The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (17 page)

Total darkness was only minutes ahead. A decision was made. He guessed that he was a quarter of a mile from the safety of the inn. His legs heard the command to run, so he thrust forward, walking at a brisk pace. Suddenly the sounds of swooshing intensified behind him. He had lost his courage to confront his pursuer. Perspiration drenched his body while a hard, swollen lump filled the rear of his throat cavity.

He had to get around the next two corners. Perhaps there would be natives in the street to help him.
Two
more
turns!
Only
two
more!
He had to reach safety. He pushed himself harder and harder while a swooshing sound now pounded in his head. Shops were closed, streets deserted. The next corner—there it was!

However, just as he prayed to see the orange glow in the windows of the inn about two hundred feet ahead, perhaps even Gem and Jim standing outside hailing him, his heart sank. There was no inn, no familiar sight, no orange glow, no Gem and Jim! He had executed an erroneous calculation. He was lost. He darted from the street and stood stunned, pressing himself tightly against the wall of a shop, not daring to look out into the street. All was silent. The beautiful blues and purples of twilight were turning to the ominous charcoal-and-black night.

Suddenly, as he dared to look where he had traversed from, a hand reached out from behind him and firmly grasped him across his mouth, a second arm strapping his chest. The stranglehold was powerful, unyielding, totally paralyzing. The assailant flung him to the ground, face up. The being was totally wrapped in furs and skins; Deacon could see only a pair of eyes—two sooty peepers. As the assailant relaxed the hold on Deacon, two shadowy figures approached. In the dim lighting, his heart pumped vigorously, but it then returned to normal as Gem and Jim and Quobit suppressed his desire to scream with their motions.

An Aralian passed around the corner in full view. At the sight of Gem and Jim, he fled. The natural skiing artist outdistanced Jim immediately while Gem and Quobit remained behind. “A very foolish move, Master,” said Gem. “Trailing the two spies outside our inn was the lead that Jim referred to last night. When you turned the tables on them, we thought for a moment that we could trace one or both to their master. It was not to be. Around the next corner was a trap for you. Our ultimate goal is your safety, so we had to intervene and abandon our plan to capture one of these culprits. When you said that you were going to rest at the inn, we believed you. We took you at your word.”

Deacon brushed himself off. Jim returned to join them. Deeply embarrassed, Deacon stood and convincingly spoke. “Thanks for the advice. Thanks for saving me.” He continued to flick snow pellets from his parka, and then he eyed each of the others. “Partners?” He extended his hand first to Gem, then Jim, and then Quobit.

“Partners,” Gem replied. Jim nodded in agreement. Quobit was silent as they walked back to safety.

In the confines of the inn, Deacon sheepishly felt that his credibility could have been compromised, or even worse. A cocky Jim asked, “Embarrassed?”

Deacon massaged his throbbing fingers, rubbed the cut on his throat from his skirmish on Earth, and then said, “Yes, and I have learned a lesson. Confide in you and Gem.”

“Master, we first noticed them when we arrived at the station terminal in Froora. Since I have been recording all voice patterns, I was not surprised when they were observed across the street by my astute partner, Gem. The next day I sent a dispatch to I’obo, who confirmed that they were not his men, and sent a message to local authorities who confirmed the same. After two days of searching files at the traders’ office, I found a match with two expelled traders.” Jim recited his achievements proudly.

“You held out on me.”

“No, Master,” Gem said, “it was our intention to tell you tonight. Our reasoning for not doing so was that we did not wish to involve you in any dangerous activity today while you were ill—while you were reading in the comfort of the inn.”

Reluctantly, Deacon answered positively. “I’ll accept that.”

“You have no choice. We made the correct decision. Quobit helped us with our plan. She spied the trap for you and interceded to protect you.”

Quobit was sitting in front of the fire, rubbing her hands and arms and massaging her toes. Deacon asked the Owlers to retreat and sat beside her. “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do. I saved your life, or perhaps a kidnapping. I could have easily run and outdistanced the Aralian but for the slippery ice.”

