The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (11 page)

Gem answered. “Morris Mydloan, alias the Wireman, alias Mad Morris.”

It was difficult for Deacon to speak. “Yes, I… I… I testified against him years ago in a felony charge, but that was many, many years ago. How did he gain entry into the library?”

Again Gem replied. “I found this top-level security access eye lens on his body. I checked, sire, and it was reported stolen by Alliance Security Forces weeks ago.”

Deacon examined the security lens while laying prostrate as Landrew looked sheepishly down at him. Deacon eyed Rande. “Rande, what were you doing in the library?”

“I came to invite you to dinner, provide a relaxing interlude from your rigorous week. Gem cleared me before I entered. I took the lift to the lower level, and I was on my way to find you when I heard your screams for help. I followed the sounds, eventually running into Gem. I was standing behind Gem when the Owler fired.”

Deacon was angry. He stood up with Gem’s help. “My testimony years ago provided no incentive for this man to seek me out to murder me. So what does that tell us?” Deacon espied the body. “Indeed, he was after me because of this investigation and not any prior incident.” He looked at Landrew. “I don’t like the security arrangements.”

“I am so sorry,” said Landrew. “Are you planning to depart tonight?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I saw Jim loading the metro car as I arrived.”

“I… I don’t know. I do know that I wish to be left alone. I respectfully ask each of you to leave us.”

Landrew was concerned and apologetic. “Again, Deacon, sincerely, I am so sorry that security has been breached. I came with Dreveney to just socially provide encouragement and our support for your mission and determine what you have learned to date. We arrived after Rande and the incident and were cleared by Gem previously to enter.”

Rande was shaken. “I apologize to you, Deacon. This theft of the lens worries me. I will launch an immediate investigation. We will find out how it came to be in Mydloan’s possession, and I will send a report to Gem of our findings.”

The medic intervened to provide instructions on caring for his neck wound. Dreveney hugged Deacon once again. Rande abandoned his dinner invitation. Landrew instructed his personal security Owler to alert forces to remove the body and clean up the mess in the library.

“Gem, is he dead?”

“Quite so. As required when your life is threatened, I set my Vishup50 to Kill.”

“Gem, do you believe that I was the victim?”

“Yes. Mydloan did not hesitate. If I had delayed, he would have killed you.”

“Is it true that Rande had clearance from you? Did he lead you to me?”

“I encountered Rande at the entrance. I gave him clearance and indicated where he might locate you. As your emergency signal alerted me, I ran to your rescue and intercepted Rande. We followed together when we heard you scream. As he stated, he was with me when I fired.”

“Does the body have any identification tags? Any ID cards?”

“Absolutely nothing. I searched it thoroughly. We have a record of Mydloan’s fingerprints and skin DNA in your data files, which I house. It was those files that provided a match and gave clues to his identity.”

“I want to depart immediately. Is everything in order?”

“Yes. I will convey your desire to Jim. The coordinates are set for the Vesper station at Brebouillis. We have the gear packed, except for the last load that Landrew saw Jim loading.” Landrew interrupted their dialogue to extend his hand. With a firm grip, he solemnly said, “Good luck. I feel as insecure over this incident as you do. The Owlers will protect you.”

Deacon ignored the arriving officials and Owlers and responded to Landrew as Jim arrived. “Landrew, if Gem and Jim and I are to proceed with this journey further, I want our travel plans to remain secretive. Therefore, I order you right now to answer my query. Do Jim and Gem have any implanted devices in their hardware that allow Alliance Security to track our whereabouts at all times?”

Neither Jim nor Gem hesitated as they answered truthfully before Landrew spoke. “Yes,” the Owlers stated in unison.

Deacon stared at Landrew. “Then I order you, Landrew, to instruct the Owlers to dismantle the transmitters. Remove them at once.”

Landrew shook his head. “Not wise. What if Alliance forces are required to rescue you?”

“Landrew, in light of what happened here tonight, I came within seconds of having your Alliance forces scrape up my remains. Don’t lie to me or deceive me or counter me on this.” Deacon’s voice conveyed his urgency and request. Landrew tightened his lips and squinted back.

“Landrew, you are the one who said that Gem and Jim report to me, yet it looks like the Owlers are awaiting your command to dismantle the tracking implements.”

