The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (27 page)

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Have you been to this ledge before? I asked you previously, and you replied no, but I sensed it in your mind the first moment we stood on the ledge. And these caves? Think, Travers. Have you been here before?”

“In Aralian relig-g-g-g-g… gion and history, Aralians predict and believe in the birth of the Crawnshee. On Earth, you call him S-S-S… Satan. It is he whom I see when I close my eyes. I d-d-d… don’t know why. I just see him… m-m-m. We must be careful. Crawn… shee comes. He comes.”

Quobit intervened. “Travers, I have not heard or read of this creature you speak of. Where does this Crawnshee come from in Aralian legends? I mean, where does he originate from? And in what specific legend?”

“From… m-m-m-m what Earth people would call hell! The land of eternal fire and torment… t-t-t.”

Deacon looked back in disbelief. “A physical place? Hell?”

“Yes. In Aralian religion.”

Travers struggled to stand and then ambled away. “Can’t-t-t remember,” he said, sniffling as he offered this last remark.

Deacon arose. The routine of arduous exercise was catching up with him; his muscles ached in every part of his lower body. He hailed Jim and Gem and ordered them all to retreat to the shuttle for rest and oxygen—the creature too. Once inside, he decided it was time to vanish from here, as they had made significant discoveries that needed to be conveyed to the Alliance. His mind slipped to thinking of Lyanna; how he ached to see her again.

Discovery

“What is our next step, Master Deacon?” Deacon wondered how the Owler visualized him. Did the Owler have any hidden feelings for him? How did Gem assess his courage, his intelligence, his future? Their future? Gem looked so pretty with a feminine short-cut hairstyle.

“Finish one more scan locally and then around the area for any other hidden shipments of arms, and check for alien life forms too. Then we will make preparations to leave. Our business here is completed.”

Travers expressed his opinion that Jim should blast our way out if foreigners should arrive. “Save us-s-s-s-s-s-s at all costs.”

Deacon wandered outside and then drifted into a nap against a cozy indentation of the shuttle at the base of the entrance ramp to the shuttle. His dreams of Lyanna were astonishingly interrupted by someone calling her name. Who could it be? He didn’t recognize the voice. He sat up petrified. Where was he? Disorientation followed. Was he awake? In dreams? On Brebouillis? He rubbed his eyes. Looking around, he saw the Nicosian captive scarily staring back at him, eerily whispering, “Ly… an-n-n-n… ha.”

Blood rushed into his burning cheeks. His brain felt singed. What was happening? Crawling closer on all fours to the Nicosian, he spoke the name Lyanna.

The Nicosian smiled. Deacon heard
Ly
 
.
 
.
 
.
an-n-n-n
 
.
 
.
 
.
ha
in his mind, but the savage spoke not.

Travers had just exited the shuttle and was grasping the handrails for stability. Deacon motioned to him. “Travers, come here.” Just as Travers did so, the savage again said, “Ly… an-n-n-n-n… ha.”

“Who is Lyan-n-n… na?”

“A dear friend. I was just reminiscing about her in my dreams when I awoke to hear this creature calling her name. I can’t believe what is happening. This creature, primitive as it is, can hear my thoughts that I project to it. Let’s try an experiment. You sit over there, and I will sit here, and both of us will mentally scream ‘Landrew’ to the savage.”

Before long, the Nicosian said, “Lan-n-n… rooo.”

Travers wittily said, “Hey, Deacon, he has-s-s-s my stutter too. Bravo.”

“That’s it! He hears what I send to him. I can transmit thoughts to him. The Nicosians are susceptible to mind implants. Incredible. These specimens are low on the evolutionary scale, but this portion of the brain is advanced enough to capture mental transmissions. What a puzzle. They seem to be surprisingly evolved in their mental abilities, yet so physically beastial.”

They tested the savage repeatedly, and the savage passed each challenge. When Gem and Jim returned from their scanning exercises, Deacon astonished them with his discovery. Suddenly, Deacon felt tremors pummel his body. “Travers, I have a theory. Come with me, dear friend. Gem, Quobit—I need you to stay here with the Nicosian but monitor Travers and me. Jim, take the shuttle, ride to the
Heritage
, and bring the
Heritage
back immediately, as close as you can for us to depart, as near as you can to this exact spot. I am taking Travers for one last venture to the ridge.” Deacon was in an exhilarated state as the twosome made their way back a short distance to entrance to the caves and then navigated upslope through the connected caverns, emerging on the ledge overlooking the plains.

