Amish Vampires in Space (26 page)

Indecision.

“You are fine,” Congi said. “You are a necessary experiment. My next step.” Somehow he got close to the animal without it charging again. He rested a hand on it. Caressed it. Then held it fast.

Hunger gripped him. But simple nourishment wasn’t the only goal this time. He again sought the warm spots. Found the largest one in the neck region. Moved in to bite it. The animal startled a bit at the prick of Congi’s teeth, but then it grew calm again. Congi fed, but he did so slowly. Sparingly. He used his new sensing ability. Watched the warmth inside the animal. When he saw the warmth fading, felt the heart slowing, he paused in his feeding. Waited, sometimes hours, for the animal to recover. Then started feeding again.

He was learning something here. Something important.

• • •

After much of a day had gone by, Congi knew something was still eluding him. Unfortunately, he thought he had missed it.

He was able to use the same animal for food over an extended period. To pierce its neck, take its blood, again and again. That was a small breakthrough. Not only had he been able to keep the animal alive, but he was able to control his thirst, as well. Again, a small discovery. It was not necessary to kill a host to feed. That gave him more options. An endless supply of food. Endless! As long as a planet or vessel had life, so would he. It was a comforting feeling. A superior feeling. The hunter forever loose in a galaxy of prey.

The third test wasn’t a complete success, though. Yes, he’d been able to control himself, but his ability wasn’t precise enough. Now seated on the bed, Congi frowned at the results.

The goat lay prone in the middle of the floor. Congi’s senses told him it wasn’t quite dead, but they also told him it wasn’t quite alive, either. It hadn’t moved since he’d finished with his last feeding. Its head was stretched out, mouth open, tongue distended. Its eyes were open too, but they just stared toward the excretorium entrance. Unresponsive.

The animal’s breathing was sporadic. A dozen heavy draws followed by a pause long enough that the animal seemed dead. Then it would breathe again. Begin another cycle.

It was in a coma of some sort. That much was obvious. But how long would this last? Would the animal recover or would it stay as it was until it died of hunger or thirst?

Congi frowned, shook his head. He was beginning to hunger. He would have to “find” again. Yet he didn’t want to miss anything important. Leaving a dead or dying animal alone in his quarters came with a new set of risks. Typical humans weren’t as perceptive as he was now, but they weren’t completely numb either. Too much noise, too much smell…someone would question. Someone would come. Perhaps he should just end the animal. Incinerate the remains.

Hunger beckoned. Surged.

Finally he made a decision. He would take his chances. Leave the animal as it was.

Perhaps there was more to learn from it yet.

• • •

An hour later Congi guided his cart back toward his room. The ship was such a changed place now. The captain, the crewmembers—all tried to act like it was business as usual. Another shipment to be made. But it was not. With so many new humans onboard, so many issues to look out for, everyone was distracted. Overworked.

He was hardly noticed at all anymore. Doubtless other “finders” on the ship were having the best days of their lives. Behaving like ancient tomb raiders. Filling their quarters with newfound items. Trading and profiting.

He was glad to have left that life behind. He had more important things to attend to. Experiments of galactic consequence. He thought of the chicken he currently had concealed within his cart. It wouldn’t last him long, obviously. Such a small creature. Not many fluids. But it was something. Not his preference, of course, but something.

The newcomers seemed to be more active around the sheep pen now. Even during their sleeping periods. Perhaps they had noticed his earlier acquisitions. Grown wary.

Ah, well.

He was versatile. Flexible. All predators were.

As Congi was about to turn down the hall where his room was located, he nearly collided with one of the newcomers. A woman! “Oh!” she said. “My pardon, sir.”

Her face was flushed with color. Congi detected that warmth distinction right away. She wore their traditional white head covering and a long blue dress. Despite the larger and more complex map a human presented, Congi also noticed an unusual warm spot around the woman’s midsection. What did that mean?

He felt a wave of discomfort. He drew his cart back, closer to himself. “It is no problem, ma’am. Happens all the time around here.” He glanced at the hallway walls, distracting himself. They were solid blue, and solid in temperature, as well.

