Amish Vampires in Space (12 page)

Jeb slowed his rocking. Brought his hands together. “But something
always
changes,” he said. “That’s really what is normal.”

Sarah shot him a look. “Jebediah. Not here.
Alabaster
doesn’t change.” She pointed to him and to herself. “We don’t change, right? Not ever.”

“But we
are
changing, Sarah. You’re pregnant. Going to be a mother. I’m going to be a father. That’s a big, big change.”

“And that’s why I don’t want all this. This uncertainty. This unknown. This danger.”

Jeb leaned forward in his chair. Watched the sun. “And that’s why I did what I did,” he said. “But I still don’t
know
. I have questions.”

They lapsed into silence for some time, both of them watching the horizon. The heads of grain blowing gently. A handful of birds flapping and gliding—collecting the day’s final meal. “You don’t think this is the end, do you?” Sarah said. “Just now. After all our waiting. To lose the settlement. The planet.”

Jebediah remained silent, following the birds as they continued to swoop.

“Jeb?”

He frowned, straightened in his chair. “You know I don’t know that.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think…I think for certain we’ll lose one or the other. And my hope…”

“Ya?”

“My hope is we don’t lose both.”

Abruptly, the birds stopped their hunt and darted out of sight.

Then the carriages began to fall from the sky.

• • •

The shuttle was fairly large, Singer thought. It had a cramped pilot’s area in front, but the loading area—the place where she now sat—was big enough to hold nearly thirty people. Twice that, if they were standing. They couldn’t all be secured to a side wall like she was, of course, but the descent had been remarkably smooth. They wouldn’t need to be secured.

Still might want to have them sitting, though.

The difficulty would be the livestock. She had done research on non-altered cattle and horses. They were large and bony creatures. Sometimes cantankerous. Often smelly. The domesticated versions were used to wearing straps and ties—things to secure them with.

She searched the shuttle’s ceiling. It was completely solid and painted light blue. Nothing to secure with there. The floor was similar to a bay’s floor, composed of a non-slide material that could, at the touch of a button, become frictionless. No real places to tie on there either. The gravity could be adjusted, but that hardly seemed wise. Over-graving a shipload of methane producers? Recipe for asphyxiation.

She clearly needed more information from the owners. She didn’t want to think about it now. Too many variables. The priority was the Amish themselves. They were the customers. Their ancestors had paid the freight.

Singer looked across to the opposite side of the shuttle. Seated in a similar “drop seat” was the medical officer Darly. Like Singer, she was dressed in standard Guild blues—blue slacks and blue shirt/vest combo. They both had Guild caps on. The full uniform.

Darly noticed Singer looking, and she flashed her a quick-but-nervous smile. She then looked at the floor. Darly had been introspective throughout the entire operation. Doubtless immersed in the task as much as Singer was.

Singer still couldn’t believe she was in charge. Seal was a generous man. And despite her attempt to keep things categorized in her mind, to keep everything at a business level, she thought he had a bit of a shine for her. Was he a romantic too? And on
her
ship? In all the galaxy, someone who could see beyond the societal norm? Someone who recognized the benefit of long-term companionship?

Singer shook her head. Impossible. Relationships were short and regulated affairs now. Barely used even for family creation. And her views, on nearly everything, were considered archaic.

She glanced to her right, where one of the ship’s security officers was strapped in. He had a rigid jawline and a uniform similar to her own, except his had a few more labels and patches. The largest one reading “Security,” of course. He also wore a blue helmet instead of a hat. He had barely said a word the entire trip. Just stared forward, nearly at attention.

Across from him was the only other ship representative—an intern from loading whom Greels had assigned. He was a young man, with wide eyes and a high forehead. He hadn’t stopped fidgeting the whole time they’d been in flight. Singer guessed Greels had sent him along as punishment for some perceived slight. Greels was like that. Foley was the intern’s name.

“Ten minutes to landing,” the intercom chirped. Egan from the
Raven
’s flight bubble was their pilot. He had jumped at the chance to “see something else besides grey,” and Seal had okayed it. Thankfully. Otherwise, the ship would’ve been driven by one of the loader pilots. She had little respect for loader pilots. “Singer, can you come up here?” Egan asked.

Singer disconnected the belts that held her and stepped to the front of the bay, to the solid metal door there. She gave it a couple taps, and it quickly slid open. The cockpit was a small semicircle with Egan in the exact center. His control deck was essentially in his lap. There was a wide band of windows in front of him. Through it, she could see a vista of square fields on the planet’s surface. A scattering of houses.

“So there they are,” she said, leaning forward.

Egan raised a finger. “Well, they are there, and there, and there, and there.” He smiled. “A pretty diverse grouping of people. Hard to tell who might have called us.”

“Yes, well, they are farmers and tradesmen. They would need lots of land between them.”

Egan glanced at her. “For the crops. Right. But where do we set down? The other ships are asking.”

There was a river that stretched from northwest to southeast. There were meandering lines—dirt trails—that intersected that river and outlined many of the fields. On a few she could see black animal-drawn carts. “Buggies,” she thought they were called. They were traveling in various directions. Even now, there appeared to be some construction projects underway. Barns and houses.

Singer’s eyes followed the trails. “There ought to be a city center of some sort. A trading center. A larger grouping of buildings. Something.”

“They’re religious, right?” Egan said. “Shouldn’t there at least be a church building somewhere?”

She shook her head. “They don’t build churches. They meet in homes.”

“Huh. Tragic.” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen a church. But from vids, you know, I expected one.”

“This isn’t a Western, Egan.”

“Well, almost.”

She rolled her eyes. “No. There might be a school building, though.”

“So we can land there?”

She shook her head. “It’ll be small. One room. And I don’t want to scare the kids.”

