The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (29 page)

“I will count every minute of your absence,” said Deacon.

“Set your hand weapon to kill, Master; you too, Quobit. I promise a speedy return within minutes.” With that, Gem paced out of the cave.

Minutes seemed like hours as Deacon propped himself up onto a rock deep inside the cave’s mouth; Quobit fought off sleep and kept vigil closer to the entrance. A short time later, Deacon heard the familiar sound of talus falling over the entrance to the cave again. He hoped that meant Gem and Jim had returned for their rescue, but it was not the case. Two Nicosians, husky in stature, stood at the entrance to the adit. Deacon cursed his bad luck, slithered down, retreated, and pumped up his courage as he fondled his weapon. Quobit repositioned herself behind a large rock ninety feet from him.

Deacon pulled his hood over his face, tied his robe, and aroused Travers and urged him to do the same. Quobit hid and watched as Travers and Deacon stood to face the intruders while bracing the concealed weapon. Deacon was hoping that the intruders would respect them and retreat. Travers, still groggy, leaned beside Deacon, looking for support.

The tactic didn’t work. Six more beings entered, the hairy beings covered in a slimy foam, their fangs protruding, their limbs suspended by their sides, a gurgling sound in their throats. They were not discouraged by the robes of Deacon and Travers. In suspense the Nicosians stood there, about forty feet from Deacon and Travers, until without warning they lunged at Travers. Before Deacon could react, they were dragging Travers outside as he squealed, probably to rip him to shreds. Deacon yelled out of instinct, thinking that as a hooded creature the natives might pay attention to him. It was to no avail, as the claws of one beast tore Travers’s garment off and then proceeded to bite into his shoulder as the Aralian screamed for help. Quobit emerged and fired into the masses just as three of them lunged at her legs, trying to topple her massive physique.

Deacon had never killed anyone before. This was it. Even this situation required extraordinary efforts as he witnessed the attack on his friend. But in the one second that he delayed, a Nicosian turned and vaulted on top of Deacon, grabbing him by the back with its claws, knocking the gun out of Deacon’s grip. Greasy hair smothered Deacon’s face as the tight grip around his chest pressed a rush of air out of his body cavity. Mustering up strength, Deacon chopped with his fingers and hands into the being’s eyes, causing his assailant to release his grip momentarily.

Deacon scampered for the gun, turned, and then fired directly into his attacker, only to have the assailants of Travers break their grip on Travers and charge him. The first to reach Deacon butted him in the chest, stunning him. He was helpless as the second Nicosian came at him, mounted him, and readied his fangs for an attack on his head, a look of triumph in his eyes. He commenced to lunge at Deacon’s throat.

Deacon grabbed the laser and found the trigger just in time, firing a ray into the creature’s neck. The savage rolled over and over, murmuring, until Deacon fired again to put it out of its misery. A Nicosian then tackled him from behind. Quobit, meanwhile, was saved by her tough skin, as the bites of the three Nicosians found no flesh to tear. She fired into the chests of two of them and wrestled free from another to deliver a fatal block across its neck. Then she raced to Deacon’s rescue by chopping the Nicosian in the back and kicking him across the cave. The last one lumbered out of the cave as Deacon collapsed rather than follow.

Their sympathies immediately turned to Travers, whose purple plasma was flowing freely from the wounds inflicted on his shoulder and torso. Deacon ripped his hood off and bandaged the cut crudely. The sight of blood, plasma, and raw flesh made him woozy. In an instant, two figures were at his side, and the familiar thin outlines of Jim and Gem became clear to him. “Relax. Master, we are here to escort you to the
Heritage
. We cannot move, however, until the wounds of Travers and Quobit have been properly attended to.” Deacon watched as Jim coated Travers’s shoulder wound with a gel much like the substance applied to Deacon’s neck in the library. As Jim did so, Deacon remained at Travers’s side, cradling his head in his arms. The expelled blood stained his beautiful Aralian fur, turning it green as it oxidized. He held Travers tighter, not understanding the severity of the cuts as Jim played medic. “How serious are his wounds?”