She gave a little curtsy. “My apologies, all the same.”

Congi remembered how far they were from Bay 17. “Are you lost?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

The woman smiled. “Yes…well, in many ways, yes. This ship, it is a puzzle to my troubled mind.”

Congi nodded. Moved ahead slightly so he could look down the intersecting corridor.
His
corridor. “Yes, but why are you here?” he asked. “Alone?”

The woman’s face changed subtly. The warmth disappeared. “I’m not alone. My husband is nearby.
We’re
…nearby. For now.”

“In crew quarters?” he said. “I wasn’t aware…” He smiled again. Noticed the effect even that had on her face. Warming it. He smiled brighter. “Well, where are you trying to go?”

She brought her hand to her hip. Subtly massaged it. “I was told there were food devices somewhere? A place to get something to eat?”

Congi kept smiling, turned toward his left slightly. “Yes, they are back that way. At the next intersection. But, um…” He gave a little disarming shrug. “They were sort of empty the last time I checked. Might want to wait a few hours. That’s when they usually refill them.”

She smiled politely. Looked past him. Nodded. “I think I’ll go check, anyway. Just in case.”

Congi grabbed his cart. Started to push it around the corner. “Yeah, you might get lucky. Find something still there.” The chicken made a one-note muffled cluck. Congi brought his hand to his stomach. “Pardon. Guess I’m hungry too.” He pushed the cart farther up the hall. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood.”

The woman tipped her head. “Thank you. You’ve been most kind.”

Only the woman’s head was visible to Congi now. “Don’t mention it.” The chicken clucked again. He hurried forward, checking back a couple of times to make sure the woman wasn’t looking—wasn’t following.

No denying it. The ship was changing.

• • •

Congi opened the door to his quarters and immediately felt the change in temperature. He hurriedly pushed the cart inside, enjoying the sensation as the room’s atmosphere enveloped him. It was like he had his own little domain here. His own little world. Wasn’t that what he’d been looking for all along?

The chicken clucked again. Congi frowned, pushed the cart so it was even with the excretorium doorway, and turned to make sure the room door had closed by itself. It had. If anyone would recognize the sound of a chicken on this ship, it would be the newcomers. And they were apparently everywhere now. Perhaps things weren’t getting as easy as he’d thought.

His hunger tugged at him. Congi took a few steps into the room, laid a hand on the top of the cart, and then paused. Searched the ground briefly. Felt a trickle of fear.

The goat was not where he’d left it. It should’ve been on the floor just past the cart. But it wasn’t.

Someone had moved it.

Or…?

He pushed past the cart, strode fully into the room. He could see only the outlines of the different appliances and furniture he had moved. The chairs, a storage cabinet, the bed. But nothing stuck out at him as unusual. Nothing seemed more out of place then he’d left it. He searched for the goat’s heat map against the temperature background. The bright crisscross of arteries and veins.

Congi was struck hard in the side, knocked to the ground. He yelped as he hit and rolled instinctively to his left. He tried to get his hands up, but a weight hit his stomach, something hard. He felt pressure from another pointed object, then another and another. Every place they impacted felt dug into, felt pain.

There was a low moan, like a goat’s bleat, but a couple of octaves lower. More primal. Congi felt heavy breathing and the weight of what he assumed was the goat’s forehead on his face. Then something touched his neck. Congi got a hand up to where the goat’s left ear should be. Searched for a horn near there, found one. Grabbed it and attempted to push it back.

The goat resisted hard. Wailed an angered cry and lunged again for his neck and shoulders.

“No,” Congi said. “I want you to stop.” He felt a sudden influx of energy and managed to get both hands on the animal’s face and then down to its neck. He pushed up and back. Pried the animal slowly away from him.

Its garbled wail returned. Congi glimpsed its left eye. It was bulging, but not out of fear, out of need. Raw hunger.

He maintained his grip on the goat’s neck and slowly rolled it off him and onto the floor. He held it down and got up on all fours over it. “Well now,” he said, looking the goat in the nearest eye. “That’s quite a recovery.”

