruption brought a frown, but this one Seal could smile for. “Good to see you again, Singer. Judging by the ring color, I assume this is an emergency message not requiring face-to-face.”

Singer smiled, showing brilliantly white teeth. “That’s correct, Seal. Just off the SB. By wire approved.”

Seal rested his chin in his hand. “Except we
are
speaking face to face, crewmember.”

“Not according to regulations. This is by wire, utilizing the image option.”

He smiled. “I find the designation less than satisfactory today. Don’t you?”

Singer flushed. “So would you like me to remove the option, sir?”

“Oh, no, don’t you dare.” He waved. “Just making conversation.”

Her smile returned. “Very good. Option continued then.”

“Yes, option continued.” A smile. “Option welcome, in fact.”

Another blush. “Well…um…thank you, sir.”

“Seal.”

“Yes, Seal.” Her head lowered so the light glinted off her hairclip.

Seal continued to smile. “So…the transmission. Another emergency? I was under the impression that there weren’t any pickup stations between Maple and Obelisk.” Seal pushed Singer’s image to one side and pounded the icon for the station list. The impact was such that a ripple played across the desk’s surface. The station list book opened, and with a series of finger pokes he was able to get it to sort by relative distance from their current position.

“Seal?”

He held up a finger. He studied the list, sighed, and finally rested his chin in his hand. “Yes, it is as I suspected. There are no stations from here on out. Your transmission must be invalid. A clerical error.”

Singer shook her head. “It is quite authentic. I double checked. It isn’t a mistake. Not a neutron bounce—”

“But did they send it to the wrong ship? I’ve seen that happen. New dispatcher comes in, gets her birds confused.” He snapped his fingers. “This ship has a sister ship—the
Crow.
Maybe it is theirs?”

Singer’s face flushed. “Captain, with all due respect, you’re acting as if I don’t know my job.”

Seal sensed a fire coming. Those were never good. Thankfully, he was an expert at handling fires. He made a calming motion. “My apologies, Crewmember Singer. I’m sure you performed competently. I’m sure you always do.”

That seemed to soothe her. She closed her mouth, squinted her eyes as if thinking, and smiled again. “Then what are you saying?”

Seal shrugged. “I’m not sure anymore.”

That brought a pleasant laugh. He had to admit, he admired Singer’s laugh. He wondered if she might want to walk with him again. Perhaps around the whole bay circuit? Stem to stern? It occurred to him that maybe he spent too much time holed up in this office.

Singer shook her head, cleared her throat, and glanced at something to her left. “Seal, this actually is quite important. A certified emergency. A between-station pickup.”

Seal straightened in his chair. “Between-station? Now that
is
unusual.”

Singer nodded. “Unusual. Yes. A colony in need of evacuation.”

“Evacuation? You mean with crowds of people, and wounded…and children running about?”

Singer raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like children?”

“No, I….” Seal scratched the side of his face. He felt a trace of facial hair. Realized it had been a month since his last regulation-approved follicle annulment. He quickly tapped a section of the table, had a blue note appear, and scrawled “Beard/Obelisk” on it with a finger. “How many people are we moving then?”

Singer’s eyes averted again, clearly reading from another window. “The colony has been established for decades,” she said. “But it has been labeled ‘cloistered.’ So any numbers I can give you are based on infrequent passing surveys. Speculation and approximation.”

“Cloistered? By which they mean, ‘Leave us alone.’ And now they want help. It figures.” He grimaced. “Made their bed and…” A head shake. “So, how many?”

“Could be hundreds,” Singer said. “Plus livestock.”

“Livestock! Are you sure this isn’t a joke? I mean—” Seal chuckled. “I had a friend once, Talken, who would do that sort of thing. Send flowers to dentists, and the like. Most people don’t see our work as exciting. Perhaps someone is trying to loosen things a bit?”

“No. I don’t think so. I think this is quite real. Quite necessary. Drones are showing drastic changes to the colony’s primary star. It appears it is moving out of the main stage. Becoming unstable.”

“Unstable? How inconvenient.”

Singer nodded. “Do you want me to give you the whole report?”