As they dropped nearer, it was obvious they’d been seen. Men in the fields stopped and raised hands to shield their eyes. Children ran out of houses. Buggies paused, and passengers exited to look up.

“We’ve made a scene,” Egan said, chuckling. “This is wild.”

Finally she saw it. A larger building with a long, covered shelter beside it. A garage for the buggies, she guessed. A lot of buggies. Must be a store of some sort. In addition, there was a wide open area in front of it. A place where they could land without crushing someone’s field or even blowing their clothes off the line. “There,” she said, pointing. “Let’s go there.”

Egan nodded and began manipulating controls. “I’ll let you know when we’re stopped.”

Singer quietly made her way back to her seat. Flashed a hopeful look at the other passengers. Strapped herself in. “Here we go.”

They were like a swarm of locusts as they
descended. A small cloud of blue and black objects falling from the sky. At least a dozen of them. Invaders. Englishers, no doubt.

The most frightening scene Bishop Samuel had ever witnessed.

They were space carriages, doubtless similar to those that had brought their ancestors to Alabaster. Each was slightly curved and transparent in the front, but otherwise rectangular. They had three legs. One large one in the front and two smaller, parallel ones in the back. Each leg seemed to hang like a bird’s. There were clearly talons on the ends. Hands that could grasp and manipulate, yet flatten out to land.

Now standing on the steps of the trading post, Samuel clutched his Bible. He brought it firmly to his chest. Protecting his heart.

Surely this was what it was to see demons.

The carriages made little sound, yet each one plied the sky like a June swallow. As they drew nearer it became apparent how awfully large they were. As big as a house. Solid. Formidable. Dangerous. The stories from Amisher history didn’t do them justice.

His mouth drifted open. He lifted his free hand to cover it. How could something so large stay in the air, aside from impurity? How could it fly? It had to use magic, didn’t it?

Deacon Mark coughed from behind him. Samuel turned to see the younger man at the top of the stairs, foot frozen in space as if he’d been about to step down before chancing to look up. His eyes were wide, staring. Wavering, no doubt, between belief and apostasy. “Are those…?”

“Craft,” Samuel spat. “The work of the devil.”

The lead carriage slowed and halted above them, maybe forty feet from the front of the Trading Post.

Samuel had come only for joint liniment, which he now carried in his pocket. His knees pained him something awful. Made helping his sons with chores next to impossible. All the ache now, though, was in his gut. Look what was happening! And there was nothing he could do to stop it. “This is Jebediah’s doing,” he said aloud. “The work of his forbidden machine.”

Mark just nodded and continued to watch the flying carriages. The nearest one had begun a final descent. It was eerily quiet and smooth. There wasn’t even any air being displaced around it, like when a bird flapped its wings. Only a slow drift to the ground. Like a falling leaf.

Samuel wanted to run out and stand beneath it. To wave his hands until it went away. He knew that was no use, though. The carriages would simply land somewhere else. “In a moment our way of life is shattered.”

Mark closed up behind him. Laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Strength, teacher. We need your strength.”

Samuel looked at the ground, feeling tears begin to well up. But with a quick shake of his head and a wipe of his handkerchief, he was able to pull himself together. He nodded once firmly. The carriage was down now. Resting on solid ground.
Derr Herr’s
ground. “Yes. We knew we weren’t alone,” he said. “That one day this could happen.” Another nod. “Let’s see what they want.”

To their left was a grove of large shade trees. Small groups of mostly men had been eating their lunch there. Now they were getting to their feet, dusting their hands, and looking to Samuel and Mark for direction. Men and women alike were exiting the front of the buggy house to Samuel’s right. They looked at the sky, at the vehicle resting on the ground, and then back at him. Faces knitted with concern.

Leadership was needed. Wisdom, strength, and leadership.

Samuel approached the space carriage, and the others fell in behind him. When he was about halfway there, he noticed an unusual scent. It wasn’t sulfur and brimstone, exactly, but it wasn’t far off either. A jarring smell. He scowled and made a quick wipe of his nose. The scent didn’t go away.

He continued on. The carriage seemed a bit less boxy as he drew closer, but it maintained a utilitarian shape. The legs were still the most disconcerting. They hardly seemed large enough to support the craft’s weight. The ship had minimal ornamentation, a good thing, but the color—these varying shades of blue—were extravagant. Far beyond what the Ordnung allowed for moving vehicles. “Shipping Guild” was written in bright yellow letters near the transparent section. All made to get attention, made to say “Here we are! See us!”

Samuel noticed a man sitting in the transparent section. No hat, no covering whatsoever over his uncontrolled brown hair. No beard. When the man noticed Samuel, he smiled and waved senselessly, like a child.

“Is it a ship of the insane? Of narrisch men?” Samuel muttered. He took a position about ten feet from the side of the craft and planted his feet. He crossed his hands in front of him, still clutching the Bible. Men came up behind him on either side.

After a few seconds, he heard voices from the back of the craft. He frowned and stepped that direction, being mindful to stay clear of the carriage’s legs. As he reached the back he saw that a large door had opened and a ramp was being extended. A young woman, wearing a blue hat and solid blue clothing—man’s clothing—peered out at him through the door opening.

“Oh, hello,” she said, smiling. “How are you?”

Samuel nodded. “I am Bishop Samuel.” He introduced Mark, as well.

The woman smiled brighter, held her hands out. “Sorry, you’ll…” She pointed to her left ear. “You’ll have to speak slowly. Your dialect, your accent, is difficult for me.”

Another woman joined the first. This one was shorter, dressed similarly. She looked as frightened as a mouse. She still managed to smile, though. She watched for him to return the gesture and appeared to be staring at his mouth. She then checked the faces and mouths of the others around him.