The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (15 page)

“Deacon Coombs,” she whispered to him, “I have replayed that day at the Vesper station many times in my mind, going over each event and fact, and have convinced myself that something was out of the ordinary. I admit they are tiny facts, but so critically important. I am following your sleuthing methods, for you constantly cite that no detail should be considered little in a crime or mystery.”

“Did you report these details to authorities at the station?”

“No.” Her tone changed. She was blunt. “I am fearful to do so.”

“So you journey to Brebouillis to report them to me?”

“Exactly.” Quobit shuffled in her seat and leaned toward him. “Lyanna assured me that there are no cameras here and no voice recordings of what I am about to tell you. This lounge is secure. Therefore, I will lay my case before you to judge me.”

“And I wish to assure you, Quobit, that you do so with my word that I will repeat to no one what you say.”

“Thank you.” After a deep sigh, she recited the facts. “In my time at the Vesper station, I have performed admirably. I have not been written up for violations, warnings, any improper actions, or shortcomings. Usually new recruits have a few noncompliances by this time, but I love my job, and the thrill of Vespering and running one of the busiest stations in the Alliance is self-satisfying. I also complete my calculations in rapid time.” She leaned toward him further.

“Now for my case. On that fateful day we witnessed some of the worst cosmic energy storms in years, which disrupted magnetic patterns. My routine of guiding ships into the disc to be Vespered elsewhere was grossly upset, and we had delayed traffic up to twenty ships. When my supervisor, Maretz, ascended onto the control deck, he was his usual self, criticizing my actions and throwing his resentment of the new generation my way. Every new engineer has a mentor, and Maretz is mine. I will freely admit that I have learned much from him, but on that day, there was no way I was going to risk safe harbor by Vespering ships through that powerful storm.” Deacon viewed her as a very principled woman.

“A window of quietness suddenly appeared, so Maretz and I reacted quickly by successfully Vespering ships out. I never thought anything of it at the time because we were so busy, but three peculiar small things happened.” She broke her hand lock to point at him.

“Maretz had never ordered me out of the control chair to take over a Vesper, no matter what the circumstances. Yet that is exactly what he did on that watch on that day. He ordered me out of control for the Vespering of the
Sleigher
.” Deacon knew where she was heading.

“When he ordered me out, I didn’t think it peculiar, but I should have, for the storm had clearly subsided and there was no further reason for him to take the controls away from me; the risk of Vespering had evaporated as the storm had diminished.” Her concern was clear.

“Most peculiar of all, Maretz is a legend on Jabu, having conducted more Vespers than any other Jabu engineer. He knows the intricate details of Vespering, the science and engineering of molecular transformations, and yet for this Vesper of the
Sleigher
, he established a personal worst time of over six units. He has always performed under six. I suddenly shuddered the other day as I sat alone on break and realized the coincidence of his personal bad time with the disappearance of the
Sleigher
. I began to think that maybe… the extra time was… due to altering the Vesper records. Mr. Coombs, I think that Maretz sent the
Sleigher
to a secret destination—another Vesper station in a remote area determined by him and Travers—and then used the extra time at the controls to revise the records to show that the
Sleigher
had been Vespered to Aralia. I realize that this is blasphemy against Maretz.”

Deacon then said, “The implication being that the actions of Maretz are punishable by death according to Jabu law.”

“Absolutely. So I could not report my suspicions to him, nor to his superiors, without endangering my career. I felt like they would never believe my suspicion. They would never take the charge of a new engineer over Maretz’s gold-plated career.”

“Quobit, thank you for entrusting me with this information. I never believed that Vesper rays could be bent, so I was working on the hypothesis that error or sabotage or criminal activity was at play.”

“In conclusion, Mr. Coombs, I believe that Travers of Aralia and Maretz conspired to send the
Sleigher
on a secret mission, and that engineers along the route were paid handsomely to cover the
Sleigher
’s trail. Why would they do that? Where did they go? What should I do?”

“All to be determined,” he replied, although he would not share with her the evidence that the
Sleigher
had possibly journeyed to Nix, as evidenced by the tape found on board.

“Mr. Coombs, you do not know me as a person. Let me tell you about Quobit. I previously informed you that I graduated at the top of my engineering class. I am very intelligent. I am also a fierce fighter and have been acknowledged by national organizations for my feats of female strength and endurance during national sport festivals. The desert people of Jabu know how to survive in extreme climates, and I have won many survival competitions. These competitions with other planetary inhabitants have allowed me to overcome my fear of proximity to aliens, which is very rare in Jabu people, and is why I sit in proximity to you.”