The chicken cackled, and the goat jerked again. Its eyes moved in the direction of the sound. It gave another moan-bleat. Snorted.

“That’s
my
lunch,” Congi said, smiling.

He bent closer to the goat. The animal’s warmth pattern was all different now. Almost a solid wall—just like the in the hallway. Muted. Hardly registering. “And what are you now, huh? Not what I left. Not merely a goat.”

The longer Congi stayed near the goat, the more its resistance seemed to wane. The bleats ended and the eyes’ focus seemed to soften. It looked at him, now almost pleading.

“Ah, so you know me now, do you?” Congi smiled, not really knowing why he said it. For some reason, talking to the animal just seemed the proper course of action. “Are we friends again?”

The goat snorted and began a softer whining sound. Congi eased his grip, and when the goat didn’t immediately lurch, he eased it some more. Finally, he was able to let go altogether. He took a few steps back, sat on the bed, and let the goat recover itself. It slowly got to its feet, shook, and turned to look at him. Bowed its head.

Congi reached out and stroked the goat’s head between the horns. The animal made a throaty sound, something between a bleat and a growl. Pulled closer to him.

And somehow, Congi sensed a bond. A new closeness. The animal was like an extension of him somehow. Another arm.

He got up and walked past the goat to the area near the excretorium. To his cart. Behind the cart’s incinerator were the shelves. The top one was now visible—stacked with tools and cleaning supplies. The middle shelf was covered on both sides and actually a lot larger than most people might assume. He opened the nearest cover and found the chicken, all huddled in the far corner of the shelf. He reached in and pulled it toward him. It resisted, flapping its wings and continually clucking, shedding feathers. He brought it out where the goat could see it.

The goat’s eyes locked on the chicken. It stared at it for many seconds before looking—like a major might look at a general—toward him. Congi expected it to bleat, but it did not. Only watched.

“Curious,” Congi said. “You see them now, don’t you? The lines of warmth. Even in this chicken.” A smile. “Trust the lines, goat.” And with that, he tossed the bird into the air. It clucked and flapped, but before it could touch the ground, the goat was on it. It gave it a single forehead butt, eliciting only a startled “cluck.” It held the stunned avian on the ground, nose in its feathers, searching over the surface.

“Find it,” Congi said. “The perfect spot.”

The movement of both animals stopped. There was only an occasional snorting breath to show that the goat was doing what now came naturally. Drinking the blood of the hen. For its part, the hen lay with wings extended. Both eyes glazed and staring. Mouth partially open.

The goat was like him now. The repeated feedings…the coma. Another like
him
.

Congi felt hunger again. “Finish that one off,” he said. “We’ll get more.”

• • •

It was David’s turn to watch the animals.

He sat alone on an elevated chair in the middle of the pens. All around him were thousands of animals. He felt as if he was at the center of a stampede, with only the safety of the Englisher building material to protect him.
Plastisteel
or
synthium
or some such thing. Whatever it was, it made narrow and light fence rails. And somehow those rails were anchored tightly to the ground. They were as firmly planted as if they’d been dug and backfilled. Magnetics, Zeke had guessed, but David hardly believed that. How could a magnet be used so selectively? To be certain, he had tried his belt buckle on the floor. Nothing had happened. Didn’t stick at all. Couldn’t be magnetics. Had to be something else.

With the help of the deacons, David and Zeke had convinced two other young men to help with watching the animal pens. They worked a rotating shift throughout the night. The previous disappearances had
all
happened during the sleep period, of that they were certain. The other two men had been sworn to secrecy, however.

The deacons didn’t want the others knowing of the disappearances. There was already too much distraction. People going to the Englishers’ doctors and being given strange substances, having their teeth worked on—and in some cases—repaired. Too many new things. Too much temptation. “No reason to augment the sins of fear and worry,” Deacon Mark had said. There was already enough exposure to those two already.

The community was one of faith, not fear. That fact had been cemented only the day before, at the first church meeting since the abandonment. It echoed in the hymns they had sung:

We cry to you, Lord God, and tell you about our suffering here in the prison and chains into which others have put us…Our treasure is the community when we live together.