This was going to be an involved operation. Possibly the most involved pickup Seal had ever overseen. Livestock? There had to be an award in this. He glanced at the walls near his door, where his collection of framed commendations hung.

There was some usable space onboard, of course. As long as it was being paid for, it might as well be filled. “No,” he said. “I’d like to convene a meeting.” A smile. “Stay where you are, I’m going to bring the heads all together.” He frowned, stared at the edges of his desk. “Now I know I can do that here. It has been awhile…”

“Intradesk meeting?” Singer said. “Don’t worry, I’ll step you through it.”

Seal smiled. “You can do that? Very good. You are better than adequate, Singer.”

“Thank you sir, here we go…”

• • •

A few minutes later Seal had the images of Loading Supervisor Greels, Medical Officer Darly, Pilot Perth, and Crewmember Singer all neatly positioned on his desk in the form of a square. At first he experimented with a strictly left to right horizontal ordering of their faces based on rank, but since that crowded out the important vertical edges of the desk, he attempted a diagonal arrangement, before finally settling on the square.

Squares were good. Efficient. He approved of squares.

“Now, as Singer just got through saying,” Seal said, “we have a major schedule change ahead of us. A certified emergency.”

Greels’s face occupied the lower left corner. “Emergency?” he said, scowling. “Are we cleared for that sort of thing? Isn’t that for rescue corps, or something?” His hair was standing out of place in spots, and there was an extra bit of whiteness to his skin tone.

Up late playing cards again, Seal assumed. It was a common ailment among those in the loading pool.

“We are the closest and most logical choice,” Singer said. “There are no other alternatives.” She was bottom right.

Seal nodded. “The colony founders apparently purchased rescue insurance. Their plea came through a sanctioned and validated beacon. The Guild already holds the credits.”

“The rescue was paid for in advance?” Greels said.

“Yes,” Seal said. “At the time, such a plan was offered. I doubt many colonial insurance companies do so now. Not after StanCon went bankrupt. Not since the loss of the Ash system.”

Pilot Perth had a hand on his chin and appeared to be in regulation blue. His rank demanded top left, of course. “But this is a one-planet evac, correct?” he said. “Only one stop? Not a whole solar system.”

“That’s correct,” Seal said. “No surprises there.”

Perth stroked his chin. “So what surprises are there?”

Seal couldn’t help but look at Singer’s image. He’d just had a similar conversation with her while organizing the meeting. “Well…” he said. “They’re Amish.”

Puzzlement on three out of the four faces. “Amish?” Darly said. “Is that a genetic anomaly or infectious disease?”

Singer chuckled. “No. They are a religious group. They shun technology,” she said. “And outsiders. ‘Englishers,’ they call us.”

Perth’s head shifted, as if repositioning himself in his chair. “Curious. They don’t use technology but they are okay with being picked up by someone using technology?”

“Yes, apparently that’s on us,” Seal said. “On our consciences, not theirs. They would just be passengers, after all. Not operating machinery.”

Greels’s face filled with color. “So it is okay if
we
burn in hell,” he said. “Just not them.”

Singer shook her head. “I don’t think they think of it that way. They make decisions based on community. How the use of things affects the whole group. Affects their cohesion.”

“Community?” Greels snorted. “I’ll give them community. Let them move their own stuff!”

“That will be the end of that attitude, Greels,” Seal said, letting ice fill his voice. “You’re under contract, and if I see any of that leaking into your subordinates—”

“Yeah, yeah, Captain, I hear you.” Greels shook his head. “Probably out of line. But you gotta admit, it is an arrogant position.”

“We aren’t here to judge beliefs,” Singer said. “Just to fulfill the company’s obligation.”

Seal smiled, bowed his head to the bottom right corner. “Well said, Singer. That’s exactly the case.”

Darly looked worried. “I don’t have the staff for this,” she said. “What if they’re sick or wounded? There is just me and my assistant.”

“There shouldn’t be many injuries,” Singer said. “We have time.”

Darly was all but vibrating with anxiety. “But with such a backwards people! They’ll need vaccinations, complete physicals… The dental hygiene alone will keep us occupied until Obelisk.”