“Travers is in critical condition. We must move him immediately to the nearest medical facility for attention, or unfortunately he may die. He is expelling plasma at a rate greater than the efficiency of the gel cover. I am sorry to tell you this news, Master.”

“Quobit, are you all right?”

“My arms ache where the savages tried to bite me, but my tough, leathery skin saved me. I’m not good eats on too many planets. I also bruised my knees and thigh.”

Jaws

So they left, Gem toting Travers, Quobit assisting Deacon, and Jim locking laser guns on any approaching targets. It was a grueling hike to the
Heritage
as they engaged a long, circuitous route to avoid Urzel’s henchmen. The incline was too steep for Deacon to endure, so he stopped to rest with Quobit while Gem, Jim, and Travers pressed ahead and eventually moved out of sight. He required a break, so he lay prostrate with Quobit at his side. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said. “You are a ferocious fighter.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I will be proud to tell this story to my children. I may ask you to join us remotely for effect.” As Deacon lay prone and gazed upward into the heavens, into the shadowy outlines above them, he saw the head of one of the monstrous creatures from days ago. The long neck was extended over the cliff, the peculiar oblong-shaped head bobbing and searching below. He stood to dust himself off and stepped to get a better view. As he did so, footsteps and voices caught his attention below. There was a band of Nicosians gaining on them, heading up the incline. When he turned for one last glance at the creature, two sad, sorrowful eyes looked back at him.

Then, in a split second, the head, jaws open, swooped down to where he stood and continued a hundred feet below. Quobit and he quickly ducked behind a rock as they felt its torrid, hot, stinking breath pass by. As they pressed themselves against the rock face, with the head yet rocketing downward, Deacon witnessed the jaws of the monster lock into an unsuspecting Nicosian who had just climbed in front of them. The Nicosian tried to bite into the tough flesh of the creature’s neck to no avail.

With a bloodcurdling roar, the head and neck bit into the lower torso as the Nicosian wailed from his bowels, exhaling his last yelps. Suddenly the Nicosian was bolted skyward in an instant, the jaws still locked into him. The legs of the savage dangled for a second in front of Deacon as the sound of pitiful cries stunned him. Deacon looked at Quobit and said, “I order an immediate withdrawal.” Long after, they heard other Nicosians as they became the fodder of the predator. Deacon’s desire to see other specimens of this long-necked creature had suddenly diminished.

Once in the shuttle, Deacon raced to the safety of his customary comfortable seat on the observation level. From here he could monitor Travers and inspect their flight. Meanwhile, the Owlers guided the
Heritage
into low altitude until they reached the far side of the planet, where they blasted into outer space. The navigation out of the forbidden zone was once again a difficult maneuver with abundant storms and dust clouds of extreme magnetic intensity causing havoc with the instruments. In Deacon’s dreams, he saw the terrible dinosaur-like creature pursuing them.

The Interface of Evil

Into the Sodern and beyond

The
Heritage
shifted lethargically into top thrust as Deacon assisted Gem in applying another sticky lamination of lime-green coagulant to Travers’s wound. The Aralian moaned as the stinging agent blistered his skin adjacent to the cuts. Deacon, on his haunches, guided the surficial bandage into place as Gem measured Travers’s pulse and biological signs. Then Travers was drugged by Gem, strapped into a reclining position, and attached to a monitor that displayed his vital body functions. With that accomplished, Gem attended to the scratches on Deacon’s back. His skin froze and stung as Gem applied a fast-healing glaze.

“Will Travers live?” Deacon asked.

“He has lost a great deal of blood, Master.”

“Is there anything that I can do to save him? Perhaps offer my blood?”

