The Adventures of Deacon Coombs (23 page)

After the ugly idea surfaced, Travers pulled his lips tight before replying with an emphatic “No!” An apology was warranted to the little man later. Deacon climbed back into the upper deck, and the Aralian soon hobbled to sit beside him. Deacon felt ashamed. “I’m truly sorry. Firstly, I keep forgetting that you have the power; secondly, I should have more confidence in you. You work very well with the Owlers.”

“No matter. You have more c-c-c-c… courage than anyone else I know. Maybe we are both fools.” Travers smiled at him. Then the smile vanished. “Evil is near. I feel it.”

Deacon reached across the space between their seats and clutched his hand. “Hold on to your sanity.”

Travers leaned back in his chair. “S-s-s… so tired.”

“Rest, my friend.” Travers lay back and closed his eyes. Quobit joined them, and Deacon whispered to her, “The woes of the universe have been thrust upon this little Aralian man. Without concrete evidence, his father has cast him out, the leader of Aralia has imparted public shame on him, and the High Council has judged and condemned him.”

“He appears harmless as he sits snoozing and snoring. Look at him, Deacon. He looks just as Lyanna describes the Aralians, so cuddly and soft.” Quobit smiled. “On Jabu we have only one forested area, where cuddly four-legged silver beings live. I often have speculated that they might be related to Aralians.”

“Gem has prepared a brief of the geography and climate of Nix. I can share this with you if you pass me your computer.”

As he transferred the data, Quobit said, “If events transpire quickly around us on Nix, whatever you need me to do, just yell at me. I’ll respond; you can count on it.”

“Thank you. I will.” Deacon reviewed the transcripts of the known geography of Nix, preparing himself for the landing, but the worst situation kept stabbing at his mind—his death.

As he looked out into space, pushing his fingers through his hair, he grew fearful. There, dead ahead, was a black spot so deathly opaque that its darkness seemed to reach out and stab him. It was quiet here, with no signs of electrical storms. He strained his eyes to see any trace of light; the entire screen became black. This obviously was the course, as the vessel sailed directly ahead. Deacon ambled down the stairs to the ship’s control room, the craft slowing noticeably. Just as he glanced at the large screen in front of Jim and Gem, a black hole materialized with a sparkling yellow veil around it. Was this for real?

“Nix,” Travers whispered. As they drew closer, the planet was seen to be marked with red and yellow dots, demarcating the areas of possible volcanic activity.

“Buckle up for landing,” Gem said. Travers and Deacon moved to the control table and sat beside each other as the first indications of rapid descent occurred.

The
Heritage
was tossed to and fro as it passed through the first layer of atmosphere. Further chaos ensued as a result of the rising plumes of hot air breaking through the atmosphere, creating high atmospheric winds. Deacon noticed the glowing trails of volcanic ash below. They seemed to be riding on top of one of the fiery thunderheads.

He was well aware of the putrid air on Nix, caused by the presence of sulfur, and the effect that the atmosphere would have on humans; it had been chronicled most definitively in the logs of Travers and the brief by Gem. First it would slow his metabolism down, and then it would precipitate prolonged fatigue, followed by queasiness and disorientation.

On the surface

The spaceship came to an abrupt halt some one thousand feet over the surface and then descended vertically very, very slowly. Six legs protruded from the undercarriage, preparing to bear the brunt of the vertical landing on a possibly uneven surface. The
Heritage
fell and fell. The thrust engines blasted against the rocks until the craft landed with a thud. Deacon felt the impact as a bump hit the base of his spine. Jim turned off the engines while the computer assessed the landing. “On a scale of ten,” he said, “I determine a nine point nine for my efforts.”

“Such modesty, Jim,” Quobit said. “I hope you save some of it for the natives.” Deacon treasured Quobit’s inclusion in the team. He jumped out of his seat to move directly in front of the screen.

Travers addressed them. “The sun never ri… s-s-s-s-ses here. Nix is a bleak, dark world of sp-p-p-p… parse vegetation; a warm, dank climate pu-pu-pu… populated by slimy primitive beings. Look at the horizon.” As a professor, he moved to the screen to instruct them. “It is-s-s-s dotted with smoky sp-sp-sp… spires of active volcanoes.” To their amazement, a slow-moving massive creature was vaguely discernable against the dim lights of the eruptions. Travers pointed it out. Deacon was not anxious to meet his first Nicosian, remembering the tapes that he had viewed with Landrew on Earth, and recalling the terrifying adventures of Travers.

