Amish Vampires in Space (33 page)

“The differences?” she said. “I’m not sure I know them all. The Amish do revere, worship, Jesus, yes. As I do.”

“But he was a man,” Seal said. “That died millennia ago. How could he possibly be relevant here, today?” Seal noticed that the wall image near their table had changed to a desert scene. Cactus and a snake slowly sidewinding his way across a dune. Interesting.

Singer smiled. “Well, yes, He did die. But Christians believe He didn’t stay that way. Christians believe He came back to life.”

“And the Amish believe that too?”

Singer nodded. “Yes, they do. From what I understand.”

Seal sniffed but not disrespectfully. Singer was an asset to the ship, obviously. It was profitable to hear her out, no matter how crazy she sounded. “So why don’t you wear the dresses?” he asked. “The bonnets?”

“I wear dresses on occasion.”

“Obviously,” Seal blushed. “You know what I mean.”

Another smile. “I do, sorry.” A pause. “Okay, there is a verse that says ‘Religion that is pure and undefiled, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.’ The Amish take the latter portion—to remain ‘unstained’—to what I think is an extreme. They stay away from
everything
that non-Amish do. Like using powered vehicles or scraddleboxes.”

“But they are still okay being here.”

“Survival requires flexibility.” Singer speared a bite of her meat substance with a fork. Held it near her mouth. “But typically their focus is on avoiding all technology that occurred following the invention of electricity.”

“Sounds arbitrary,” Seal said. “They still live in dwellings like everyone else. They still wash their clothing. They use tools. Use transportation, even though it is animal driven. Certainly those mark steps in man’s development, as well. The wheel was a large change. Why not forbid that?”

Singer chewed her food. Nodded. “Their rules, their
ordnung,
is arbitrary. Though they probably don’t see it that way. Not to mention that their lifestyle overlooks other important verses from the Bible.”

Seal felt his discomfort subside. It was interesting, this talk. “Such as?”

“Well, for one, Christians are commanded to be in the world, but not of it,” she said. “Most think that to mean that Christians ought to live beside non-Christians, but to live differently. So they can see us. Whereas the Amish withdraw and therefore cannot be seeds planted in a larger field.” She speared a green bean simulation. “Then there’s the verse that Jesus gave his disciples before He left.”

“You mean before he died?”

Singer shook her head. “No, after that. After He rose from the dead but before He ascended into heaven.”

“I won’t ask.” Seal sat back in his seat, straightened his napkin. “So, it was a final charge of some sort. Marching orders?”

“Yes.”

“And what were they?”

“To go into all the world and preach the gospel,” Singer said. “The gospel is the way to become reconciled to God.”

“That’s what Jesus taught?”

“Correct, but it is difficult to go out and preach to those who don’t yet know the gospel if your whole planet already believes it, isn’t it? And if it’s a place where people get exiled if they stray even one little bit from the official traditions.”

Seal reached for his drink, sipped it thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, like our special passenger, Mr. Miller. I met him. Very nice man. Surprisingly smart.”

Singer squinted. “And why did you at first doubt his intelligence? Just because he doesn’t use cryomatrices or splice animal genes?”

Seal frowned. “No, of course not. It is just easy to overlook such people, isn’t it? To think they can’t because they won’t. But obviously, those are different states, aren’t they?” Another sniff, followed by a smile. “Your man figured out his desk well enough to call me, after all.” A small rodent appeared on the wall’s desert scene. It stopped, nibbled at something on the ground, and bolted out of the picture again.

Singer chuckled. “He called you. That’s funny.”

“Yes, I think it was a complete accident. Whoever showed them the room didn’t give them any desk instruction.”

Singer blushed, raised a hesitant finger. “That would be me. I got so busy. I guess I never made it back. Sorry.”

Seal smiled. “Well, he appears to be figuring it out on his own.”

“Strange that he would want to,” Singer said. “But Jebediah is different by Amish standards. Very different, it seems.”

“Do you think he’ll rejoin them?”

“Probably. It is all he knows. Plus, his wife is with him.”

“Yes, and pregnant, I’m told. She’ll want the support.”

Singer nodded. Slid her glass slightly. “I suppose she will. Probably wouldn’t want Englishers involved, anyway.”