Gem wrapped bandages tightly around Travers’s chest and applied a gel to his neck wound. “No, Travers requires Aralian-compatible blood. Sorry.” While the two mortals lay side by side on the same cot, suffering, the robots navigated the ship carefully through the electrical wasteland. Deacon passed out. Later, as he opened his eyes, a blurry outline of Jim came into focus.

“Master, we are being followed by a spaceship currently two thousand miles distant. It contains five occupants and is matching our every move.” Jim used his outstretched arms to signify the distance.

“Are we still in the cosmic storms?”

“Yes, and we shall be for many hours more.”

“What type of vessel is it?”

“Master, it is impossible to determine what type of craft it is with all the spatial interference.”

“Do you think it was launched from Nix?”

“Most certainly. We are distant from any approved space routes and livable planets.”

“Is the
Heritage
equipped with any weapons?”

“The
Heritage
has minimum standard issue for a ship like this. They include neutron guns and electron-radiant torpedoes, all designed to defend and disarm as opposed to fight a battle. The
Heritage
was built to defend and escape, not attack, sire.”

Gem joined them and said to Deacon, “We have limited fuel to burn other than what we need to transport us to the nearest refueling dock back at Thous. And there is another problem; we cannot achieve maximum speed.”

“Why not?”

“One of the primary fuel engines is blocked, preventing the optimum fuel mixture from being formulated. Perhaps the
Heritage
has taken in too much space dust from the storms above Nix.”

“Jim, can our computer guide a repair robot to execute repairs to the engine?”

“The repair robot must be sent outside, but only when the
Heritage
is at a complete stop. One alternative we have is to hide in a dust nebula nearby. Even then, we had better pray that the robot does not malfunction because of the interference caused by lightning and small particulate matter, and that the engines don’t take in any more dust.”

Deacon grinned. “
Pray
. You said
pray
, Jim. That’s a word in your vocabulary, is it, Jim? A logical, unemotional word?”

Jim did not hesitate to reply. “Pray we must, Master Deacon, for we cannot outrun our pursuers with this blockage to the engine’s fuel system, so the probability exists that they will overtake us. Thus it seems logical for you, Quobit, and Travers to pray for our best outcome.”

Deacon mulled over the situation. They couldn’t stop and fight. They couldn’t outrun the other ship to escape. “Okay. Hide the ship in the nearest dust nebula. Send the robot outside to make the repairs. Put up our disruptive magnetic shields to try to block their scanners and hide our mass. As difficult as it is, try to plot the track of the other ship.”

Jim made a serious overture. “I will spare no effort to reach the nebula. This is a risky venture. And our magnetic shields won’t be required, as all instrumentation on their ship and ours will be at a loss in the cloud.”

The puzzle

Deacon laid back and faced Travers, who was snoring and mumbling. The short jaunt in the
Heritage
was like the Manchestry rides in Anglo, a delightful, exhilarating experience Deacon had experienced years ago with his parents, in which drops from the sky were simulated. No feelings were untouched as the ship accelerated, decelerated, jumped, lurched, and dropped until they eventually came to an abrupt halt in a pitch-black sector stabbed every sixty seconds with tempestuous lightning bolts. Quobit and Deacon unbuckled and made their way to the console and observed as Gem said to Deacon, “Sire, we have dispatched a robot outside to repair the damage. Now we sit and wait until repairs are complete.”

Quobit asked, “Any sign of the other ship?”

“From our last readings, the other ship was drawing closer; we will have to rely on our cover and their inability to navigate inside this cloud to save us. They will be temporarily hopeless to locate our position.”

Deacon thought about the term
close
.
Three
thousand
miles?
Two
thousand
miles?
He turned to the screen to watch the proceedings outside. The robot appeared as a spindly spider: six huge suction cups ensuring its footing, numerous mechanical arms like tentacles, antennae wavering back and forth.

“Master,” Gem said to Deacon, “there is puzzling news for you.” His lack of response prompted Gem to issue another statement. “Master.” Gem took Deacon by the elbow to gain his attention. “I recorded a strange heartbeat on my instruments while I searched for you and Travers on Nix. I recorded the heartbeat of another Earthling.”