After each in turn had absorbed the dark, deadly world outside, the Owlers turned on the security system while they scanned, detected, and monitored all the life forms within the vicinity of the craft. The next assignment was to formulate the forthcoming activities in intricate detail. Travers and Deacon pored over the maps on the computer screen, Travers showing Deacon where the crew had landed six years ago, and then the landing area of the recent, fateful second voyage. Quobit worked with the Owlers to plan daily activities.

They decided that Jim should remain on board the
Heritage
at all times to monitor the explorers’ whereabouts, executing a hasty retreat or precipitous rescue if required. Gem would take shifts outside to gather basic data on plant life and the planet’s atmosphere, and to document activities and observations, while protecting Travers, Quobit, and Deacon. Quobit would act as a swing resource, on board when required, outside as security when needed.

Deacon studied Travers’s hand sketches of the natives. The Nicosians wore scant clothing of skins and vines over their greasy, hairy bodies. So to provide proper camouflage, the party spent the following day putting such clothing together. Gem was the most difficult to disguise. The vines were hand selected from a gathering that Jim provided; the skins came from a collection they brought with them. Travers dyed his Aralian fur to dirty gray, while Deacon spent the best part of the day muddying his skin and discoloring other bare parts of his body with metallic dust. He coated his body hair with a repulsive-smelling grease, and he and Travers placed huge false teeth over their own. Quobit would remain out of sight to the natives, as her hulk would draw attention.

As Deacon practiced the grunts and groans of the natives, he drew applause. Prancing around the deck, flapping his head back and forth, Deacon caused Travers to snort hysterically. Quobit laughed and then begged for a mock execution of the savage by Jim; Jim pleaded for an end to Deacon’s bad acting too. The bonding of the fivesome was strengthening.

However, their laughter was broken by a bleep of the security system, indicating that an object had moved into the ship’s proximity. They all were agape as a large, slow-moving animal lumbered into their encampment and onto the screen. Using magnification, only the mammoth outline was visible, but Deacon recalled for the group a period when creatures of this tonnage with long necks dominated Earth’s history. Before the mammoth intersected their force field, the creature moved out of range, so they continued their selection of disguises.

Since some of the natives wore pointed black hoods, apparently made of large leaves or skins, the party decided to wear these hoods to further improve their cover. Both Travers and Deacon were unable to resolve the significance of the hooded beings, although they could clearly be seen on the latest films that Travers had acquired.

During a moment when Travers, Quobit, and Deacon sat to eat, Deacon asked, “Why did you bring the
Sleigher
to Nix?”

Travers sat still. “Who says I d-d-d-d… did?”

“I read these thoughts strongly. Trust me. Answer the question.”

Travers ignored him. “Did you rea… d-d-d-d of Como’s death scene?”

“Yes, the hallway monitors showed that no one entered Como’s private library and the doors were bolted from the inside. Como alone held the instrument of his own death.”

“Suicide is… s-s-s-s impossible to us. If the public were to discover that a being drove him to suicide, there c-c-c… could be mass hysteria.”

“Travers, the tapes that I viewed provided no clues to the murderer of Geor and Como, if they were murdered. I must know why you took the
Sleigher
to Nix. Why? Do you firmly believe that this is the home of your so-called devil? Please, Travers. You must confide in me.”

“I find myself unable to r-r-r… resist these bouts of s-s-s-sleep. I must rest to have the strength to walk on the surface.” With that, he left Deacon with disappointment and went to retire again.

The
Heritage
had set down in a deserted area of the planet where their probes indicated that the population density was low and the volcanic activity was high. Here they would acclimate in their own time and interface with the first savages before traveling to the site where Travers had experienced his last encounter. On the second day, distinguished only by Deacon’s cycle of meals and rest, they braved their first exposure to the new world. After donning their native garb, Travers, Quobit, Gem, and Deacon strolled around the ship, braving the putrid air, to indoctrinate themselves with more arduous treks. The gravitational pull was even more severe than on Aralia, so Deacon’s legs tired quickly. That, combined with a queasy feeling in his stomach, left him crippled within two hours.