Seal crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “So, what other differences are there? Between you and them?”

“Well, there’s the rule thing in general. The ordnung.”

“Yes, the rules that govern their behavior. Don’t all beliefs have such things? A code of behavior?”

“The Bible has commands, yes, but we don’t generally look to those to save us.” She gestured, opening her hands. “To bring us into a right relationship with God.”

“What? So it isn’t about behavior?”

“Not to save us. But with the Amish, it is a lot about the rules. They’re never quite sure if they are okay, spiritually. In the clear with the Almighty. That’s why they worry so much about how they behave and look. They are afraid that they won’t make it.”

“Into the afterlife?”

She nodded. “Yes. Not all of them are like that. But many. Most, from what I can tell.”

Seal started to feel uncomfortable again. Singer was just as beautiful as she’d been when they’d started, but there was another level to her that was so very outside his experience. It was a lot to take in at one sitting. Plus, he had ledgers to attend to. A ship to administrate. His communicator beeped, and he was happy it did. He detached it from his hip. Brought it up where he could see it. Squinted.

“A message from Mr. Greels,” he said. “I wonder what this is about.”

• • •

Jebediah walked into his Englisher quarters, deep in thought. He noticed that the excretorium door was closed, and there was a sound of motion from within. He slowly walked past it to the row of overhead cabinets. Two of the doors were ajar, so he pushed those shut. He placed a hand on his hip and stepped deeper into the room. Glanced at the desk, now completely dark. Shook his head. Frowned.

None of it was for them. Not really. Despite how he enjoyed experimentation, how he enjoyed learning about Englisher devices, he was a man outside his element. He didn’t fit here. Never would. And neither would Sarah, he guessed. Hadn’t she just finished saying exactly that, in no uncertain terms?

He was most worried about the young lady, Lucile, however. Her behavior wasn’t right. Did her family know? The rest of the community?

And that Englisher, Congi. Jeb didn’t trust him. Didn’t like his nature. If it weren’t for the Amisher pledge of nonaggression, he might find himself kicking in the man’s door right now. Interfering. But it wasn’t his place. Especially as one of the shunned. He had no place in anything community-related. So what to do?

The excretorium door slid open. Sarah exited with her hands near her nose. Her eyes widened when she saw him watching. She lowered her hands, smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know how that washing device does it, but it comes up with some remarkable scents.” She raised her hands his direction. “My hands smell like they’ve been dried in a summer breeze. Smell them.”

He walked closer and took his wife’s hands. Held them warmly. He smiled and made a passing attempt at smelling them. He thought there was a hint of some spice—saffron, maybe—in the scent. It was hard to tell with the Englishers, though. They doubtless had a different name for it. Perhaps it was one of those spliced genes he’d read about. Then he remembered the young lady, Lucile, and his smile faded.

“What is it, husband?” Sarah asked.

Jeb held her hands for a few moments longer before releasing them. “I met someone in the hall.”

Sarah frowned. “Was it that Congi man again? I’ve seen him at the strangest hours. You would think he was pregnant.” She looked toward the door. “I almost think he doesn’t sleep. Always pushing that cart of his.”

Jeb walked over and leaned back against the desk. Crossed his arms. “He didn’t have a cart with him this time.”

“Well, I’m sure he was on his way to get it.”

Jeb shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He recounted what he’d seen.

The story brought Sarah’s hand to her mouth. “That’s terrible,” she said. “Unheard of. What has happened to her?”

“Perhaps the bishop is right: This trip is a danger to the community.” He felt a twinge of guilt. He glanced at their bed. Covers were as smooth as the day they’d moved in. Sarah must’ve made it already. Yes, she was usually the one to set things right. “And I’m responsible.”

“You’re not responsible for the decisions others make,” Sarah said.

“I’m not? I thought that was what our way of life was all about. Keeping each other in the path. So which is it? Am I responsible for others, or aren’t I?”

Sarah laced her fingers in front of her. “Jeb…”

He removed his hat, tossed it onto the bed. “I know you’re not happy here, Sarah. And I know I’m to blame for that too.”

She shook her head. “That’s just emotion. I’m…” she looked down, shook her hands in frustration… “not altogether myself right now. Don’t take me at all seriously.”