Deacon was now riveted. “What? One of Urzel’s accomplices?”

A panel opened in Gem’s torso and displayed the biological data on the screen. Quobit approached and leaned over to observe closely. “Here is the graph of the heartbeat that I recorded. It is undisputedly that of an Earthman, judging by all the characteristic peaks and troughs. Observe the charted rhythm of the body chemistry too.” Gem guided Deacon’s glance and Quobit’s puzzlement along the wiggles with explanations.

“Are you sure that it was not me that you recorded?”

Gem delivered the punch line stoically. “No. It was he, Master Deacon—the being that stood on the mount to deliver the sermon. The one who ordered the chase, the one who held the savage Nicosians and Travers spellbound. The heartbeat recorded belongs to him.”

“Impossible!” Deacon again felt that prickliness on the back of his neck.

“It was he, Master. There is no mistake. My conclusion from data analysis is that Urzel is an Earthling.”

“It can’t be! No Earthlings have ever been observed to possess the mental powers that you and I observed on Nix! There is no record of such a one as this in the catalogs on Brebouillis. I examined the logs myself. And Schlegar and Lyanna never mentioned an Earthling with powers such as these! They would have informed me of such a… being… a creature who can project his powers over great distances and hold thousands captive with his mind.”

Gem gingerly printed the graphs and presented them to Deacon just as his shoulders twitched from an icy shock. He accepted the evidence, examined it, but was visibly upset. “Damn your graphs, Gem! Urzel cannot be an Earthling. A being born with these powers could not have gone unnoticed. It would have been captured in the records on Earth or Brebouillis for sure. And what about those glowing red eyes? No Earthling has red pigmentation like that.”

Then, recognizing the inability of the Owler to tell a lie, recognizing that Gem was not influenced by anything other than facts, and recognizing Gem’s furtive, fixed, honest stare, Deacon swallowed hard, gasped, and then sat down in his chair, confused and speechless, as Gem proceeded to tell the baffled Deacon and the puzzled Quobit the significance of each of the peaks and troughs in the printout once again. Gem’s digits moved fluently to and fro about the page of data. Deacon peered up into the face of the machine. Gem stared back.

Quobit took up Deacon’s cause. “Gem, there must be some other explanation. Earth has monitored all Earthlings born on Earth and elsewhere on other planets. Those who have these mental powers and any extraordinary powers should be known by now, and the exploits would be recorded in medical journals. Deacon told me earlier of your investigations in the library on Earth. I also had the chance to visit with my friend Lyanna about such matters.” Turning to face Gem, Deacon convincingly added, “Lyanna and Schlegar told me nothing of such an Earthman! Landrew would have told of his existence. I trust these people. My conclusion is that Urzel cannot be an Earthling!”

“Please consider this, Master. The records do not lie. The heartbeat and the metabolism both support and confirm that Urzel is conclusively an Earthling.”

Deacon sighed and sank. “I accept this with great reservation, Gem. However, what we witnessed is a quantum leap above any powers known. How can quantum leaps in evolution occur?”

“Do you wish me to speculate, Master?”

“No. I will debate with you later about the possibilities that this presents. Please assist Jim with the repairs and our new travel plans.”

Gem’s gait was smoother than Jim’s. After the Owler glided down the stairs and out of sight, Deacon sat for a long while. Quobit made some observations, but he didn’t hear her. He eventually turned to face her. “This is no assignment for a mortal Earthman like me, Quobit. I am but a pawn in this plot, sent for some deeper purpose still unknown to me. As the plot unfolds, it is becoming clear to me that we must place the ultimate trust in the Owlers to survive, for we have become the hunted.”

Tears welled in his eyes. His loneliness, which he so often felt consumed by at Moonbeam, now threatened to wreak havoc on his emotions here. “I was so elated, Quobit, to have escaped from Nix with our lives. But escape to what? The staggering, demoralizing truth that Urzel is an Earthman? The truth that the
Heritage
is now disabled?”

