The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (10 page)

“Some Aralian regions are faithful to Travers. Within these regions, his friends will hide him and protect him. Gem and I have composed a prioritized list of areas that include cities, Trader refuges, remote geographical sanctuaries, and certain close Aralian friends of Travers. We also have embedded in us a list of Alliance patriots to Landrew and Como who will help us locate Travers. Additionally, on Brebouillis we shall meet two doctors who will be invaluable in our mission.”

Curious
, Deacon thought.
Those
are
the
exact
words
that
Landrew
spoke
. “We should plan to depart the day after tomorrow. However, I want to leave in secrecy. You two must ensure that we depart before anyone on the High Council knows. Jim, I leave you to make the necessary arrangements and file our confidential flight plans at the port, firstly to the asylum at Brebouillis, then on to planet Aralia.

“Gem and I suggest docking at Froora, which is central to our initial stops on the planet. Froora is also very congested, as it receives thousands of non-Aralian visitors each day; thus we will be just one party of many aliens, giving us a chance of entering in anonymity.”

“Okay. Plan our stops with the least risk to our mission.”

“Yes, Deacon,” Jim said, and with humor he added, “and I will plan an economy Vesper so you will lose only a quarter-year of your life span.”

Deacon smiled and said, “I want to reach the Vesper station with all my vital parts.”

“Yes, Master, no liver or heart left in outer space as cosmic energy. I’ll Vesper all your parts, sire. I have noted your specific request.”

Deacon laughed at the comic relief but quickly switched to drama. “I want Travers taken alive at all costs.”

Gem said, “Any harm to you means his death.”

That was not the response he wanted. “The first directive is to protect me; the second to obey me. In conflict, I want you to obey me and take Travers alive. It is vital to our mission that we question him.”

Gem stared back. “When the directives are in conflict, your safety comes first, Master.”

“Are those your orders?”

“Yes.”

“Reluctantly, I accept them. I must be protected.”

The Owlers remained silent. “Are there any other commands for us?”

Deacon stood staring at them until he finally dismissed them, realizing that there could be other instructions that might irritate him. He longed for rest and not to debate this issue any further at this moment. He watched them depart. Jim, ever acting like a gentleman, allowed Gem to go first. He knew from the moment when Landrew introduced the Owlers that Jim had been his visitor to Moonbeam. The visitor had to be an Owler. It was not out of breath after scaling the cliffs. It did not fear a potentially fatal bite from Miram, and the pupils of the eyes were small when they should have been large in the darkness. When Jim spoke five days ago and Deacon witnessed those green eyes, he verified his guess. He didn’t dare insult Jim by revealing that he had also noticed him on the flight to Liberty City.

Comes an intruder

Two nights later, Dreveney startled Deacon as he stood on the great balcony. The two embraced, Deacon catching a whiff of the Aralian’s aroma, which was pleasant but different from the previous one. He continued to find physical contact with Aralians very agreeable; the feel of the fur was smooth, warm, and cuddly—a totally satisfying experience. The natural perfumes emanating from the fur wafted into his area again.

“Dreveney, do I detect a change in the odor emanating from your fur? It seems different from the smell of previous?”

“Aralians have many odor glands buried shallow under the skin. Depending on our mood, different glands are opened and different fragrances are emitted.”

“Sounds like a useful addition to my next volume of
Protecting
the
Being
. On Earth we have some rare species that emanate foul odors to protect themselves. Can Aralians do that?”

“Sad to say, no. All the glands emit soothing bouquets, some more appealing than others. I came to say that I depart for Aralia tomorrow, Coombs. I wanted to come in person and wish you success and tell you how grateful the High Council is that you have accepted this challenge.” His lips were a deep ruby. “Please visit me at my home on Aralia if your travels lead you there. I know that you have been instructed to operate independently, but I extend an invitation of my Aralian hospitality if you should come to our planet. I have given the coordinates of my estate to the Owlers.”

