Amish Vampires in Space (27 page)

To his left, a horse snorted, lifted its head to look at him, gave a quick shake, and lowered its head again. Doubtless awakened from a dream.

David yawned. Dreaming sounded good right about now. He tried to keep his eyes working, scanning the pens around him. To his right were most of the smaller stock—sheep, goats, young hogs. To his left and behind were most of the larger animals. The cattle and horses. Some of these were behind him as well. A few were enclosed in an Englisher “field.” One of those fields was behind and to his left. It made a slight buzzing sound that caused him to want to swat for flies, but this position gave a good view of the small animal pens, so that’s where he would stay.

Directly ahead, and past three rows of pens, a line of stacked chicken cages formed a boundary on that end. He’d seen one of the male Englishers in that area the day before. Even mentioned the loss of animals to him, as Samuel had suggested. The man had seemed concerned, had said he would pass it on. But so far, nothing.

Now he just thought the man a busybody. He’d seemed to do some cleaning, but he’d also seemed to have circled the settlement as if he was visiting a fair back on Alabaster. Only there to look things over. He suspected other Englishers of the same behavior. Even if they had “official” reasons.

David looked to his left, past the pens there to the settlement proper. The outline of the exterior walls were visible. There were also some stretched clotheslines on either end. Pants and dresses hung out to dry. David shook his head, looked back at the pens again. First the boundary left and front, then directly ahead, then right. On that side was also where their extra belongings were stacked. Wrapped in white in Englisher style. Like large and nondescript Christmas gifts. They’d searched that area, of course. Found not even the scat from the lost animals. Nothing.

He tried not to think of his lost pet again. It only pained him. It was a connection to a simpler time. When there wasn’t so much uncertainty.

David yawned again, repositioned himself on the chair. His shift was almost over. He hoped Isaac’s ability to wake himself was as consistent as he said it was. So far it hadn’t failed, but tonight David felt extra tired. He reminded himself of his biblical namesake. How he had probably done the same thing: watched the sheep at night.

He shook himself, patted the sides of his arms despite not being cold. There was no cold on the ship, he’d heard—except for special storage boxes. All the cold was outside. Inside, everything was controlled and pampered. Englishers.

David noticed movement to his right, near the storage rows. He turned and focused his attention that direction. Squinted. Waited. Didn’t see anything. Waited several seconds more. Scanned the packages, looked hard at the shadows. Frowned. Rubbed his eyes. Looked once more.

Again he saw movement. A dark figure strolled out of the shadows and followed the line of white packages to about the midpoint. It was a four-legged shadow. Hard to tell what it was from David’s position, but it was definitely an animal of some sort. Livestock. One of the lost ones come home? It had to be.

David climbed off the chair. He held his hands apart and walked slowly through the pens toward the distant row of boxes. He passed the young pigs and the sheep pens after them. Kept his eyes always on that dark shadow. As he drew near, he realized it wasn’t his lost sheep.

It was a goat, and a large one. Strong looking.

The goat remained where it was and watched David draw ever closer. It was sandy brown with lighter coloring underneath. Two straight horns jutted out at an angle from its forehead. Its ears were down, as if it weren’t concerned at all. When he got to within twenty feet, the animal slowly lowered its head, pointing those horns his direction.

“Not only are you free,” David said, “you’re obstinate.” A slow nod. “I’ve seen your type before, Herr Goat. We have a pen full of you.”

He searched the fence row behind him, saw a circle of rope hung on one corner and walked to it. He measured it out in his hands as he’d been taught, straightened it, and then circled one end to form a noose. He put the noose end in his right hand—his throwing hand—and jiggled it a bit. Made sure it felt right. Smiled.

The goat continued to watch. He was surprised it hadn’t moved. Hadn’t made even a single sound. It was one bold goat. He fully expected it to charge. Depending on what it had been doing, though, it might be tiring. Also should be hungry and thirsty. Maybe it wasn’t so much bold as exhausted. David had seen that behavior before too.

What he really hoped was that this animal had been traveling with the other missing animals. That it somehow might lead him to his prized sheep. His thoughts returned to the bay itself. And how he and Zeke had thoroughly searched it. “Where
have
you been?” he asked quietly. He took another step.

The animal skipped and bolted away. David threw his lasso, missed, gathered it again and gave chase. He followed the goat the length of the row of packages and around the corner.

Into shadows.

Jeb stared at the table, trying to make more
sense of it.

It had become an obsession for him, this Englisher desk. Over four days of trying, he’d managed to awaken the shapes, to move some of the shapes within their orbits, to cause some to line up along the right side of the void.

He’d found one shape, circular with lots of lines, that produced a ship map when he held his hand on it for a few seconds. This last had been of some use. It had taken him a few hours to realize he could rotate the map upon the tabletop surface. And zoom and flip it. To peer at the ship’s underbelly like it were some afflicted animal. He’d even managed to find the cabin where they were staying, though he couldn’t see into their actual room—find himself hunched over the table, with hand scratching the side of his belabored head. Perhaps that wasn’t possible.

He hoped that wasn’t possible, actually.

Regardless, he was learning, and that was a good thing.

The outhouse, excretorium, whatever-it-was, was a different story. He could find the right places to do the most important things, but all the other dials and lights and moveable pieces…those were beyond him. Made him grateful he’d brought his own straight razor. He was appreciative of the design, though. The extreme effort and dedication it must’ve taken to create such a ship and such contrivances.

What a gift, the human mind. Even those who didn’t walk in fellowship—even the outsiders—were incredibly gifted. It made him wonder if the people of Alabaster had missed some good things for their exclusion from it all. They had certainly lost the full grandeur of the stars.