Deacon took Travers’s hand and led him to the very edge of the cliff. Orange hues on the plain below reminded him of a more familiar time of an Anglo spring. A slight warm breeze blew softly in their faces. After a brief interlude, Deacon stood, his hands on hips, to say, “Travers, look at this setting. A ledge high above the plains for all below to see. Behind us and along the ledge’s edge, fires are set to accentuate the setting. The lighting of the torches immediately captures the attention of all below as it sparkles in magnificent colors.

“Then”—he hesitated for effect—“onto this sill comes a being—Urzel. Or perhaps whoever is here just gives the command ‘Urzel.’ Whether it is the name of someone or a command itself, it is effective. The Nicosians hear the word because they are given the word mentally, and they respond with obedience to it. It matters not how distant they are from the cliff. Let us assume that they respond.

“Either the hooded ones represent this being or they enforce his commands. Somehow, in his absence, they are the authoritative figures and are given laser guns to promulgate respect through fear. The hood and gun bring fear into the natives—in particular, the non-converts. Respect is passed from tribe to tribe through fear. Fear, Travers, is the policing agency.

“These people are admittedly low on the evolutionary scale, but somehow they have this advanced area of the brain to receive mental energy.” Travers stared back with a curious expression. “What do you think?” He answered not.

Deacon continued. “But the huge question is, why bother to control these people at all? They are so primitive. Our villains obviously thought this an ideal place to stash their booty. They could come and go without being threatened by these savages. Why bother to arm them? These poor savages have not the knowledge to be trained to fight in a space war with the Alliance. Can’t navigate ships. And how do the deaths of Geor and Como fit into the mystery here?”

As puzzling as all this was, Deacon stepped to the edge, and chills filled his body. Something evil had stood here; he had a strong sensation—call it intuition, a lucky guess, but it had been here. And Travers was a part of this demon’s plan. But how? To be programmed for deadly deeds?

Travers joined him and had read every thought by Deacon, including the part about the deadly deeds. Now the thoughts of Travers turned to sorrow. He started to collapse, and Deacon grabbed him. “I know not what par-r-r-r… rt I play in this evil, but I know that… t-t I have met it. Please help me, Deac-c-c… con. Please. You are right. I know that I have been here before on this ledge.”

Deacon was overcome with Travers’s grief. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will help you with all the strength that I can.”

What would Landrew think if he could see them now? Clinging to each other for strength, tears welling in their eyes, light-years from Earth on a planet of savages, awaiting a force more powerful than any known to mortals. Deacon didn’t believe in the devil, so with the comforting thought of Jim and Gem and Quobit by his side, he was ready to see this so-called devil exposed before him. However, he worried about Travers. What spell had the devil cast upon him? What power did he hold over him?

Panic

Jim, as planned, had left in the small shuttle to retrieve the
Heritage
, planning to return for their departure. But once back at the campsite, Deacon’s heart broke into a thump, as Gem, Quobit, and the Nicosian had vanished. He didn’t dare call out for them. Travers too expressed alarm at the situation as he sobbed.

Deacon positioned the distressed Travers next to the embers at the campsite, ordering him to remain there while he scurried around the perimeter in a quick sortie, carefully and methodically covering different areas to locate Gem and Quobit. Using the televiewer as Gem had taught him, he panned the horizon in all directions, searching hopelessly for the pair as pitch darkness set in. Suddenly, a dim light caught his attention at the back side of the mount. Focusing on the shapes, Deacon panicked. “Oh my dear Anglo!”

A small spaceship had landed silently, and it was not the
Heritage
and Jim. It more closely resembled a bulbous fleet spacer of Aralian build. From it, beings were emerging, cloaked in darkness, looking like bugs circling about, indeterminate numbers of them now on the ground, walking clearly upright into the cave by way of the back entrance, walking to where the arms were stored and to where they had just left. He had to take one chance and so used his pager to summon Gem. “Gem, where are you?” No reply. “Gem. Gem.” No reply. He waited, slumping and hiding behind a sharp, rocky obtrusion. He typed in an urgent message on his handheld. No response from the Owler; Deacon broke into a sweat. Then he raced back to Travers, keeping in the shelter of the rocks. He had to pray that Gem and Quobit, wherever they were, also saw the craft and were taking the necessary precautions to hide, maybe even too close to the craft to answer. Meanwhile, reality sunk in that the prime directive of protecting him had been violated. He felt naked for the first time. How secure he was when the Owlers were present, and now a false invincibility! Deacon ordered Travers to put a hooded robe on while he clambered up onto a rock buttress for one last search in vain for Gem. He dared not risk contacting Jim at a higher frequency for fear of the risk of interception of the message by the visitors. It was clear that Gem had flagrantly abandoned him. But why? What impactful event had happened at the campsite in their absence? Had aliens secured Gem and Quobit? “No. Eradicate that thought,” Deacon said out loud.

