Amish Vampires in Space (25 page)

Mark placed his hat back on his head. “Nee, that isn’t it either. Some of the stock have apparently gone missing.”

Samuel straightened in his chair. “Missing?” They had checked the pens thoroughly upon arrival, and they had appeared solid. The pens had been constructed by Englishers, though. Englishers who never had to pen anything living in their life. “There’s a break in the fence somewhere then.” He wagged a finger. “Or is it those force pens they used? I don’t know how they could stay solid.” A head shake. “Price we pay for conforming. For breaking our rules.”

Mark frowned. “Perhaps you should just talk with the men themselves. Get the story straight from them.”

Samuel nodded. Got to his feet. “We’ll get to the bottom of it together, won’t we?”

They made their way through the labyrinth of portable dwellings, occasionally being stopped by an elderly member, or someone asking a question. Many of a spiritual nature. There was a certain usefulness to their makeshift settlement here, Samuel realized. A convenience, a closeness, that went unrealized when everyone lived so far apart. The Lord worked in the unlikeliest of circumstances. Samuel smiled at that.

They turned a corner to find one woman shaking a metal pan at another woman. Both were red in the face. “The Yoder
schwestern,
” Mark whispered.

“Ach, ya,” Samuel said. The two sisters—both married with children—had a hard time being amiable at three miles distance. Unfortunately they were near neighbors now.

“There are disadvantages too, it appears,” Samuel muttered.

“What’s that?” Mark asked, to which Samuel just shook his head.

The sisters quieted as the men approached. The metal pan relaxed, lowered. Both smiled. “Bishop,” they said, nearly in unison.

“Young ladies,” Samuel said. “How are you getting on?”

“Well, Bishop Samuel,” the potless sister said. “Getting on for dinner.”

Samuel smiled, gave a slow nod. “Very good. The finest charity. Continue.” They walked past the women and Samuel wondered if he’d hear the tension return behind them. He was comforted when he did not.

He and Mark reached the outside of the settlement. Then they had only a bit of a walk—a distance adequate to keep the smell away—to the start of the animal pens. The nearest pen contained a half dozen calves. Playful things, they approached the fence as soon as they caught sight of the men.

Samuel held a hand over the fence. The lead animal drew near, smelled his hand, and gave it a slow lick. Samuel smiled. Typical behavior. Bovines loved salt, even the small measures found in human skin. Plus, they were probably hoping for some hay.

Mark motioned toward the pens farther on. “Zeke and David are over there.” They walked past an area where one of the Englisher’s force pens obscured the view of what lay beyond. Then the younger men became visible, standing amidst the sheep. Both had their hats and coats off. Their suspenders were evident over white shirts. Zeke had his hands on his hips and was surveying the area around them.

David, Abraham’s oldest son, was also looking about. As they drew closer, though, Samuel noticed that David’s eyes were reddened. “What is it, my sons?” Samuel asked.

“I count two gone now,” Zeke said. “And possibly one of the goats.”

Mark grimaced. “Three animals in three days?” he said. “And you’ve checked the fence?”

“A thousand times. No breaks. And the gate is secure too. Latches perfectly.”

David sniffed. “We even changed a latch yesterday. Got a new one from the smith.”

Samuel studied David’s face. “Have you been crying?”

David pulled a red handkerchief from his pants, blew his nose. Started waving the handkerchief as he talked. “Delta was the first lamb my father gave me. She’s only been sheered twice.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know. It shouldn’t bother me.” He looked around. “Things aren’t right here, Bishop. Something just isn’t right.”

Samuel placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know, son. This is our wilderness. Our time of testing. Be courageous.”

David just shook his head.

“The Israelites dwelled in booths in the desert, did you know that?” Samuel said.

“Booths, bishop?”

Samuel motioned toward the settlement. “Yes, for a short portion of their journey. They dwelt in square dwellings made of temporary material. Just like us.” He nodded at the nearest group of sheep. “They doubtless lost some animals along the way. Sheep especially.” He brought his hands together. “The Lord protected them, though. They made it to the Promised Land.”

David nodded, wiped at his nose again. “Yes, sir. They made it, sir.”

Samuel began to subtly rock on his feet. “Ya, but that doesn’t solve the mystery.” His eyes searched the perimeter of the bay. Outside the settlement, there weren’t many places to hide. Few dark areas. Some rows of storage boxes, but he knew the men had checked around them too. “One thing we know is that they’re on this ship. They can’t walk off.”

Zeke nodded. “Hadn’t thought of it like that. But it is true. They can’t leave.”

“Have you talked to the Englishers?” Samuel asked.

“Not yet,” Zeke said. His eyes found the floor. “You warned against it.”

Samuel nodded. “I did, son. Our contact needs to be limited. Yet if I were to theorize, I’d say this somehow has to do with them.” He looked at Mark. “We are at their mercy here, though. In
their
vessel. They might have ways of finding lost things that we do not.”

Mark pointed toward the ceiling. “I remember hearing of a device that could observe a man’s appearance. Perhaps they have something similar in this room.”

The young men glanced at each other, nodded. “Father said they are such things as photographers,” David said. “Machines that draw onto a piece of paper. Make exact likenesses.”

“They do,” Samuel said, “but I asked that those devices be shut off. Remember the commandment: No graven images.”

Mark bobbed his head, frowned. “They might have other means that could help.”

Samuel nodded again. “We should ask.” He searched their faces, motioned for them to come closer. “Let us use our best discretion here, though, men. As Scripture says, ‘Wise as serpents, but innocent as doves.’”

Since the move, the Englishers had generally left them alone. The woman Singer was acting as a liaison between the two groups, but there was something about her that Samuel disliked. Perhaps it was her siding with Jebediah. Perhaps it was just the idea of a woman being in such a position—far outside the role the Lord had ascribed her sex. “That might not be entirely her fault,” Samuel thought aloud. “Perhaps there are no men who know their place here, either.”