“Thank you.” Deacon already knew that he would not accept the invite. It seemed critical to operate independent of the High Council.

“I also came to sternly warn you. Travers has many friends throughout the Alliance, so choose your allies wisely. Many Aralians choose to admire him with enormous pride. Aralians are a passive people but are very passionate about Travers, who retains hero status. Travers has served as an admirable ambassador abroad and has been bestowed, as you probably discovered, with many national awards recognizing his accomplishments in new trade treaties, new trading routes, and new friends for Aralia. His father was also a very renowned trader. If you find yourself in danger at any point in your journey, please don’t hesitate to summon me. I have given the Owlers my contact information.”

“I will keep your gracious offer in mind, Dreveney, but at present I know not where the quest for evidence leads. The days here have been fruitful. Interesting facts have surfaced.”

“Ah, very good. Such as?”

“Independence, dear Dreveney, as you have said. I find one of my most powerful tools is my silence.”

“I am very disappointed that you cannot share developments with me, but yes, I understand very well what you say.” The two discussed Aralian customs, and Dreveney presented Deacon with a guide to Aralia and a chronology on the key historical events in the planet’s history, which were self-authored. Deacon in return presented Dreveney with a chip on his most memorable crimes, self-edited. Dreveney again cited the confidence that the Council had in Deacon, bestowed a prolonged Aralian hug on him, and then departed. Deacon thought about what he had just done. He had left Dreveney with the idea that he had made some interesting discoveries. He had planted seeds. He was counting on Dreveney to spread that news to other High Council members. Deacon was engaged by the Council; it was time now to use the Council to his advantage.

Deacon’s last day at the library arrived. Jim loaded the metro car and transported their belongings, complete with all their research findings, to the
Heritage
while finalizing flight plans for their departure. Gem remained behind to copy and transfer selected data for Deacon’s analysis during the journey, and then store them in the Owler’s housing. Deacon ambled around the library amid the towering blocks of information. He stopped at a section on the horrible nuclear wars on Earth, extracted a rare disc volume, transferred the contents to his handheld device, and then retreated to an elevated cave underneath the great balcony that had comfortable seating. He read of the cold wars leading to the crisis, in particular reading excerpts from the frustration of world leaders to resolve religious and political conflicts while wily dictators spoke in doubletalk. As he became engrossed in the escalation of arms, footsteps broke his concentration.

He dismounted from his chair to look over a podium that gave him a view down dimly lit tunnels of data banks. In the dim red light of an aisle, he spied a tall, muscular figure sauntering through the maze, being careful at each intersection to inspect the next aisle. He could tell by the gait that it was not one of the Owlers; nor was it Landrew, nor Dreveney. Not instantaneously recognizing this silhouette, Deacon became fearful. He broke into a sweat as he saw the stranger step into a green-lit corner. He was an Earthling, about six and a half feet tall, with a swarthy complexion, now curiously assuming a crouch on his haunches, listening intently.
Is
he
listening
and
spying
on
me?
Deacon wondered. Deacon slowly bent down behind the rails, fumbling for his handheld device to alert Gem.

Damnation
, he thought as he realized he had plunked the signalet on a bench in a distant aisle where he had retrieved the history. Whoever this person was, he was here without Deacon’s knowledge and was now skulking around each data bank. Methodically inspecting each aisle, he was now approaching the sector under the balcony, moving furtively toward Deacon, ever so much closer.

The intruder paused, and the light exposed his facial profile. Deacon had seen this swarthy face before, but in his anxious state, his memory was failing him. Was he friend or foe? He couldn’t take a chance. He spied the aisle where he had left the safety control. It would require a leap over the rails, then a dash of fifty yards, and then a sharp left turn, followed by a further run to the bench. It would require him to grab the device while running at full speed, signal Gem, and then outrun the culprit until Gem arrived. But where was Gem? Which direction to run when he had the signalet?
How
stupid
of
me
to
abandon
my
safety
alarm.

