Amish Vampires in Space (9 page)

In general, Greels loathed the type. “It isn’t important now,” he said. “I’ll look at it later.”

“But sir—”

Greels waved and purposely turned his back, heading in the direction he wanted to go. He knew the intern was still there though, doubtless with a surprised look on his face. “Not important,” he repeated, without looking back. Greels smiled and continued his walk.

Let the intern find one of the assistants.

A few minutes later Greels reached the entrance to the feeder slideway, and rode it from his lower level office to one of the primary slideways. From there he rode past first one bay and then another. He felt a certain bit of pride as he surveyed the completed bays. Aside from the automated slide loading, filling a bay to capacity was still a lot of work for his team. Especially given all the guaranteed breaks and shift changes. It was a constant fight against distraction for most of them.

Then there were the leeches like Congi. Always adding to the spoilage and loss.

I should just report the mooch and get him reassigned. Make him someone else’s problem.

Finders like that always had connections higher up, though. Better just to ignore them. Let them get their small pickings. At least Congi was fairly discrete about it. Plus, occasionally he threw bones Greels’s way. Usually when Greels really needed it. That wasn’t altogether bad.

He saw the signs for Bay 16 ahead.

It was late, close to midnight by ship’s time. He should be off duty. Getting cleaned up and going to sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy, busy day. His quarters were on the opposite side of the ship, in the section reserved for the loading pool. Not with the other group supervisors near the front of the ship, but in back with the losers and the rowdies. He hated that too. The place smelled of safesmoke and free-alch. And whatever synthetic recreation the consumer splice groups had designed lately.

The exit for Bay 16 was just ahead now. Greels frowned as the slide started to slow. Then the walls became solid. The overhead sign indicated that this was the stop for Bays 14 and 16. Greels set his gaze ahead, decided not to look at the actual landing as he slid slowly by. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t, though. He had slid only a few paces past when he found himself backpedaling against the slide’s motion and stepping onto the landing itself. He frowned as he took the stairs from the landing down to the Bay 16 floor. He shouldn’t be here. He should be on his way to his quarters.

But inside there was a tingle of expectancy. A thrill of the moment. Of the strangeness and hazards of it. A need that he never knew he had. Until now. Until this trip.

He reached the entrance to the bay. It was completely silent and empty. Just the locked sliding door. The bay itself should be silent too. Silent and dark. Greels took out his passkey and slid it into the verification device. Somewhere, that use would be noted, he knew. Logged and stored. Loading supervisors didn’t need excuses for entering a bay, though. If he had lesser rank, maybe. But not him. It was his job to verify that loads stayed intact. Whenever and wherever he wanted.

He still felt a twinge of guilt when the door slid open. Guilt and excitement.

The lights inside were dim, as they should be. The handplate for those were to his left by the door. He adjusted the lights up to half potential, frowned at how dim it still seemed, and adjusted them up again.

The stacks of packages were before him. White, pristine—reminded him of childhood winters on Betalus. How strange that even the darkest secrets, the worst of someone’s garbage, looked better when wrapped in white.

“Just like your first wife,” he said aloud, and chuckled.

The laugh lasted only a short time, though. It seemed almost sacrilegious. Out of place here. Now.

No joking in here from now on. What if she hears?

He walked slowly toward the end of the nearest row. Stood before the white-wrapped package containing the cryogenics matrix. He didn’t even bother to look around. There was no one else in the bay. Just him and the woman.

He stood for some time staring at the white monolith. From a few paces away, it seemed cold to him. As if it was filled with snow. Filled with the white fluff that covered over the sins. The garbage. It was a cryomatrix, after all.

Finally, he moved forward and released the inspection flap. He gently, lovingly, freed it all the way along the matrix’s top surface. There was no coolness to the contact, though. Not like the package containing the science facility remains.
That
was abnormally cold. It had been cold when he’d first helped move it, and it doubtless still was, despite having been in storage for days now.

Greels hadn’t mentioned that phenomena to anyone, though. Since Seal hadn’t felt it…well, no reason to look strange. No reason to draw attention to himself. Or to Bay 16. Besides, Greels admitted to having some circulation issues. Too much vacuum exposure.

But the woman’s—the
lady’s
—container was different. Cold inside, probably. But outside, warm and smooth. Clean. Inviting. Wonderful.

With the flap pulled back, he was able to study her face again. The full pout of her lips. The gentle curve of her cheeks. The subtle hint of cheekbones. Long jet black hair. He could tell she was different from the other women he’d known. Different from his first and second wife. Prettier, smarter. Doubtless more understanding too. The perfect woman.

Where was she from again? A failed science outpost?

“You must be a tough one, princess,” he whispered. “What went wrong? What did you see?”

No response.

Greels frowned. He was in love with her, even if he’d never heard her speak. Never even seen her move.

He would like to see her move.

Should he wake her? Free her from eternal slumber? Would he even know how to do that?

He thought of the buttons and lights on the right side. The labels meant nothing to him. He’d already looked. Studied them. They were too technical for his taste. There was a green “Resume” button, but who knew what that did?

Dr. Darly knew what they all meant, of course. She could break the seal.

Greels studied the woman’s face.

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” he imagined her saying. “Release me, and I’ll melt. Just like the ice. Just like the snow on your mother’s porch.”

Greels nodded. Continued to watch. Continued to admire her face.

Hours passed.

The meeting was at Bishop Samuel’s house.
Samuel sat at one end of the long dining room table, Jebediah at the other. Between them were four men. On Jebediah’s left were young Deacon Mark and new Deacon James.

On the other side, Jeb’s right, was Abraham—a middle-aged peer of Jeb’s—and Jeb’s young friend Ezekiel. Most of the men looked stern and resolute. Ezekiel’s head hung over the table though, seemingly conflicted and sad.