“No, you’re right. You always were. I was just being thickheaded. Prideful.”

She took a step toward him. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never known you to be so. I always thought you humble. Truly. Even if I didn’t say it.”

Jebediah gave a thoughtful grunt. Said nothing.

“We need to do something for that young lady,” Sarah said. “Perhaps no one knows.”

Jeb pushed up from the desk. “Difficult to tell. Things change quickly on this ship, I think. Perhaps no one knows. Perhaps no one still cares.”

“I won’t believe that’s true.” She drew closer, laid a hand on his arm.

Jeb studied her face, attempting to read what she wasn’t saying. “You think I should go to them?” he said. “Find out what’s going on.” He frowned. “Except I can’t. I’ll be ignored.”

“Not if you went in the right spirit.”

Jeb brought a hand to his beard. Stroked it thoughtfully. “You mean in full repentance. Regretting all I’ve done to bring us here.” He shook his head. Looked at the floor. “I do, but I don’t. There was no other way. I truly believe that.”

“Has the sun exploded?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t know that.” He glanced at the desk behind him. “I’m sure there’s some way to find that out…” He looked at her again. “But that would take more experimenting. Or bothering someone important.” He managed to smile. “Should it matter?”

“It would be a fleece. A way of knowing God’s will.”

“Would it?”

Sarah brought her hands to her hips. Studied him. “So should I go then?”

Jeb shook his head. “I would feel better if you were here.”

She brought a hand to her face and tucked a few loose curls into her kapp. Looked at him again.

He felt another wave of guilt. Frowned. “I will go,” he said.

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Do you remember the way?”

He indicated the desk again. “I’m sure I can find it. I found you food, after all.”

She nodded. Smiled. “And the captain.”

“Yes.” He retrieved his hat from the bed. “Perhaps that was one of your fleeces.” He positioned himself at the desk. “Very well. A little more study, and tomorrow I’ll go.”

• • •

Samuel returned from the meeting with David to find his wife, Ruth, lying prone on their bed. Her eyes were tightly closed and there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. On Alabaster, she had often taken afternoon naps, but since entering the leviathan, that routine had necessarily disappeared. There was much to plan for and discuss. And still plenty of chores. Clothes still needed to be washed. Meals still needed to be prepared, even if there was some help from Englisher machines.

Samuel hovered over Ruth’s form. Watched her sleep. Her chest slowly rising and falling. The hint of activity behind closed eyelids. Her face showed the wrinkles of time. Of decades of labor beneath Alabaster’s sun. But she was still a fine worker. A fitting helpmeet.

A soft moan escaped her lips. Samuel moved closer. Patted her covered head. It felt strangely cold. Strikingly so. Like metal in winter.

A throat cleared behind him. Deacon Mark.

Samuel frowned and turned toward the makeshift door. Told Mark to enter.

“I know we need to meet,” Samuel said. “To start the shunning process. We’ll get everyone together. I just wanted a few moments to collect myself.”

Mark shook his head. “I want you to see something first. I went to check on Abraham. I—”

“Is he sick, as David said? Another case of the fever?”

Mark nodded. “I believe so. Yes, very sick. His wife hasn’t been able to rouse him.” A frown. “Deacon James is there now. He didn’t want me to bother you, but…”

Samuel nodded once, checked his wife again. Hoped she slept well. Rested from her labors for a time. He made a cursory glance at the desk where his notes and Bible were still laid out. Awaiting his attention. A message he’d all but forgotten.

He shook his head. Turned to follow Deacon Mark.

• • •

Abraham laid as if in death. His hat rested atop his bare chest. His hands were clasped together near his overlarge abdomen. His pants, though thankfully present, appeared to be soaked with sweat. Drenched as if he’d fallen into the Swaylo River.

His eyes were most alarming. They were wide open and staring straight ahead. Unmoving.

Samuel remembered when his father had died. An aged heart had taken him in the middle of a bean field one day, hoe still in hand. He’d given a lurch, slumped to the ground, and was gone. Not a word, little movement. Only distant eyes reflecting the sky. That memory held more peace than what Samuel now saw. Everything about this felt wrong.