“Dental hygiene?” Singer said.

“They probably don’t have dentists.” Darly frowned. “
Do
they have dentists? We inoculate against tooth decay now.” She shook her head. “I’m not a dentist.”

Seal raised a hand. “Relax,” he said. “We have others with aid training,” Seal said. “Enough that we can manage, I think.”

“I’m one, actually,” Singer said.

Seal smiled. “See there—”

“No, no,” Darly said. “We have barely enough for us to handle the accidents of the crew. Clumsy loaders and—”

“Hey!” Greels said. “We’ve had weeks without incident. Twenty two days, seven hours, to be precise—”

“And in one day you brought us five,” Darly said. “Smashed hands and suit failures. We could barely handle—”

Seal slammed both hands on the table. A double wave of ripples. “Enough,” he said. “We’re doing this, and we’re going to do it well.” He looked at the bottom left image. “Greels, prepare your men for whatever we might have to move. Every shuttle will need to be stripped and prepared to load these people and their animals and belongings. No complaints, no whining.” He shook a finger. “We finally have something to do. Your people should be happy.”

Greels frowned but nodded his compliance.

Seal looked at top right. “And Darly, you’ll be fine. We’ll take it as it comes. If we have to, we’ll convert a portion of one of the microbays into an extended facility for your use. You can conscript from the crew if you need to. We have lots of bored people in cubicles you can have.”

Darly seemed to calm a bit. The vibrations stopped. She nodded finally.

Fires, always fighting fires.

Pilot Perth just looked amused. His hand was still at his chin, with a smile leaking through between spread fingers.

“Do you have something to add, Perth?” Seal asked. “Any problem with the pickup?”

Perth pursed his lips, shook his head. “Not at all, Captain.”

Seal squinted. The pilot was thinking about something. Mulling it over. “So you’re okay?” he asked. “One of you two might get conscripted to medical.”

Perth flipped his hand. “Been awhile since I wrapped a limb, but that’s fine.”

“So what are you thinking about?”

Perth shook his head. “Just trying to digest it all. So, these Amish are a cloistered, low tech people. Why would they be used to colonize planets? Wouldn’t that put them especially at risk? No blaster, no guns…” He turned up a hand. “No medical technology.”

Seal shook his head. “I would think so. They’ve been used for colonies more than once, though.” A shrug. “Politics is beyond my station.”

“If I may, Captain,” Singer said. “I think it makes good sense. A culture devoid of technology wouldn’t be able to use it as a crutch. I can’t imagine a better society to be dropped onto a newly terraformed planet than one who has so few dependencies. For instance, they would know how to build habitation from whatever materials they could find. Eke out an existence with the barest of requirements.”

Perth nodded. “Yes, that may be so.”

“You still look like you’re thinking about something, though,” Seal said.

Perth brought his hand to his chin again. “Well, despite the cultural description, one thing is for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone on that planet doesn’t fully share that view. Someone there activated the beacon that called us. So who is that?”

• • •

Seated at the small desk in his office, Greels watched as the images of the other three meeting participants winked out of existence:
plip, plip, plip.
He frowned, leaned back, and ran a hand through his greying hair. Exhaled loudly.

Glad that’s over.

His eyes searched the room. It was a small, dingy place, only a short slideway from both Bay 10 and Bay 12. The location was convenient for his work, as it was essentially in the middle of it all. Medical was close. But this was barely an office. Just four grey walls, a desk, and a floor-standing waste incinerator. His only wall decoration was a fading color map of the ship’s bay positions and the slideways that serviced them all. He didn’t even have a guest chair. No family photos.

Why do I stay at this job?

Greels rose from his desk and felt a wave of fatigue. He yawned, stretched, and attempted to shake it off. To no avail.

He walked to the door and out into the narrow hall. The hall was cheerless: white, with an occasional yellow directional arrow to break up the monotony. He turned right, following the arrows toward the nearest slide entry point. He had almost reached it when an intern hustled up behind him.

“Sir, I have a duty roster for you to look over.” The intern was short, male, and wearing a uniform that looked like it had just come out of the wrapper.