The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (12 page)

“And you think that I am a higher-evolved Earthling because I have some of this ability?”

“An emphatic yes! An emphatic no! Some parts of your body are behind evolution, for you were born with tonsils and an appendix, bodily pieces long vanished in most Earthmen. On the other hand, evolution has given you and a few others on Earth the power to receive and decipher brain waves from other human beings. Only a very few like yourself can translate these incoming packages.” Schlegar beamed. “Deacon Coombs, your gift is not unique, but rare on Earth. On Medulla, you would be much less than the norm; on Earth you are gifted.”

“It is an affliction!”

The doctor raised his voice. “I guarantee you not. You must learn to use your powers. Since medical research first realized the development of the receiver sector in the brain, everyone on Earth, everyone in the Tetrad Alliance, has been tested to record who has this ability. When the Alliance made this decision, it was because we had to know who might misuse this power for personal gain. People such as your father, since the trait is passed genetically, probably passed it to you.”

Deacon had never suspected this. He raised a hunch. “Landrew?”

“Yes. He and you deal with it in different ways.”

“Do Earth’s education systems monitor this gift to prevent criminal usage?”

“Exactly.”

“How can you personally be so sure that I have the power?”

“A short while ago, as we conversed, I turned on a machine. It emits thoughts as magnetic waves. It can also receive and translate. A thought was directed to you earlier by this machine—a thought that Landrew had this power.”

Deacon smirked. “So you send thoughts to unsuspecting victims via black boxes?”

“If I choose to do so, yes.”

“It is trouble enough to deal with humans, so now I have to fend off mind-twisting machines! Machines of this sort could be dangerous if they should fall into the wrong hands.”

“My dear Deacon.” Schlegar rose to open a small door to expose a small gray-and-black box with flashing dials. “There is only one Mindor.” Pride radiated from Schlegar as he spoke. Deacon saw them as master and mentor as Schlegar proceeded to pat Mindor gently on top.

“Does Mindor parallel the power of Medullans?”

“Mindor can be adjusted for any level of mental powers. I just have to know something about the ability of the subject to receive and transmit before I commence.”

“What percentage of Aralians have this ability?”

“Like Earthlings, very, very few.”

Deacon formulated a bold idea. “I think, Schlegar, that Brebouillis might very well be the Alliance agency for monitoring serious criminal activity and persons who misuse their mental powers for evil. It becomes logical to have a central repository for all brain scans, as you stated—a central library for all who possess the abilities that you have just outlined. Mindor here can actually be present during interrogations to expose any sinister plots of potential violators and, of course, uncover crucial evidence. Brebouillis can serve to study individuals who direct their power toward evil.”

“How did you deduce this?”

“It wasn’t very difficult. Once Landrew insisted that it was imperative for me to journey here, I searched the travel logs to find if Travers had visited here. Instead, I discovered that many renowned doctors, including you, had served sabbatical here, as you confirmed. Since the occupants here are insane, and their contributions to society minimal, I deduced that brilliant minds here were focused on the security of the Alliance as a first priority and that therefore this is a criminology laboratory. It just made more sense to believe that.”

“Carry on,” Schlegar said in encouragement.

“The amount of effort being expended here does not support its inmates; it supports a greater cause—the ultimate safety of the Tetrad Alliance, the cataloging and monitoring of all those who have abnormal mental powers, and the discipline to make sure those mental powers are not misused. Mindor is one of the crowning jewels of success, as it can aid in interrogations, as you just admitted.”

Before Schlegar could get another word in, Deacon continued. “I noticed upon arrival that Owlers patrol patients in the hallways. Therefore, why the unusually large resident professional staff? I also noticed the Owlers guarding data banks and file rooms. You almost convinced me that it was pure medical research being conducted here, but Mindor changed all that. This place has to be the center of all the records of brain scans with a strong flavor of criminal investigations, with a cover of a residence for the criminally insane. Brilliant cover.”

“You have in your summation underestimated the medical research being conducted here. However, Mister Coombs, you are correct in assuming that this is the central repository of all brain scans and that Brebouillis is that place where we analyze who should be monitored. A kind of… well… yes… mental Alliance police station.”