Her tone changed. “I fear for my life, Mr. Coombs. In the days before I departed Jabu, Maretz kept pestering me about where I was traveling for my free time and when I was returning, and I feel like I was watched at the port.” Deacon listened to her attentively, already aware of a tough decision that he would be confronted with.

She addressed him royally with supreme confidence. Her voice sounded at times like a feminine soprano, and then like a bold male with baritone inflections. “Please, I have many attributes and raw skills that can be of benefit to you on your quest. Please take me with you. I am smart, a survivor, physically strong, and will be an asset on your voyage.”

He returned her pensive stare. Those were the friendliest warming, soft coal-colored eyes he had ever seen. “This is difficult for me to say, Quobit, but I can’t. I am in the employ of the Alliance.”

“Please reconsider, I beg of you. I’m afraid to go back to Jabu. I think Maretz suspects that I have uncovered his ill deed.”

“I will give it more thought but probably will not change my decision.”

She rose and bowed and shook hands. “I am so proud to have met you, Deacon Coombs. I will respect your decision. I hope you will solve the case of the vanishing Vesper and protect me in your course of actions.” She turned and left Deacon feeling empty about his decision but excited that there was a logical real reason for the malefic Vesper.

Departing

The end of the third day found Deacon and Lyanna in the observatory, where they were laughing together at the humorous anecdotes of the past days.

“Why did you come here?” Deacon was curious.

After a distinctive pause, Lyanna responded, looking deep into his blue eyes. “I came to forget my past. On Earth, I had a rewarding job, a true love, a family. My parents passed away in the same year that I lost my partner. It was my partner’s bitter betrayal that drove me into the seclusion of this assignment.”

“I didn’t mean to be a snoop.”

“Don’t apologize. Do you have a female companion?”

“Heavens no! My work consumes me day and night.” Her eyes told him that she wanted more of an explanation. “Okay, I window-shop. I’m too shy when it comes to love. How many before me?”

She was aghast. “That’s a bit too brazen.”

“No!” He stood. “No! You know, Lyanna. I’m serious. How many… many… other… guinea pigs have passed through Brebouillis in front of you and Schlegar to be tested on their way to confront this thing, this crisis? I want the truth, Lyanna. Landrew said there were others. No doubt they had mental powers like mine and came here to be tested and prepared. How many, Lyanna?”

Lyanna stirred and then proceeded to the window. The mood had turned solemn. With her back turned to him, she replied, “Five. None of the others have been seen since their departure from Brebouillis. They may still be alive out there, searching for Travers and the evil, but our contact with them is lost.”

“Were they as adept as I?”

“Yes and no. You have unusual gifts. I feel that none of them have your powers.”

“Who were they?”

She sat down on the ledge facing him, folding her arms about her, heaving her chest. “Two were Aralians, gifted indeed. They departed separately, one a former space trader, one a mentalist. The third was a Mendalgon policeman needing Owler protection and cumbersome life-support systems. It would be a tough task for any Mendalgon, heading out into the galaxy to travel with strange bedfellows, but he was high in spirits last I saw him. The fourth was an Earthling, a reprogrammed derelict—brilliant, severe attitude problem, cocky, immense mental powers similar to yours. Just before you was a Verconian—a member of royalty, a demonstrated survivor, a sportsman, a playboy, a detective.”

“And you are sure that they have not made a report to Landrew in confidence that you and Schlegar are not aware of?”

“Yes. I am certain.”

“Did they all have Owler protection?”

“The Aralians no, the Earthling no, the other two yes.”

Deacon’s voice cracked. “So I can read minds. So what? The thing we seek render humans helpless and is possibly responsible for the murders of Como and Geor. With a stroke of a hand it could whisk me away. Maybe that’s what happened to those five before me. Whisked away to their deaths.”

“Stop it. You have the ability to win. Stop talking like that!” She was visibly upset, with a ruddy face. “Will you take Quobit with you?”

“No. I would need Landrew’s permission, and I want to keep my movements secret.”

Lyanna moved beside him and placed her arms around his neck. “I don’t envy you. Use your gift whenever you can, Deacon. You will find surprises in the minds of others.”

“What do you expect of me?”

Very gravely, she spoke. “Discover the true identity of this evil. That is your task. Just as Landrew said. Find it. Flee! I want to see you again, Deacon Coombs.”

He risked a chance. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Lyanna inhaled, exhaled. “I’ve read about you. I know who you are. Deacon Coombs, born with brilliance, uncanny ability to solve complex problems at an early age, long string of scholarships leading to degrees in history, mathematics, physics, until you turned your resources to crime-solving at age twenty. Nickname, The Deacon. Nickname, Moon Eyes. A recluse, a hero, a mystery man, an enigma. What else do people say of you?” She pointed her index finger at him. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t used your powers to unravel the deeds of sinister beings. You have known of your special gift for years.”