“Gem, why is it so warm on a sunless planet?” Deacon asked.

“Even without a sun, Master, the high heat flow is maintained by the vigorous volcanic outpourings and the existence of molten rock lying under the shallow crust. The atmosphere will become less humid and the temperatures lower as we journey farther from the volcanic hot spots.” Gem exposed a monitor in his midbody. “Hot springs and geysers hiss in the far distant hills, with an occasional spray made visible on the horizon by the light of glowing lavas, as you can observe, and fluorescent rock outcrops lay here and here. The local flora consists largely of tough, scrappy, twisted vines that turn around each boulder with hardly a bit of fleshy mass.” Gem paused to extract a sole broad, limp leaf, as if it begged to receive moisture.

“Are there temperature fluctuations on the planet’s surface? Or just in the atmosphere?” Quobit asked.

“Yes. There are temperature cycles caused by both atmospheric cycles and surface hot spots, Quobit. Look here. Maybe this plant warns us of warmer times as it spreads its leaves open wide.”

As Deacon took a step into a puddle, Gem begged him to keep his distance from the streams and standing water in the area because of the acidity. As they walked away from the
Heritage
, minute scaly serpents with sharp ridges on their backs weaved their way through pencil-thin cracks in the rocky outcrop. For a moment Deacon flashed back to dear Miram. What a shock she would have biting into this tough game. Travers intercepted his thought and smiled. “You think of Miram often.”

“Miram?” Quobit inquisitively gazed at Deacon.

“Miram is my pet snake and a present from my departed friend Geor. She has a long, sleek, colorful body and is deadly if need be.”

“On Jabu, food is scarce, so we eat what you call snakes on Earth. They are bountiful in the desert.”

Suddenly, a brief interlude of small, bat-like flying creatures flitted by overhead. “Did you capture that, Gem?”

“Yes, Master.” Near a gurgling brook, Gem pointed out to the threesome a multilegged creature of ten pounds soaring low and circling above them. It landed less than twenty feet in front of Deacon, flashing the ten eyes that dotted the head, examining him before jetting into the brook for a rambunctious bath. Then it disappeared into the darkness.

Deacon approached the fluorescent rocks that created a landscape bathed in violet hues. The air in this pocket left his nostrils burning; his appetite had abandoned him. He was feeling weaker by the minute. He forced down the pills that Gem had issued to counteract the gravitational pull and restore proper balance of oxygen in his blood stream; they gave him an inspirational burst of energy, but not enough to sustain the many prescribed hours of exercise required to adapt their metabolisms to the harsher conditions that they would face. Time was precious, so it was no surprise that at the end of the second day, the
Heritage
jetted to their next location.

Gem reviewed the rendezvous points with Jim; Travers explained to Deacon and Quobit the onerous trek overland that they would eventually have to endure to reach the exact landing place of the
Sleigher
. All agreed that the
Heritage
should be left to camp at a more remote place where Jim could monitor their movements unencumbered, and where the landing spots were numerous and smoother for the spaceship. No damage could be risked to the
Heritage
. Quobit, well-armed, would lag behind, within sight of Gem. After they disembarked, panic set in as Deacon watched Jim and the
Heritage
disappear out of sight. Deacon took his oxygen pill and a deep breath.

It was noticeably cooler here than at the first locale. They were in a wide gully devoid of water, but their path was clearly lit by distant eruptions. Gem indicated their direction toward a craggy slope. The top of this mount was not visible in the darkness, while in the other direction the scree ran out onto a plain speckled with campfires.

Each singular pebble presented an obstacle, since the rocks were highly irregular in shape in this wasteland devoid of erosional processes. The saving grace was Gem’s extreme difficulty in mobilizing, which kept the gait at a snail’s pace, much to the satisfaction of Travers and Deacon. Quobit, meanwhile, displayed her dexterity as she navigated slowly and smoothly. Travers kept pace and thus amazed Deacon with his stamina.

“How old are these rocks, Gem?” asked Deacon.