“You followed us here.”

“Correct. I took the next ship from Brebouillis to Aralia and positioned myself across the street from your inn. I observed the two spies on the first day and warned the Owlers. When I saw them follow you today, I laid behind to observe. When I met the Owlers, we decided that I should move ahead of you, and it was then I discovered a trap for you. I doubled back and wrestled you to the ground for safety.”

“And you did all of this because you want to prove your worth to me?”

“Yes.” She turned to face him. “Did you know that I am in an intern position at the Vesper station and, upon completion, am following in my sister’s footsteps to join Alliance Security Forces?”

“No, but I am not surprised. I thought that you were fulfilling a dream as a Vesper engineer?”

“Once again I bring you into my confidence, for potential recruits to security are supposed to remain a secret.”

“What is your sister’s name? How long has she been in Alliance Security Forces?”

For the first time, Quobit smiled, revealing a mouth full of white teeth and cheeks that pushed upward. “My sister’s name is Quobit, and she has been five of your Earthling years in the force.”

“Quobit?”

“On Jabu, all sisters in a family have the same name; all brothers have different names. It is you on Earth who have this funny peculiarity of naming sisters different names, as I discovered.”

“I must admit that I think you could have crushed me with that grip.”

“Yes, I could have. I informed you yesterday about my feats of strength. However, the climate on Aralia is a rude awakening after the heat on Jabu.”

“Quobit, I find you to be an enigma. Jabu detest sharing soiled expelled air from aliens, yet here we are doing so. Jabu find the cold climate of Aralia impossible, yet here you are. Jabu are incredibly inward in their thoughts, yet here you are sharing—first your concern about Maretz, and now that you intend to join Alliance Security Forces. What am I to think of all this?”

“I have overcome my fear of proximity to aliens. I am comfortable in these furs and hides to protect me from the cold. I trust you with confidential information. I want to join your team and come with you. I know I will prove my worth, as I did today.”

“It is cramped living quarters on the
Heritage
with one bedroom.”

“Jabu do not sleep in beds; that is a custom on Earth. We lie outstretched on the floor. And as for the cramped quarters, I am proud to share the air you exhale.”

“Gem. Jim. Enter please.” The Owlers marched in, and as he stood, he said, “Unless you can find any objection, I am asking engineer Quobit to join our journey.”

Jim spoke first. “I believe I speak for Gem and me when I say welcome, Quobit.”

She stood proudly. “In the custom of the desert Jabu people, Deacon and I must rub to signify the mutual respect between us. Turn around, Mister Coombs, and stand straight up, elbows bent.”

Deacon did so, and she stood back-to-back with him and rubbed her elbows hard against his. When finished, they turned just as Jim said, “My turn.” As Gem and Deacon laughed, Quobit and Jim performed the ritual of respect with a little silliness.

“Quobit, I hereby recognize you as a team member, but… no more Mister Coombs. Deacon has arrived, and that is what I want you to address me as from this moment on, or you’re off the team.”

Quobit was all smiles again. “Yes, sir, Deacon.”

The mood then turned serious. “I must say that I am uneasy and incredibly disappointed that our presence here has been detected, given all the precautions we took. First the library in Liberty, where safety was breached, and now here. My instincts tell me that Travers has a spy in our midst.”

Deacon walked across the room and opened his dossier to pick up a photograph of Travers. As he held it, he said, “Sooner or later, I shall have to come face-to-face with him. I have already decided that it should be sooner rather than later. We have few results to date. Trying to find Travers is going to be frustrating without the aid of Travers, and it appears he has plans to kidnap me. Therefore, if his spies are outside tomorrow, tell them to arrange a parley with the trader.”

Gem was quick to respond. “We cannot allow this, Master.”

“Gem, this must be done. Somehow, I wish that they had captured me so I could discover their true intentions.”

“There are still other leads to be verified. Do not give up. Jim and I will visit the frequented dens of the traders tomorrow, and with Quobit’s help we can cover more investigative grounds.”