“Okay, I admit that I did when I had to serve justice.”

Now she was bold to inquire. “Any past loves?”

“On a personal note, I have not had any lasting relationships. My confidence tends to smother people, leading them to believe that I am more arrogant than I really am. I have been nothing more than a curio at parties. As years passed, the number of my close friends has dwindled.” In his room, he had rehearsed a speech to give to her now about the feelings he had for her. The timing was wrong; the atmosphere was wrong. Maybe on his return. So, with an excuse of feeling tired, they parted company after Lyanna surprised him with a hug and a sole peck on his cheek.

Back in his room, Deacon longed for Moonbeam and dear Miram. This was crazy, to journey into deeper space, and for what? Tomorrow was the start of a new journey. Perhaps the idea of seeing Lyanna again would drive his resolve to survive. Should he race back to the observation deck to tell her how he really felt?

He looked at himself in the mirror. The scar on his neck had been strategically hidden with the high collars he had selected to wear. As he pulled the collar back to examine the wound, he saw the red streak that would always be a reminder of his mortality.

Deciding that it was not manly to cry, he wondered if he would ever see her again. To himself, he said, “I am not a God, not immortal, just an Earthling quite capable of dying in space if the circumstances are right.”

The Search for Travers

Departing Brebouillis

Deacon watched from the observation deck as a line of Owlers loaded the
Heritage
with supplies for the journey, at the direction of Jim, who waved his arms like a carnival barker while shouting instructions. Schlegar ascended to the observation deck for his last words with Deacon. “I should have known that I would find you here. Have you checked the charts to see where you travel?”

“Yes,” Deacon replied, “but I will have to implicitly trust the Owlers to get me there. I couldn’t even point in the direction from here.”

Lyanna appeared, dressed in a tight black jump suit. “Some reading material that I composed on Travers. Everything that we know about him is here in this disc, from birth to present. It fits comfortably into your handheld device.” Lyanna took his hand and inserted the chip and then presented a personal note which he opted to open later. “I hate to say this Schlegar, but how will I recognize Travers, since all Aralians look alike?”

Lyanna giggled and then ran to Schlegar to give him a hug as she said, “I think they are all so cute and cuddly, just like big furry dolls.”

“Oh, stop it, Ly!” Schlegar embarrassingly had heard this kibitzing before. “Travers has a scar on his left thigh that he received when he was oh… twenty years old. The fur of an Aralian never grows back once removed. He has a powerful, spellbinding voice. Take care lest you come under his trance. The Owler Gem has his voice match. Additionally, he is five foot five, has deep reddish-brown eyes, is somewhat overweight, has stubby fingers, and, yes, is missing a bone chip that was cut out of his left heel. A digit is underdeveloped on his right hand.”

Deacon retrieved a photo from the file and studied it. “He looks rather plain and innocent to me.”

Schlegar grabbed Deacon’s arm. “Make no mistake or you lose your life! This man is dangerous—I repeat, dangerous.” His emotional outburst of venom caught them both by surprise. Schlegar turned his back to them. As he whirled back around, Deacon and Lyanna stared back, still surprised by his outburst.

“If I were seventy of your Earth years younger, Deacon, I would relish the opportunity to go with you. But look at me! My silver fur is turning to shreds; I have had five major operations on my vital organs, which consequently restrict my diet. I hobble around these halls. So in the twilight of my many years, what can I do? I can only advise you. And the advice that I give to you is that this man is dangerous. His outward appearance, calm demeanor, and innocent looks have deceived everyone!”

Deacon challenged him, saying, “Your outburst has inbred distinct tones of anger and hatred.” The doctor approached him. They were only inches apart.

“Then maybe we Aralians are becoming flawed, as Como suspected. Here are your identity papers. You have the options of traveling as yourself or in disguise as a trader.”

“There are other brilliant people who need no training,” said Deacon.

“None have your intellect, your imagination, your resolve, your cover. You are a detective first and will question all that you observe. This alone provides a great advantage. You know what to suspect from an arch villain, while others don’t. It has been your life. Your cases consistently prove that you possess great instincts.”

“Why the hate?” Deacon asked, taunting him.