All had beards of differing lengths. All wore white shirts with suspenders and dark pants. All had brought their dark hats, but those were placed on the table before them.

Jebediah had always known this day would come.

“I have spoken with your wife, Jebediah,” Samuel said. “My congratulations on your upcoming child. It is a sign of God’s favor…” He forced a smile. “Despite whether we deserve it or not. Despite our failings.”

Jebediah nodded. “Danki. I agree on all counts.”

Samuel pushed his hat back and placed his hands on the table. Brought his hands together. “That now said, we have a difficult issue to face. I wanted to make sure we understand the facts.”

Jebediah nodded. “I’m glad. Grateful you thought enough of me to—”

Samuel held up a hand. “Gelassenheit is everything here, among us,” he said. “Without it, we wouldn’t have survived this planet. Never been able to subdue it. Never been able to thrive. To build homes and families.”

Jebediah nodded. “I know that,” he said. “And again, I agree. My intent was to practice Gelassenheit. To serve and protect our community.”

Samuel nodded. “We can assume your intentions were sound.” He looked at the others. “Everyone present has benefited from your dedication. Your charity.” He frowned. “However, we have rules to follow. They are based on the principles of Holy Scriptures and the traditions of our forefathers. All share a common goal: to live in an ever closer relationship with God and our fellow man. To dispel the sins of pride and envy, and to cultivate a more humble and Christlike spirit.”

Jebediah noticed the grain in the wood of the bishop’s table. There was a large knot in the board directly in front of him. He wanted to reach out and circle it with his fingers, but he resisted. “I understand.”

Most of the men were watching him. Only Ezekiel sat with head bowed, eyes fixed on his own outstretched and folded hands. His cheeks were flushed.

“Very good,” Samuel said. “So you understand that the use of electrical appliances is forbidden by the Ordnung.”

Jebediah met Samuel’s eyes. “Yes. I know that.”

“And do you admit to using such an appliance?”

Jebediah shrugged. “I’m not precisely sure what I used. I mean, I’m not certain it is electrical. I did not connect it to any source of electricity.”

Samuel frowned, glanced at the men nearest him. “From Ezekiel’s description, we’ll assume it is electrical.”

Ezekiel glanced his way and then returned to looking at the table.

Jebediah didn’t blame him. It was a beautiful table. Must have taken weeks for the carpenter to make. “If it is electrical,” Jebediah said, “then yes, I’m guilty.”

Samuel nodded. “Very good. The first step of correcting one’s failure is recognizing it.” He straightened in his chair, drawing his hands back to the edge of the table. “Now, I must ask you—is this an ongoing violation? Is this a habit in your life?”

Jeb shook his head. “No. It was just this one time.”

Samuel looked relieved. Nodded. “That’s good. That makes the purpose of our meeting easier, though no less important.”

Jeb nodded. He reached for the table knot and put a finger on the middle of it. Applied a little pressure. Like pushing the activator…

“Do you repent?” Deacon Mark’s face was serious but also understanding. Young men usually understood a lot about temptation and sin. They didn’t know the half of it, of course. It only worsened with age and became more complex. More opaque. Ezekiel probably understood better than most now.

“Do you willfully turn from this sin?” Mark asked.

Without question, Jeb didn’t intend to touch the object again. Once was enough. “I do,” he said.

The men shook their heads in unison.

“We accept your confession and your repentance,” Bishop Samuel said.

Jebediah felt relief. Regardless of what happened next, at least he wasn’t an outcast. At least he still had fellowship.

Deacon James scratched the side of his face, just at the beardline, and then smoothed the place with a hand. James tended to keep his beard neater than most. Like it was the one thing about his appearance he could actively control, and so he made it a priority. “You’ve made this easier on us, Jebediah,” he said. “We appreciate it.” A smile. “Often it is harder to be the one confronting sin than the one confessing it.”

Jeb nodded. “I know that’s true.” He’d sat in similar meetings in his day, confronting men for all manner of misdeeds. It was never comfortable.

“We have more questions, though,” James said. “Purely as it pertains to our settlement.”

Jeb glanced at the table. At that large knot in the wood. “Yes?”

“This device you used, what does it do?”

Jeb felt comfortable in the truth here. The truth was his shelter. “I have no idea.”

Bishop Samuel squinted. “You have no idea?” he said. “I find that hard to believe.”

Jeb just shook his head slowly. “It was given to me by my father, and to him by his father.”

“So this is a generational sin,” Samuel said. “Like witchcraft.”

The word gave Jeb pause. He had little idea what it meant precisely, but the Scripture taught against it. Equating it with a string of behaviors their group abhorred. “It was a responsibility,” he said. “A responsibility borne for the sake of the community.”

Samuel looked at the others. “Community? Yet none of us knew about it, Jebediah. Not me in my old age, nor my father before me. Your claim smells like wanton pride to me.”

Jeb felt a touch of anger. “My father was an honest man. A hardworking man.”

Abraham nodded. “He
was
a good man, Samuel,” he said. “You can’t take that from him. Very kind.”

Samuel scowled. “But this hidden mission. These secrets.” He thumped a hand on the table. “The devil loves secrets.”

Deacon Mark nodded. “Ya, he does. It is disturbing that such a thing would be hidden for so long.”

“But not used,” Jebediah said, shaking his head. “Never used.”

“So why would you presume to use it now?” Abraham asked. “Why now?”

Jeb exhaled slowly. “I was given tests to do. Procedures to follow. Little things to look for. I had almost forgotten, it had been so long. But the crops—”

“My crops?” Ezekiel asked. “Is that what started all this?”