Outside, Deacon heard a thud as the robot clanged against the ship. The robot seemed to be concluding repairs, as its arms retracted, so Deacon moved to the control level.

Jim observed Deacon and addressed him. “Static electricity prevents us from obtaining a confident fix on the trailing vessel. It could be anywhere within striking distance. But something keeps moving out there, as evidenced by space distortions, drawing closer and closer.”

“Perhaps they lie in space outside the cloud in an advantageous position, waiting for us to depart.”

“Possible, sire. We will have expert detection systems when the dust thins at the edge of the nebula, and an expert race driver—me, naturally—to guide us.” Deacon smiled at Jim’s confidence. “I suggest you return to secure yourself, Master.”

Deacon climbed the steps, leaving the Owlers. He then drifted into a restless nap, starving for the English coast, wishing to put an end to this madness, daydreaming until Quobit sat down.

“How are your wounds?” Deacon inquired.

“The Owler bandaged them well. Jabu mass has very little of what you call blood or plasma, so I don’t bleed. It is more the pain of the intrusion of sharp fangs into my muscle and bone mass that causes internal injuries.”

Suddenly the
Heritage
was severely jolted. Deacon quickly descended to the lower level, where Jim was guiding the robot into the
Heritage
.

“What was that?” Deacon asked.

“Had to retrieve our robot quickly, disregard the safety measures for demobilization. There are close space distortions that could possibly be the pursuing ship. Certainly there is an unknown object approaching. I dumped the robot into the
Heritage
in the maneuver.”

“Can we get a shape to this object?”

“Impossible to determine the outline. It could be a meteorite, our pursuers, just a space density anomaly, or—”

“Okay, I get the picture, Jim.”

“One last step.”

“Get us out of here now.”

“Yes. Calm down, Master.”

Deacon decided to join them on their level and strap himself beside Jim, who sat at the main controls, twisting his arm and plugging it into the hardware. Deacon wrapped himself in his arms to curb a chill as a strange shiver navigated from the base of his torso to his neck. On the screen, a gray blob appeared.

“Something’s wrong,” Deacon said. “It is possible that Travers may have inadvertently led the diabolical creature here? Oh no. Fool that I am not to have seen this! The spell over Travers is too deep. I witnessed it on Nix. Oh my God of Anglo, Travers has led him here, right to us. Get us out of here now, Jim!”

“Master, I am navigating as quickly as I can.”

Unexpectedly, Travers hailed Deacon from the deck above. He was standing at the top of the stairs, casting a wild-eyed gaze on the threesome below, staggering, his wounds now spotting blood through the bandages. “He is here. He is-s-s… s-s-s-s here.”

Quobit corralled Travers’s body just as he slumped.

“Gem, you must drug Travers. Render him unconscious as long as the foreign ship nears.” As Gem ascended to help Quobit attend to Travers, Deacon, through parted lips, whispered, “My friend, please hang on to hope.” Then he asked of Jim, “How long to top speed?”

“Not until we move out of the electrical cloud. It is too dangerous to accelerate now. Secure yourself tightly, please.” As Jim directed the ship to the nearest exit out of the cloud, Deacon eyed the monitor in front of Jim in time to see the object change course to duplicate their move. Gem joined them.

“Do they gain on us?”

“Yes, sire, slowly but definitely.”

“Even with the repaired engines?”

Jim delayed his response but eventually spoke. “Yes.”

“We have to take a chance. Get us out of here, Jim.”

“No, sire, the engines are cold and the magnetic and electr—”

“I order you. Do it! Or we perish.”

“My prime function is to protect you. The odds of navigating through the nebula at top speed are not in our favor: approximately six thousand eight hundred and five to one. Uncharted meteors and gravity bunches may block our way. The engines could not respond in time to correct the path. Your life cannot be risked.”