“Travers of Aralia must be one of these gifted, or you would not fear him so much. Has he used his power to influence others? Has he planted the seeds of his personal success into the union?”

“I have found Travers to be a great disappointment,” said Schlegar. “Yes, Como and I feared that Travers misused his powers to gain control of the trade union.”

“And Mindor? Did Mindor do its dirty job at the trial by probing Travers’s mind?”

Schlegar became irritated and twitched his nose. “How did you know Mindor was at the trial?”

“Simple! I have a suspicious mind, remember. I read the transcripts of the trial. All the evidence was indirect. I would, shamefully, say that the trial was a fraud, with all the charges having been manufactured by the Alliance.” Schlegar slouched in his chair, head down.

Deacon took this as a cue to advance. “My dear Doctor Schlegar, unless you speak of new evidence, then the previous trial against Travers was a deception. In Liberty City, the Owlers summarized the trial for me in depth. I examined the records of the trial closely. I noticed that you were on the planet but not in the courtroom. As soon as you exposed Mindor, it occurred to me that you could have been in proximity, using Mindor to probe Travers’s mind and feed real-time information to the prosecution fresh from Travers’s mind.”

“For what purpose?”

“Let me summate. The Alliance had suspicions that Travers had gained too much power over the Union of Space Traders by illegal means and wanted him replaced. In addition, Travers was to be held directly responsible for these illegal activities of the union. Number three: the Alliance decided to erode Travers’s power but needed to get direct evidence to implicate him, so they staged the trial, and by placing Mindor in proximity to Travers at the trial, they hoped to read his thoughts, obtain real-time evidence, and construct a successful real-time trial, as I referenced earlier.

“My observations also account for the disjointed efforts of the prosecution. I was very curious when I first watched and read of the proceedings. Menubou was very conservative in his prosecution when many others I know would have been aggressive considering the stakes. Quickly I saw why Menubou had been selected. His hearing aid! He kept fiddling with it. Touching it. Positioning it. His eyes and mannerisms betrayed him. It occurred to me that the hearing aid may be acting as a receiver for information being relayed to him. The more I watched Menubou, the more I was convinced that someone was transmitting him information through his hearing aid. I admit I was wrong. It wasn’t someone; it was Mindor—feeding Menubou thoughts fresh out of Travers’s mind, through the machine, and back into the courtroom! Was that how it happened?”

Schlegar sighed. “I confess,” he said softly. “Desperate men were driven to these measures for the safety of our all our peoples.”

“The people might say that you misused the judicial system.”

For the first time, Schlegar became irate. “The trade union has become too powerful. Their problems are all of our problems. We—that is, the High Council and I—wanted to find information we could use in a retrial. It became apparent quickly that Travers was not an easy read. We continued with this hopeless charade for days.”

“Tell me, why you could not read Travers’s mind?”

“I don’t know. It was just that Travers was full of guilt and fear and warned of impending doom. We couldn’t get to the truth. His mind was preoccupied with garbled veiled threats. Geor asked Landrew if he could rewrite the script for the next trial. He died constructing it. Is this not evidence enough to suspect Travers?”

Deacon stared ahead without saying a word.

Finally Schlegar lifted his head to speak. “Geor and Como, my two dear, dear friends, are dead. An Aralian trade ship has taken a torturous journey into a forbidden zone where the crew was deprived of their sanity and their right to live. That too is reality. The only character who keeps surfacing is an Aralian who made that trip and has now disappeared. And why wasn’t Travers affected? And why didn’t he remain behind in the hospital to explain to authorities what happened on Nix—or wherever they journeyed to—if he is innocent?”

Schlegar paced. “Travers is the key. We were wrong to approach the trial the way that we did. I admit it. I express to you my deepest regrets. I owe no apology to the masses. But the mysteries that plague this Alliance are beyond the bounds of using reasonable means. Look at Temisori! He is proof!”