Landrew looked at each Owler and nodded; he then instructed them to remove the devices. Gem first moved behind Jim and opened a hatch in Jim’s back and spent one minute, pulling out a small disc. When finished, Jim then likewise did the same for Gem. Landrew was the recipient of both of the mechanisms.

“Thank you,” said Deacon.

“Good-bye, my friend. I want to see you again.” Landrew clenched his fist around the devices and departed.

Deacon abruptly returned to his room and bent back the swath of skin on his neck, examining the cut that might scar him for life. Through the translucent vanilla cream, the dried spotted blood showed a perfect horizontal break in the flesh from the wire.

“It was too coincidental; you were the target,” he heard from behind him. “We won’t let this happen again, Master.” He whisked around to find the Owlers. Jim, beside Gem, nodded to concur with Gem’s comments. He now knew that they were his true friends.

“Let’s depart immediately. I’ll meet you at the metro car soon.”

As Gem and Jim made the last preparations, he took a last nervous walk through the corridors. Guilt surfaced in him as he realized all that he had taken, having left nothing in return. He walked out the main copper doors through which he had entered one week ago, descending the steps after eyeing the activity around Mydloan’s dead body. Then he entered the metro car, glancing one last time at the museum and praying for his safe return. The vehicle sped into the black tubes under Liberty City.

After an hour of uncomfortable travel, the
Heritage
came into sight. She was a compact ship, stunning and elegant, 260 feet long. She was bathed in the bright colors of the Union of Space Traders, which Deacon read about: scarlet for aggressiveness, emerald green for courage, and white for purity and honesty. The letters of her name were written in bold gold. Two thin wings housed the rocket engines of the triple-decker. Deacon was impressed with the site of her dangling from the pier.

There was an attractive sleekness about this vessel with shiny curves oozing out of her shape. Deacon ascended up the lift, hustled aboard, and found the cozy living quarters to his taste. In addition to a wall screen that projected the 360-degree view of space into the ship, he had sleeping quarters, a computer room, a small dining area, and countless music selections at his disposal. The controls of the ship were on the middle deck; the lower deck contained fuel tanks, the machinery to operate her, and storage areas. But most of all, the
Heritage
was built for raw speed, and there was not a meter of wasted space inside.

As the Owlers issued the order for liftoff, sadness welled within him. He was leaving Mother Earth, maybe never to return again. His emotions conjured up fear and apprehension. This was not his strength—traveling around the galaxy, a vulnerable, fragile human specimen. He drank a portion of liquid to soothe his nerves as the engines purred.

The ship accelerated suddenly, the pull gluing him into his seat as they first lifted vertically out of port and then rocketed out of Earth’s orbit on their way to the Vesper station. It would be an overnight trip. After staying awake as long as he could to witness the last vestige of his beloved Earth, he tumbled into slumber, later awakening to find Gem standing beside him.

“We await your orders, sire. We are in line to Vesper to Brebouillis.”

Gem handed him the potion. How he hated the taste. He had endured it once before, when journeying to Globiana. Just before the dematerialization, he experienced a strange drunken feeling followed by a severe bout of nausea. There was no turning back. If there was a force out there waiting to capture him, to transport him to Nix, to bend this Vesper wave, and to render him insane, to even assassinate him, now was the chance for it to do so, and he was helpless to defend himself.

The
Heritage
Vespers

As dematerialization peaked, Deacon’s stomach churned, his cheeks were flush and rosy, and visions of pink clouds charged into his retinas. His body floated and then fell into a chasm as his stomach sailed into his mouth. His feet were swollen to three times their normal size, and the gray laces on his black shoes cut bloodily into the tops of his feet. Sharp pangs of pain drove into his fingers as his nails curled and perforated his flesh.

“Sit still. Relax,” said Gem. “Keep your eyes closed. Count backward from one hundred to one. Then stand ever so gingerly. Vespering is complete.”

“Where are we?”

“Near Brebouillis.” It had seemed as if only seconds ago he had been at Earth’s Vesper station. The drowsiness. The nausea. The disorientation. The aching. He tried to stand unsuccessfully and slumped back. Gem looked at him with the usual expressionless stare. Jim entered. “Do you have all your parts, Master?”