Schlegar turned away from them again, but as he did so, Deacon could hear him say, “Travers is my son.” This confession caught both Deacon and Lyanna off guard. “I am ashamed of him. When the Alliance first came to me to partake in the chance to rid the union of him, I jumped at the chance.” Schlegar shook as he spoke. “I even used my influence with Geor to secure a position as head of this project. It was, as you suspected, my idea to plant Mindor close to Travers at the trial. I had to remain out of sight. We could not, however, obtain any valuable information to feed back to the prosecution.” Deacon felt sorry for him as Schlegar conveyed his bitter disappointment in himself and shared this confession.

“I have examined all the candidates to fight Travers mentally, and the candidate is you!” His finger and hand trembled as he spoke and pointed at Deacon. “It was I who gave him that scar on his hip during a father/son quarrel. It was an unfortunate accident at the time, but it may now help you to positively identify him. I had dreams that Travers would rise to the political stature that Como did and replace Como in time. These are now the shattered, foolish dreams of a bitter old man.”

Schlegar bowed his head in shame. “Let me die in peace. Let me see the day that my son is brought to justice, that Como’s death is avenged, even if it means Travers’s death.” He commenced to weep, and Lyanna moved quickly to hug and comfort him.

Deacon realized what a fool he had been not to have seen the connection between Schlegar and Travers in his previous readings of Travers on Earth. He waited until Schlegar regained his composure, and then asked, “Where should we begin our search for him?”

“Our bodies are so specialized that Aralia is our one true frigid livable home. It is there that you should begin your search. Sure, Aralians are the true great adventurers of outer space, but in reality we love our homeland more than anything else, and other than time on Aralian spaceships, we cannot tolerate climates on other planets. If Travers were to travel by trade ship, he would be uncovered given the tight security at ports.” Schlegar had confirmed the findings of Gem and Jim with identical logic.

“But the surface area of Aralia is so vast. The Owlers have some ideas of regions to visit, but where do you think we should start?”

“I have given the benefit of my advice to the Owlers, given them coordinates of towns, districts, areas that are loyal to Travers. The file also includes some of his favorite leisurely locations, his birthplace, the names of his friends. I have also given Gem and Jim the names of persons on Aralia who are faithful to the Alliance. Gem has their voice and skin patterns to confirm their authenticity. With the Owlers’ research and my input, you should uncover his path.”

“Who am I to be on Aralia?”

“Bothwen, a trader of ten years. I took the liberty to send copies of your identity to all Aralian authorities and space ports.”

“But I have traveled little.”

“Correct, you have spent your duties on Earth in administrative offices and now travel to see all the planets that you have been monitoring for years. The Owlers will assist you.” He looked up. “Now get sleuthing!”

“I am so sorry, Schlegar, for the pain that grips you. I pray that I will be able to relieve some of this burden that you carry by proving Travers’s innocence or bringing him to justice.” Deacon gripped Schlegar’s handshake tightly.

“Keep that translation device in your ear as much as possible. It may be able to interpret critical remarks when you least expect it to.”

Deacon stepped toward Lyanna. “I hope to see you again, Lyanna. Thank you for your efforts to help me harness my skills. I won’t let you down.”

She embraced him hard. Their eyes pierced each other with feelings as she released her hold. “Good luck, Deacon Coombs. My prayers are with you every moment until we see each other again.”

It was over so soon. After a short trip down the hall onto the
Heritage
, he was strapped in by Gem. The craft left the dock for the Vesper station as Schlegar and Lyanna held hands on the observation deck until the last remnants of the lights of the
Heritage
disappeared into blackness. Onboard, he whispered, “I will come back for you.”

Deacon took to studying his alias, Bothwen. He easily absorbed the facts of his previous assignments, and this was a script well written. He turned to the relationship of Travers and Schlegar as recorded in the files that Schlegar gave to him at parting. It seemed that the souring of their family had occurred recently. The duo had been frequently seen in public together up to that point. Schlegar recorded a vicious commentary that captured the change in Travers’s blind ambitions.

Nausea consumed him as they reached the Vesper station. The next thing that he remembered was the arrival at Aralia, at the very station where the
Sleigher
had disappeared. On his viewing screen, the planet Aralia, decked in shades of blue, became visible as they slowly rose out of the purple disc and headed for the frigid planet. Gem assisted him as he selected his winter gear. They would dock at an immigration gate in only minutes, where temperatures thirty degrees below zero awaited them.

On the planet Aralia

The port of Froora was bustling with protracted lines of impatient voyagers waiting to gain access onto the planet. Around him Deacon saw the Jabu, Globianans, Fextwa swordsmen, all walks of life. Not a familiar word did he hear in the congested mob, so he stayed within touching distance of Jim. Aralian security was at a premium with the death of Como. Search stations lined the drab halls before clearing personnel into the city of Froora, Aralia’s largest interplanetary port. Every piece of paper was examined, every piece of luggage unpacked, every deck of the
Heritage
searched.