He looked up when he heard the door open. Sarah entered holding sealed packages of some food item. Her food quests were increasing in regularity. Sarah smiled when she saw him. Greeted him.

“So it was where I said?” he asked.

She nodded, held up a green package. “Exactly where you said.”

He thumped the desk lightly with his hand. Smiled. “So I’m useful, after all?” The desk-void flashed and a person’s image appeared on the screen. It was a middle-aged man like himself. Very well groomed, dressed in a blue uniform. Hair combed back and even. No beard. “Who’s this, I wonder?”

Sarah walked his direction, shaking her head. “Are you still playing with that thing, Jebediah Miller?”

He looked at her. Shrugged. “Just trying to be useful,” he said. “There is no grain to mill here, after all.”

She held up one of her sealed finds, squinted at it through the transparent portion of the packaging. Frowned. “Sometimes I wish we could, though,” she said. “Bake our own bread, at least. Some of this food is terrible.”

He nodded. “But doubtless useful to the body.” A hand wave. “These people survive on it.”

She drew closer and set one of the packages on the table’s edge. “And some of them quite well. You should have seen some of the Englishers I’ve seen.” She formed her arms into a circle in front of her. “Their roundness. Like our stove back home.”

Jeb shook his head. “Not very merciful of you, frau. These people have machines to do much of their work. Harder for them to use up their food.”

“Then either they shouldn’t use their machines so much or they shouldn’t eat so much.” She sat beside him. She selected a brown food item and fought with the packaging until Jeb took it from her and, using his pocket knife, cut it open.

He returned it to her, smiled and turned to the table again. “Handsome fellow.” He laid a hand on the image, hoping to get more information. He was surprised when a red ring formed around it and started to flash. “Now what is it doing?”

The flashing continued. Jeb noticed tiny letters that read “contacting” and felt a bit of trepidation. He began to search the rest of the table for something that would make the flashing stop. Tried pressing a few of the tiny shapes. The flashing continued. He shook his head, looked at Sarah. “Not sure what I’ve done…”

Finally, the flashing stopped, but the image itself changed. Same person, different outfit. A little less blue, but still Sunday-best quality. The person’s face seemed a little more real, as well. He was leaning forward and looking directly at Jeb.

“Hello,” the image said. “This is Captain Drake. Who is this?”

Jebediah looked at his wife, widened his eyes. She shook her head. Moved her chair back.

The captain looked away, squinting at another portion of his own desk. “Ah, you’re the outcast, correct? Jebediah Miller?”

Jebediah brought a hand to his chin. Smoothed his beard. “I suppose that’s true.” A glance at Sarah. “And you’re the man who steers this ship?”

The captain chuckled. “No, not really. I leave the steering to younger minds. Younger hands.”

Jeb gave a slow nod. “But you tell them where to go?”

Another laugh. “Only if I have to,” he said. “Primarily our schedule dictates that.” A smile. “Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

Jeb glanced at Sarah, at the empty food packaging in her hand. There was a hint of blue cream on her chin. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “My wife’s concerned about her weight, however.”

The smiling continued. “So you found our cafeteria, then?”

Cafeteria? “I’m not sure we have,” Jeb said. “Is that the food boxes?”

“Food boxes?” The captain sniffed. “Oh, now. Let me send you some location ledgers.” He looked busy, eyes darting from one spot to another. Arms seeming to move.

The next thing Jeb knew, new shapes were filling his tabletop void. Looking like tiny red stars. “I see something here,” he said. “Full of stars.”

“Yes, stars. If you activate those stars, you’ll see a location ledger keyed to a map. It’ll direct you.”

“Activate,” Jeb straightened. Scooted his chair closer. “I’ll activate them then.”

The captain looked concerned. “Put a finger on the largest star. Hold it and—” A scowl. “Listen, did no one show you how to use your table?”

Jeb made a low clucking sound. “I’m not sure I know how to use anything here, Mister Drake.”

“Praise the Lord,” Sarah whispered.

Jeb shot her a stern look, waved with one hand.

“Waving doesn’t do anything,” the captain said. “That was tried once. People waving in the air to interface. Ended up in lots of accidents. People getting hit.” He straightened, smiled. “Better to keep things contained, I say. Keep them inside the desk, then there’s always less mess.”

Jebediah squinted, unsure of what he just heard. “I had a desk in my barn. Had lots of tools on it.” A head shake. “Wasn’t very contained.”

“And now you have a desk that is a tool in itself. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Jeb nodded. “I suppose it is.”

“So, Mr. Miller, I’m curious how you contacted us. How you managed to be the one.”

“It was a family secret,” he said. “Something my father passed to me. And his father before him. It wasn’t easy.”

The captain studied him. Nodded. “I think I understand. A legacy of some sort. The device you used. Your responsibility.”

Jeb nodded, slid his hands on both sides of table, careful to avoid anything that looked like a star. “Yes.” A glance at Sarah again. “But I have other responsibilities. Sometimes they get confused. Are at odds. The Lord’s plan seems difficult. Hidden.”

“The Lord?”

“The Almighty. The Creator of the heavens and Earth.” A smile. “All the earths.”

The captain frowned. “But
your
earth, Alabaster, is lost. Or will be soon.”

Jeb nodded again. Stroked his beard. “And we are here. Outside our element.”

“On my ship,” the captain said, smiling again.

“So it would seem.” Jeb returned the smile. “So, tell me about this ship, your ship…”

The conversation lasted many minutes. The captain described his position and vessel as best he could, though many terms and situations—history and technology—were beyond Jeb’s experience. The same could be said for Jeb’s portrayal of life on Alabaster. The beauty of newly-plowed ground, the green of seedlings breaking the surface, the sunrises Jeb had witnessed every morning, these the captain could barely understand. He could only listen and nod. But he didn’t see it. Not really.