Deacon pinched his body in various places. “Yes. Yes, I do. What about you, Jim? Do you?”

“Definitely, sire.” Jim flashed a brief smile.

“I am human, Jim. There are times when it pays to be an Owler.”

“The disorientation will pass quickly if you do not overexert yourself. We shall return to the steering level to assist with docking on the moon Brebouillis.”

“No. Not yet.” He turned to face Gem. “Please, Gem, help me to my private room, for I think I shall be sick.” And after Gem left him in his silence, and for one hour after, he was.

In the Den of Insanity

Schlegar

In cramped quarters, three men sat. “Brebouillis is the fourth moon of the frigid planet of Aralia. Like the other cold, rocky, scarred satellites, Brebouillis was at one time a mining colony. However, Mr. Coombs, the ore became depleted and the moon’s fate plunged into abandonment. The government later saw that these facilities on this moon could be modified to house an insane asylum for criminals. But Brebouillis is unlike other institutions of its kind because the criminals and madmen here are terminally insane and extremely dangerous individuals. They come from all races throughout the Alliance, where life sentences were rendered as opposed to death. Thus the security system here is entirely handled by machines, some primitive robots, and some Owlers, and even by some computer functions. In addition, this institution often plays host to renowned doctors on sabbatical who find their studies of the insane of vast medical value.”

“Yes, while on Earth, I took note of some of the famous physicians who have served here.”

“This is the first stop of your capsule, I understand. What a pleasure to host you. I have read some of your cases. I love how you solved the disappearance of Avery Lorrel.”

“When all else fails, Dr. Schlegar, one must look to the obvious and operate within the limits of the data. Mr. Lorrel failed to take that into consideration when he planned his own disappearance to escape his punishment for embezzlement and therefore exposed himself to me. However, let us return to observing the crew of the
Sleigher
. I am grateful for the time afforded me by you.”

Dr. Schlegar turned away from Deacon. Deacon noted the signs of Aralian aging in him—the loss of hair, the turning of his bones to a light brown color, the slow speech impediment. “Temisori, can you hear me?” The demented, wrinkled face of Temisori stared blankly to a spot behind the two men. Deacon intersected the path of his gaze, leaning over into his hollow fix. Two unflinching beet-red eyes gave no recognition to those who invaded his solitary confinement in the small cell. The muscles of his torso gave a frequent flinch. The body was completely harnessed in the chair.

Deacon asked, “Temisori, if you can hear me, nod your head.”

Dr. Schlegar turned to Deacon. “He will not respond.”

“But he has not lost his sense of hearing, Dr. Schlegar, for I examined his charts upon entry.”

“True, Mister Coombs. He hears us but he will not respond.” Schlegar was confident. “His brain does not provide the data that will allow him to formulate a response.”

“You’re telling me that he has suffered permanent brain damage?”

“Yes and no. On the contrary, the brain itself is in perfect physical condition, except for a small amount of scar tissue at the base of the organ. What I am trying to tell you is that the brain is empty. There is the possibility that there is no information to reply with.”

Deacon felt sympathetic toward what had been an Aralian being and was now an empty shell. The skin was withered on his neck too; deep longitudinal furrows scarred along the arms. Most of the beautiful Aralian hair had been shed from his chest area. “Has he ever displayed any feelings?”

“He has wept on occasion, and chanted, but largely he sits in his straitjacket, staring into space. When we release him, he paces the cage.”

“What do you suppose created this condition?”

“I don’t know. The government wants us to maintain our watch of this crew from the
Sleigher
as top priority. The rest of the crew is just like him, sedate and brooding and unresponsive. Let me, however, offer you three scenarios that may be proved or disproved over time. Come, let us walk back to my office.” Deacon noticed guards at regular posts and cameras strategically positioned along the corridors. He slowed his gait to allow Schlegar to keep pace.

“My specialty, Mister Coombs, is illnesses of the mind, no matter what the race. I have spent enough time here to achieve tenure as the senior director.” Deacon had already taken an instant liking to this burly, fat Aralian man with a slow, gimpy walk. Schlegar’s sense of humor and satire was a gift of compassion in his profession.