“I am tired, still not 100 percent healthy with these very long days on Aralia,” said Deacon. “I will say good night to you. I’m in no mood for arguing.”

Jim stood guard while Gem recharged the silicon batteries and Quobit slept in front of the fireplace.

When Deacon arose the next day, neither Jim nor Gem nor Quobit were to be found. He thought about how weak he felt. No doubt the 15 percent stronger gravitational force had caused him to expend more energy than usual, and the strain was compounded by his having to slog through glutinous snow everywhere.

Suddenly the door swung open to expose Jim. “Travers was spotted by I’obo’s men in an isolated hamlet six hundred miles from here in the hills of Glagn.”

“Can we be sure of this, Jim?”

“A positive voice match by one of I’obo’s most trusted men. I’obo communicated this directly to me. He states that this is a believable lead.”

With that confirmation, Deacon packed quickly and the foursome fled Inglesiss in the
Heritage
for the nearest port to Glagn.

In Glagn

Leaving the
Heritage
after docking, the foursome traveled into a savage blizzard, the route well marked by fluorescent markers as Jim piloted a steady course, chewing through fifty-mile-an-hour winds that gusted to seventy. The sled was compact, seating for only four. Deacon saw only outlines of occasional rock outcrops and houses as the white curtain from the sled’s movements obscured everything. Quobit was cramped in her space, her legs buckled into her chest. They had to trust the autopilot at times to put them back on course as the sled wobbled to and fro, chewing through gales. They made slow time until they changed course and had the breeze at their backs. The sled stabilized.

The wheezing sound of the motor threw him into a deep sleep and a creeping lack of confidence was overtaking him. He dreamed about Miram and Moonbeam. The next event he recalled was awakening as the motor roared into neutral and they parked outside and retreated into a small stone cabin. It was midday, but he was severely depressed by his inability to remain awake as heaviness in his legs slowed him. His afternoon slumber was disturbed by the noise of the Owlers’ voices. They were in deliberation. “Never have I heard you two so noisy,” he said. “What is the grave matter that should disturb my nap?”

Jim handed him a note. “We left you to visit a local constabulary headquarters. In doing so, we secured the locks to this place, as you and Quobit rested. While we were there, Master, a strange occurrence happened. There was a fracas in front of the police building. We all gathered to observe as some officers raced outside. Peace was restored quickly, except that when we returned to speak to our constable, who had been assisting us admirably, there was a sealed letter on his desk, addressed to Bothwen. Gem took the liberty of opening this correspondence, and we scurried about to find the bearer of this message. But the search was fruitless. We were discussing next steps, and in some disagreement I might add, when you arose.”

Slowly Deacon walked toward Jim and took the paper from his hand. He recited the summons. “Travers of Aralia requests the presence of Deacon Coombs.” Those were the only words. Deacon grew fearful.

The penetrating powers of Travers and the traders had been firmly established. Travers had found him again with no effort expended. His body tensed when he realized that he must go alone. He also realized that Travers might have found the other agents dispatched before him and disposed of them too. The Owlers approached as he crumpled the note.

Gem was firm. “We cannot let you go alone, sire. It contradicts the prime directive.”

“You must obey me, and I say that you will remain here.” An argument of logic and counterlogic ensued as Quobit listened.

“Gem, Jim,” said Deacon, “Travers professes his innocence to the Aralian public. Follow my logic. If Travers wishes to confront me and eliminate me, how will that look? Cold-blooded murder won’t support his plea of innocence. It will only be a confirmation of Travers as a murderer. Plus he has mapped our every move, one step ahead of us. We cannot travel in secrecy on Aralia—perhaps anywhere in this journey. We cannot keep anything privy. If he is innocent, as he proclaims, then I have the opportunity to interrogate him, hear firsthand his proof, and be judge and jury. These can be the only reasons he wants me. Eliminate me, and he will suffer worse consequences.”