“Bishop?” Mark said.

Samuel snorted. “Yes, like the biblical Deborah.” He waved at the others. “Yes, my apologies. I was ruminating on whom to take this to.”

“Crewmember Singer is their representative.” Mark said. “She is here often.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure she has our best interests at heart. She is caught in a situation she should not be in. Whether they realize it or not.”

“We see few of them here,” Zeke said. He glanced upward. “Though I often feel that some are watching.”

Samuel shook a finger. “Then that’s who you should talk to. Find one of the watchers. One of the men. And tell them.”

The young men nodded in unison.

Samuel touched each of their shoulders. Nodded. “Ya, gut. And until we know, perhaps we should post our own watch at night. Again…being wise. Being serpents.”

Mark frowned but nodded. “I’ll talk to some of the men.”

Everything seemed small to him. Everything
insufficient for his needs.

Congi sat on the floor of his quarters. He had rearranged the room to more suit his taste, but it still didn’t feel like enough. The bed, the table, the chairs—everything was now pushed to the exterior. He also found that he preferred the room dim, the temperature warm, and the humidity level set to the point that the surfaces nearly dripped with moisture. For all intents and purposes, he had crafted his own little therapeutic sauna. His own little cave. But it was still very small. He would need more room someday soon, he knew it.

One thing the room size
did
make easier, though, was the hunt.

The first animal, the lame one, he’d slaughtered and eaten without stopping. He’d left only a pile of clean bones and hooves to testify that the animal had ever existed. Those he had disposed of in his cart’s incinerator, of course. Evidence eliminated.

The problems with
that
meal, though, had been manifold. Something about the feed itself had been wrong. It was too visceral, lacked nuance. Plus it hadn’t lasted long enough. The meal had been over in minutes. Then he’d been hungry again.

Now with the second animal, he was experimenting. The room had been cleared, so he let the animal roam for a few minutes. He watched it circle the room, looking lost and concerned. It bleated a couple of slow bleats, ran some more, then finally settled at a spot near the door. It stood parallel to the door itself, watching Congi through one eye. Its mouth stayed open, as if it would bleat again at any moment.

Congi continued to watch it. He used his new sense, an ability he had only just begun to understand, that let him see where every major artery on the sheep’s body was. Even though the animal’s outer covering, the fleece, was incredibly dense, Congi could see through it. See inside.

Not like a medical scanner would, of course. Not in great detail. But it was like his eyes could detect the infrared portion of the spectrum. He knew where all the warmer spots were. He could detect every one of them.

And just like his other new ability—to influence others with his breath somehow—this ability must have come for a reason. If he still did any “finding” it would certainly help with that. He could get an outline picture of the contents of a package. But that behavior, those goals, no longer interested him.

Other crewmembers were beginning to wonder, of course. Some had even subtly asked.
What’s in the latest shipment, Congi? Have the Amish got anything good? Did you find anything for my nephew?
But he didn’t care. Only shrugged away the comments. Let them find their own stuff.

This visual ability, though—well, that was something else. It had a reason. A purpose. It was telling him something. Leading him somewhere.

So he watched that second sheep until he knew what to do. Then he acted. He approached the animal slowly, watching those warm spots. Zeroing in on them. The animal stirred, but not much. Congi remained calm, kept his arms out in front of him. He made comforting noises, soothing gestures. Then he touched the beast, worked his fingers into the fleece, and gripped it firmly. Held it in place. He sought out the largest warm area, pushed his face toward it, licked, nibbled—and felt the blood begin to flow.

The animal didn’t even bleat. He held it tight as he fed, but his grip was unnecessary after the first incision was made. The animal became more placid. It just stood there, and after many minutes of perpetual drinking had passed, it slumped into his arms.

The experiment proved two things. First, that he preferred drinking blood to devouring an animal whole. He remembered reading once that the fluids that required the least processing by the stomach and other organs got into the body quickest. Such a thing must have happened with the sheep’s blood. It was instant energy. And he felt fuller. Stronger. There was a definite dietary advantage to it.

The second thing the experiment proved was that there was a sedating effect in his touch and his bite. He would have never expected such a thing. More abilities? He wasn’t surprised, but he was fascinated. Fascinated by his continual growth. His continued ascension. What else would become possible for him?

As to what had initiated these changes, he didn’t care. They were beneficial changes. He had clarity now. Purpose.

Soon he was ready for the next experiment.

Congi had a goat with him now. By all measures, it was a more formidable animal. Less puffy. Less “cute.” Two horns and exposed bones. Like the two sheep before, the goat circled the room. Bleating and looking lost. Congi just sat and let it circle. Let it do whatever it would do.

Again it found a place by the door, but instead of paralleling the door, the goat turned to face him. The horns—two straight and pointed spines—lowered so they looked formidable. This goat was not to be trifled with.

Congi smiled. Would his persuasive powers work here? He got up on all fours and crept toward the goat. Slowly, one sparse movement at a time. Closer.

In return, the goat just watched him. When Congi reached the middle of the room, the goat’s head lowered a bit more. There was a short bleat of warning, a scrape of a front hoof, and the goat charged.

Laughing, Congi rolled out of the way. The goat smacked into the bed’s side rail. Made a loud thump. Bleated again. Turned to face him.

Still smiling, Congi shook a finger. He got to his feet, crouched, and put his hands in a soothing pose. “No more of that.” He moved toward the animal again. The animal glanced at the door behind him, looked at Congi, shuffled its back feet. Then it gave a short bleat. But it did not lower its head. It watched. Congi moved toward it. Its head drifted lower but then popped up again, the animal looking Congi in the eyes.