Travers became alarmed, increasingly agitated. “Take me home. H-h-h-he-e-e-e comes.” Travers shivered and shook vehemently.

“Who?”

“Evil nears, I fe-e-e… e-el him.” Travers grabbed Deacon by both arms. “Oh Deac… on-n-n-n, he comes. We die here.”

Deacon had no intention of admitting to Travers that he too was feeling a bout of panic amplifying within him. One of them had to maintain his composure. Deacon knew that having come this far, it would be advantageous to take a peek at this so-called devil. He strained to find Gem and Quobit once more while Travers watched the camp. He was interrupted by Travers’s calls.

“Deacon, he is near! The d-d-d… devil! Deacon.” Deacon flew to his side and then peered from their campsite. Sure enough, it looked like the strangers were making their way uphill toward them; this was confirmed by the path of their torches. Had Gem betrayed them? Or had Travers signaled them quite subconsciously? Had they heard Travers’s calls? Deacon’s mind spun in confusion.

There was only one saving solution until Jim could discover Deacon by tracking his heartbeat; they had to descend into the throngs below with the use of their hooded garbs to protect them. Deacon was sure this would work. Deacon smeared dirt on Travers’s face, bundled the hood and clothing tightly around him to hide his Aralian fur, clutched his hand, and tugged at him, guiding him lower and lower onto the plains. They had to travel rapidly and disappear into the masses at once. Toward the end they lost their footing and tumbled the last one hundred feet to land firmly against a boulder, where Deacon bruised his arm. Travers was sitting upright. “We must flee,” he said

“Travers, listen to me,” said Deacon. Travers appeared groggy. “Do not let go of my hand. We must hide in the multitude of savages. It is our only salvation.”

Travers’s eyes brimmed with horror. “No. I can’t. I w-w-w… won’t.”

“We must. We will soon be in sight of the people on the ledge. They may have already discovered our campsite. Quobit and Gem and the captive are nowhere to be found. They must have been distracted by an important mission. Jim is retrieving the
Heritage
. We must save ourselves. We must move into the throngs, Travers. Now!”

Deacon was much stronger than Travers in his frail condition, so he found himself tugging and manipulating their path. “Quickly, Travers. To save our lives! Trust me!”

As the pair made their way onto the plains, Deacon continued to take a direction opposite the ledge, not daring to look back, stepping briskly toward the rear of the pack. The hooded clothes had to be their salvation. He stopped to tuck himself better inside the robe and pull the hood over his head tightly. He became frightened when he heard Travers say, “He is he-e-e-e… er-r-r-re.” At the sound of Travers’s mesmerizing whispered voice, Deacon turned to see the little trader’s body in total spasms, his hands shaking, his face frozen in fear, his chest heaving, his body breathing in short quakes, a sob following each heave. Tears streamed down his cheeks and fell onto the ground and onto his garment.

Deacon needed a confirmation. “Who is here?” He moved only inches in front of Travers and whispered again. “Who is here?”

“Ur-r-r-r-r-r… zel.”

“How do you know this? You have been telling me you don’t know the meaning of the word. You have been raving about the Crawnshee and now suddenly you remember Urzel.”

Travers’s raspy tone scared Deacon. “I am-m-m-m-m remembering now. Remembering him. I feel him near.”

“No time to waste, Travers; we must stop conversing. Look at me.” He established eye contact. “I am going to drag you into these masses. Do not resist me. We must hide among the savages to save ourselves. Do not let go of my hand. I will walk out in front. Whatever happens, do not look back, do not let go, and hold tightly onto my hand. Do you understand? And don’t let your hood fall down.” He saw a faraway, glassy look in Travers’s eyes. Unfortunately Travers did not acknowledge Deacon’s commands.