Deacon raised his voice. “You can’t drag your damn Mindor around the galaxy to read peoples’ minds, delving into their inner thoughts, invading their privacy. So you chose a pawn to do so. He can be protected by the most reliable Owlers in the Alliance. He has multiple passports issued by the highest of Alliance officials; he possesses a naturally suspicious interrogative mind; he travels in a small, high-tech, fast spaceship, undetected, spying for government officials, knowingly breaching the sanctity of the minds of everyone he interrogates; and he can flee quickly upon immediate danger once the truths are discovered.”

Schlegar nodded in agreement. “Yes. You, Deacon Coombs, were the most obvious candidate for this assignment. Landrew and I chose you. But your journey here is an important step. I want to help you control your mental skills. You perceive that you are able to receive and interpret only certain wavelengths. Indeed, you may have even greater powers.”

Deacon furiously interrupted, now standing in front of Schlegar. “I nearly go crazy being bombarded by extraneous thoughts of others, and you want me to advance this insanity! Why do you think I hide at Moonbeam? I always use the convenient excuse that I don’t want criminals to know what I look like. But that is not the truth. I can’t stand violating the sanctity of other people’s thoughts.”

Schlegar rose to his feet. “Deacon, I can help you. Give me this chance. Please.” Schlegar and Deacon stood face-to-face, with Schlegar grabbing Deacon’s arms, fixing his grasp on his elbows. Schlegar’s ruddy eyes penetrated Deacon.

“How can you and Landrew be so sure that I am the one to find Travers and uncover the menace behind the deaths of Geor and Como?”

“As Landrew affirmed previously, there are others. You are but one of the resources committed to this cause.”

“Travers’s trail dissipates. How long do you expect me to remain here?”

“I have found an excellent teacher for you.” Schlegar extended his hand to the detective. It was as if the second union of master and mentor had taken place as he proceeded to hug him. Schlegar, with bent frame, hobbled, tugging Deacon in tow behind while Deacon lamented aloud.

“My work is the mask that I hide behind. It is the drive that allows me to escape the reality of the constant barrage of thoughts. Maybe other Earthmen yearn to invade the minds of their comrades and strangers, but not me. Schlegar, my mind has not rested for years. Even in sleep, I sometimes feel the touch of my neighbors’ conscience.”

“Just follow me, please.” They weaved a circuitous route into a darker arm of the structure, where the cheeriness of the walls disappeared.

“When I was a child, I felt as though I would go insane. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t conquer this affliction. I’ve kept this secret to myself my entire life, not even sharing it with my parents—although I regretted that after their sudden, fiery, tragic deaths.”

“I know, Deacon.” Schlegar unlocked a sitting room. He motioned to Deacon to situate himself at a table for four in the middle of the small space.

“It was embarrassing growing up. I intercepted lust, greed, dishonesty, deception, lies, hidden anger. During my university years, my class visited an astronomy professor, Dr. Biggs, who resided in a somewhat remote area of Anglo. When I first set eyes on Moonbeam, I knew that I had come home. I knew that I had to save enough money to purchase it or clone its setting. Luckily, now Moonbeam is my personal sanctity, run-down as it is.”

Schlegar turned to him. “I know, Deacon. I shall return momentarily. Trust me. Relax.” The door closed to isolate Deacon with his painful memories. In five minutes, an Earth woman with a full head of wavy, thick brunette hair stood in front of him.

Lyanna

“Villya,” the Earth woman said. Her high cheekbones accented a warm, broad, pleasing smile that prompted Deacon to say, “Hello. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“I am Lyanna, Doctor Schlegar’s assistant.” He admired her dainty, appealing build, her pretty face, her lavender scent, and her sparkling hazel eyes as she bustled about the room, opening and closing drawers.

“And I am Deacon Coombs,” he said, on his feet now.

She extended her hand to him. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Coombs. We have a common bond in both having been born on Earth.”

He had been so enamored by her entry that a prickly feeling raced up his spine, causing him to wriggle when it reached his shoulders. He now realized that he had no inkling of the sound of her voice, for she had not spoken a word! He backed away from her. In awe, he closed his eyes.

“Amazing,” Lyanna said with her arms folded. “You captured every syllable that I sent to you. Didn’t you?” She giggled in a mousy high pitch; he failed to recognize the humor. Now that she had spoken aloud, Deacon knew that her voice was as amorous as her composure.