Suddenly Deacon was terrified. Gem was the security system. Gem was controlling any visitors. How had this stranger entered? With or without Gem’s approval? The intruder clumsily knocked into a cart just as Deacon dared to steal a peek and examine him closer, searching his memory unsuccessfully as to his identity. Yet he felt he should know this being. From out of the silence, a door slammed. Suddenly, another being appeared in the shadows on the balcony at the very far end of fourth floor, at least five hundred feet away.

An
Owler
at
last?
Deacon wondered. His eyes penetrated the murkiness for a sign of Jim or Gem. The shadows were too deep. The figure above stepped to the front of the balcony and leaned over, surveying the maze below. It was not Gem, not Jim. If either one of these individuals was in honest search of him, why didn’t they summon him? Hail him? Determine his whereabouts? The visitor above moved out of sight, but Deacon recognized the whine of the lift, which would deliver him to the same level he was on. But with this new development, the first invader now focused his attention to the door of the lift and started to proceed toward it on tiptoe.

Deacon hid, terrified, and as the prowler passed by, he scrutinized him. He stopped only twenty yards in front of Deacon. There he extracted some wire from his pockets and curled it around his stubby fingers, preparing it; he jerked it to check its tautness. Deacon knew then that to sit and do nothing would result in the murder of one or both of them.
What
a
tragedy
if
this
new
arrival
is
Landrew!

As the elevator arrived, the man in front of Deacon disappeared to stalk the recent arrival. As soon as he disappeared, Deacon summoned his courage and jumped from his hiding place. He leaped over the rails, dashed to the aisle where he had left the handheld, and turned left, not daring to look behind. There he grabbed the security device on the run, and he began pressing hard the alarm button to signal Gem as he sprinted down the aisle. As he did this, he decided to scream for help to identify his position for any ally, and also to alert the new arrival of danger. Twisting and turning while galloping at full speed, he made his way toward the portal of the lift. Gasping for air, he was almost there when he slammed into a ladder hidden in the shadows and fell hard to the floor. Behind him he heard footsteps. Around the corner lay the lift. He bolted to his feet, and found the inner strength to hurdle the last twenty yards. He stopped dead in his tracks at the end of the aisle; there was no sign of the recent visitor. When he turned to look behind him, the hulk appeared and proceeded to hurl himself at Deacon in full tilt.

The two hit the floor with a thud, the assassin on top, clearly overpowering Deacon. Gleaming wires sought to cut the flesh of his throat. As air rushed out of his body cavity, the choking commenced, and he felt the gelid grip of the metal. Two fiery eyes drained his confidence as the madman enjoyed the encounter, a grimacing, wild sneer possessing his face. Deacon was engaged in survival; he could not find the breath to expel a plea for help. Suddenly all life was frozen.

With his head now twisted back, he saw a dark figure appear out of the corner of his eye. It stood still in the shadows, slowly raised its arms, took aim, and then fired. A flare hit the thug in the side of his body, driving the assailant ten yards back down the aisle.

Gem moved into the light, while Rande appeared behind the Owler. Deacon felt a tingling sensation in his throat and then turned to prop himself up on his elbows to view the dead assassin. Spying the bloody mess and seeing his own blood-soaked hands, he collapsed.

When Deacon returned to consciousness minutes later, five faces stared down at him. Landrew spoke first. “Deacon, are you cognizant? My dear Deacon, are you okay?”

Before he replied, he looked at each in turn. There was Dreveney, who only the night before had been told that new clues had been uncovered. There was Landrew, whom he felt had misled him about the charges against Travers and who the possible murder suspects might be. Beside Landrew was Rande, who had not announced his entry. There was an unknown medic. And then there was Gem, who had saved his life.

The physician asked, “Can you breathe without difficulty?”

“Fine. I feel revived,” Deacon said, although every nerve in his body tingled, every muscle ached, and his throat throbbed in excruciating pain. His shirt was soaked in bloody patches. “Who was the assailant?”