Paranoia was beginning to set in. Deacon’s small stature was innocuous in the crowd, but he started to believe that everyone was looking at him. After a lengthy delay in their line, an official appraised his papers. A stern glance from the furry face under the pointed red helmet followed. To his left, a fracas broke out. A Zentaurian was rudely questioning interrogation methods. Numerous police were sequestered as the hall grew silent to watch the confrontation. The agent returned the papers to Deacon, and Gem and Jim motioned to Deacon to return quickly back on board.

As they exited the inner hall to return to the ship, the sounds of laser fire and shouting echoed outside. “Quickly,” said Jim, “before they seal the port. We now have permission to land the
Heritage
in any of the sixteen ports on Aralia. First stop, Inglesiss, the hometown of Travers. Here we are to visit a close friend of Dreveney’s by the name of I’obo.”

“Am I to be Deacon or Bothwen?”

“I’obo can be trusted. You are to be Deacon Coombs to I’obo, Bothwen to the rest of Aralia.”

Within the hour they had docked in Inglesiss, and Jim and Deacon were whisked away in a driverless high-speed landsled to I’obo’s countryside residence while Gem remained behind to secure their plans for the upcoming days and secure rooms at an inn. Jim constantly fed coordinates to the computer-controlled sled as they skimmed over the snowy landscape at a constant speed. Deacon noticed the furry creatures that dotted the countryside, traveling at high speeds on their naturally polished bare-boned skis on paths that paralleled the sled, changing directions instantaneously as expert skiers on Earth would. Several executed abrupt stops beside the path the sled cut, stopping to gape at the occupants as the swift glass bubble hastily moved by. Along the journey, they saw multitudes of Aralian homes, resembling giant igloos. The colorful, dyed icy exteriors sparkled in the light. The snow and ice they were made of served as a natural insulation over the synthetic domal core of the dwelling. Once, they slowed to pass through a small town where Deacon caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an enormous department store with glossy, alluring advertisements lining all the icy exterior walls.

Their craft slowed as it approached a small structure hidden in rocky, sinewy crags that protruded through the white sheets of the landscape. Because of the absence of shrubbery, the craft made a direct line to the dwelling and was able to park at the doorway. Deacon and Jim each had to crouch down a narrow inlet. Inside, the walls glowed in a pink hue while the air was as fresh as a spring morning in Anglo, though Deacon drew a slight chill from the cold air-conditioning. At least he was now able to stand erect. A chipper silver-haired being intercepted them, introducing himself as I’obo. I’obo resembled Schlegar, with his hobble and hair spewing into his face from above, but I’obo was much taller.

“
Washa-washa
, Mr. Coombs, I am the government agent in charge of local affairs of security. The case of Travers is not within my jurisdiction, but I told Dreveney that I would assist you in any way I can. Come, follow me. It is my pleasure to host any friend of Landrew and Dreveney. It is my honor to host the well-known detective Deacon Coombs.” He led them deeper into the dome until they reached a room that sparkled in blue twilight and had numerous hand-painted murals of landscapes dotting the walls. A table setting of juices adorned a huge stone table. Here they sat across from one another.

They conversed for hours, examining each of the potential hiding places on the planet, using the map that Jim unfolded. I’obo marked the last three sightings of Travers on the map, although these were unsubstantiated by facts; they were just rumors. He commented on the priority list that the Owlers had constructed, agreeing with some choices, disagreeing with others. I’obo also explained the safety precautions they would have to take for nature and weather, and also the procedures to obtain security access permits to some of the areas, an issue I’obo could assist with and accelerate.

“If Travers was sighted, why has he not been apprehended, I’obo?”

“Aralians have a great deal of respect for this man, Mister Coombs. Travers has publicly declared his innocence recently, and there are those who believe him. Truth is the bearer of hope in Aralia. Many believe that Travers will recover from this crisis and return to political power and rule Aralia someday. They think this because they believe Travers.”

Deacon was not satisfied. “But Como is dead. Surely there are those who believe Travers must at least be detained to prove his innocence? Or to be proven guilty? And why does he not surrender to face charges if he declares his innocence?”

“Coombs, the Aralians are a passive race. We have a love of life and detest and avoid confrontation. If we have a weakness, it is that we forgive too quickly. Travers’s past achievements will never be forgotten. Only a few select police officials will step forward to arrest him. And their searches have failed. Very few Aralians believe Travers murdered Como.”