The halls of the institution were wide, painted in cheerful colors to offset the morose environment. Owlers were omnipresent, performing chores, escorting patients to therapy, delivering medicines, spying, and escorting residents to and from cells. Schlegar acknowledged each Owler, saluted each doctor. His entire rear mass shifted horizontally from his left across his body to his right side with every creeping step. “One of my current research projects centers on reversing insanity.”

“Wow!” Deacon stopped in his tracks. “And I thought I had a tough task.”

“Some of the patients have been selected as guinea pigs for my new research, Temisori being one of them.” They reached Schlegar’s lab. “It could be that all knowledge in Temisori’s brain has been removed by an instrument or a power unknown to us. We have devices that can alter brain power, but not this show of extermination.” Deacon immediately thought of alien invasion again.

“Secondly, his mind may be possessed with one single thought. Perhaps something terrifying that occurred on Nix. It preoccupies him day and night, and prohibits response functions from reacting; thus the brain appears empty.” Deacon gazed up to the monitor into Temisori’s room. What horrible thing had happened on Nix?

“Or this may be a psychosis, a disease of the mind, contracted by the crew on Nix. It could be cellular damage without cellular disarrangement. Every planet has different bacteria, fungi, viruses. They may have contracted a host unknown to us that is either feeding on the brain or impeding it.”

Deacon broke in. “Any chance that this crew are all good actors, awaiting the triumphant return of Travers?”

“Huh! So you do consider all possibilities, don’t you? If this is good acting, then it is the greatest in the Alliance, and these men are wasting their time—they should take up politics!” The two men shared a moment of laughter in Schlegar’s crescendo.

On a somber note, Schlegar addressed Deacon’s idea. “Mr. Coombs, all of our tests tell us that these men are insane and possess brains that are not functioning.”

“You are the expert, so I shall accept your verdict. Do the others suffer from the same symptoms as Temisori?”

“Identical.” He proceeded to open a monitor on the desk to illustrate his point using ray diagrams. “See here.” Withdrawing glasses from his lab coat pocket and perching them on the end of his pointy, ruddy snout, he indicated a dark patch in the brain scan. “This small amount of cellular damage should not affect the brain’s function.”

“So is the brain empty or overridden by one dominating thought?”

Schlegar peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. “The conclusions, my dear fellow, are frightening. The brain emits energy, and in front of you are the brain scans of all of the Aralian crew members. However, some of the characteristic energy peaks are entirely absent. As I stated before, the brain itself is in perfect condition, except for these small scars, but the brain is unable to function, thus leaving the subjects as vegetables because there is an absence of information. There is the absence of synapses.”

“How much of the profile is absent?”

“Oh, it varies, I would say… uh… 40 to 100 percent.”

Deacon was taken aback. Schlegar was somber. “When the first Aralian dies, we shall remove the brain specimen, dissect it, and pray to discover clues to this perplexing quandary. If the crisis upon us worsens with more deaths of members of the High Council, or future bouts of madness, like bending more Vesper beams, then as grisly as it seems, we may have to end the life of some of these poor souls earlier. I most favor the theory that the brain has some parts that have undergone a brain drain and the rest of the information is suppressed by one engrossing thought.”

“What about the missing bands of energy?”

“Well, I believe that certain sections of the brain have been shut down or just don’t have the information anymore. It probably is the result of something encountered on their terrifying journey. This seems like an appropriate time to introduce another topic.” He rose from his seat by the lab desk to retrieve a model of the Aralian brain.

Deacon furrowed his brow. “Did the autopsy of Como uncover any damage to his brain?”

“Autopsy? Mr. Coombs, in our culture, Aralians do not perform autopsies on any beings that have made significant contributions to society. The family of Como was quite insistent on this. The remains are reduced to ash and then scattered throughout the planet’s atmosphere to seed and germinate new life.” He directed Deacon’s attention to the model as Deacon let that thought sink in.

Deacon took a seat on a stool in the lab while Schlegar planted a model in front of them. “The Aralian brain is much smaller than the average Earthman’s brain, see, but admittedly more advanced. On your Earth in the 1920s, an Earthman first measured the electrical potential of the brain. The recordings are called an encephalogram. Earth now uses an Aralian technique to quantify this information. Measuring an electrical profile of the brain is a common practice throughout the Alliance. So commonplace has it become that it can be used as proof of security clearance. The emitted waves are in the form of alpha, beta, delta, theta, and epsilon waves. The terminology varies from planet to planet and species to species, but whether it comes from an Earthling, a Zentaurian, a Phlebite, or an Aralian, the energy is measured in millivolts. Don’t lose sight of the fact that we are talking about minute amounts of energy.”

Schlegar directed Deacon’s attention to the scans in front of him. “Aralians are similar to Earthmen in that we each have five peak energy areas. In this graph”—he pointed with his finger—“Temisori is missing distinct energy levels that should be present in even the lowest forms of life on Aralia. However, you already know much about this, Mr. Coombs.”

Sheepishly, Deacon said, “Well, what do you refer to?”

“You can receive brain waves of certain energy packages!”

“And how do you know this?”

“Mister Coombs, do not be angry. There are few who have your gift. The brain is my business. I have access to all the brain scan profiles of the entire population of the Alliance at my disposal. I was quick years ago to notice yours. But I won’t mislead you, for Landrew reminded me recently of your capability.”

Deacon was irritated. “I am not proud of this trait.”

“Please, you have been invited here so that we may aid you on your mission. It is not only important that you view the victims of the
Sleigher
but also that you understand your mental powers.” Schlegar decided to rise and slide his stool farther down the lab table to beside Deacon. He placed his arm around Deacon’s shoulders. Deacon knew that this was an Aralian custom to signify friendship and ask for trust.

“Schlegar, I did not come all the way to Brebouillis to hear a lecture on brain waves.”

Schlegar’s mint-laden breath permeated Deacon’s space as he leaned into him. “Be patient, my friend, while I address you. You need patience.” Deacon felt as though he was a pawn again, in some greater scenario.

Mindor

Schlegar began by informing Deacon about the details of his own medical background. As he did so, Deacon examined the doctor. He had soft white fur, sprinkled with dots of silver on his head and torso. With a small nose, perpetually uncombed disheveled hair, white gowns, and messy lab coat, he played the role of sage physician to perfection. Deacon stole a glimpse at the bare elastic muscles that held his pancake feet in position beneath his furry knees.

Schlegar continued. “When Aralians first encountered life forms alien to them, they discovered that these aliens were not all that much different from themselves. Oh sure, they appeared to be different because of the environment they had to adapt to, but we all require basic organs to survive. Consider, for example, the respiratory system. On Jabu, it is encased in thick membranes to protect itself from the infiltration of miniscule particles of dust. The planet Jabu has concentrations of dust particles that would prohibit you and me from existing there.”

Schlegar became animated. “On Zentaur, the body cavity is open to the atmosphere so vital gases can pass into the body by osmosis. Likewise, every specimen has a central organ for intelligence. This organ, which you call brain, comes in various shapes and sizes. The Bernardians call it
Ioj
; the Mendalgons refer to it as
Jonhonso
. No matter what the race, we have determined that this brain has negatively and positively charged areas. This sets up electrical differentials, measured, as I stated earlier, in millivolts.”

Deacon relaxed. Schlegar was enjoying the role of professor. “This energy also produces an associated magnetic field.” He produced a pen and pointed to a model in front of them displayed on a screen.

“Here at the base of the brain is the sector that allows one to capture and receive, and then translate, electrical impulses. Think of it as a transmitter and receiver. All brains receive energy. It is the purposeful transmission that has not entirely evolved. In the Alliance, the Medullans are most advanced in the evolution of passing mental thoughts between them and capturing them—but only between themselves because of their frequencies.”

“What do the Medullans receive? Electrical or magnetic energy?”

“They receive both. But only highly evolved species can take these receptions and translate the incoming energy to messages. The highest forms of evolution on Medulla communicate by pure electrical thought.”

“Are the energy signals transmitted by Medullans stronger? Or are their brains more evolved to decipher the signals?”

“Questions, questions. But very good ones. The brain energy emissions of the Medullans are the highest frequencies known in our worlds—and the strongest. This obviously coincides with the evolution of the species, which is the most advanced. Evolution over time performs the function of eradicating useless organs and evolving more important ones to become more durable. The Medullans retain ultimately only what they need by discarding useless organs and flesh through evolution.”