Vector: 5/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
4
His mother was waiting for him at the door. "You have visitors, Busaidi."
He paused, his mind skidding to a stop. "Who?"
"Elias and Jane. Come on in. They're waiting for you."
"'Elias and Jane' ...?" He entered and his gaze rested on the Peabodys, standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling at him. He felt the heat flooding his face but managed to smile in return. "Hello, Mrs. Peabody."
She came toward him, tiny and frail and old, and took his hands. "Thank you so much, Busaidi, for so bravely helping Elias. He told me all about it."
Mombasa cleared his throat. "Aw, it was nothing."
"Nothing! Right!" Mr. Peabody was beside him, grinning up at him, his pale old eyes sparkling. "Those punks are gonna be picking holly thorns outta their butts for a week!" His fragile old fist pounded Mombasa's arm. "You used to hound me for more stories when you were a boy and now I wish I'd accommodated you more. Any time you want a story now, all you have to do is ask, son."
Mombasa returned the grin, his cheeks beginning to cool slightly. "I might at that."
"I made you some cookies." Mrs. Peabody presented him with a plate of his favorites and patted his arm. "You were very brave, young man."
"Aw, please, Mrs. Peabody, he's exaggerating. I was just having some fun, that's all."
Mrs. Peabody looked at his mother. "Wish I had a son like him. You must be very proud."
"I am," Shawna said.
The Peabodys took their leave at last and Busaidi turned furiously on his mother. "Blast it, Mom! You could have warned me before I walked into that!"
She laughed. "No good deed ever goes unpunished, son. I would have thought you learned that a long time ago."
Zephan came through the screen door, slamming it behind him. "Hi, Busi!" Zephan had had trouble with Mombasa's full name. "Why were they here?"
Mombasa's mother told him and Zephan grinned up at his brother. "I know those guys! Mattie says they're really mean and really tough!"
"Keep away from 'em," Mombasa advised.
"Sure." Zephan helped himself to a cookie. "But I see 'em all the time. They case the neighborhood."
Mombasa glanced sharply at his mother. She shrugged.
"They're a bad bunch. Greenwood is getting to know them quite well. It's too bad, really, but Mayor Morrison tends to think kindness and understanding is the way to deal with such characters. I sure hope he gets voted out next year or this poor little town won't be worth living in, soon."
In Mombasa's experience, kindness and understanding tended to convince young thugs of that sort that the people around them were suckers, but he didn't say so in front of Zephan. The child was eating his third cookie. Mombasa picked up the plate and set it back on the kitchen table.
There was a knock on the door and Shawna went to answer it. "Oh, hello, Eloise. What can I do for you?"
Mombasa felt his face start to burn again, knowing instinctively why the neighbor had chosen this moment to visit. And he wasn't wrong. "Oh, Shawna, I just heard about what your son *did*!" The lady appeared in the kitchen, a steaming pie held before her, her round, pink face shining with admiration. "Busaidi, I just wanted to say thank you for helping Elias. I love that nice, old gentleman and someone needed to put those young criminals in their place!" She put the pie on the table and went over to Mombasa, her eyes shining. "What a brave, unselfish thing to do! Shawna, you must be very proud ...!"
**********
They had three more visitors in the next hour, the last one David Jones, the deputy who had appeared as Mombasa had been leaving the scene. He beamed at his old childhood friend. "Hi, Bus - Man, it's nice to have you back. Look, I don't want to cause you any inconvenience, but Mr. Peabody is pressing charges against those kids. It's high time someone did. Maybe this'll set a fire under ol' Morrison."
"You need a statement?" Mombasa asked.
"Yeah. With all the witnesses, I doubt we'll need anything else -- especially -- ehem - considering who you are, and all. Now, can you tell me exactly what happened?"
The phone rang all evening: people calling to express their appreciation to Mombasa's family on their son's heroism. The incident was reported in the lower corner of the front page of the newsstrip that evening. More goodies arrived from the neighbors, reminding Mombasa of how close-knit the small community really was. His sisters departed for school the next day, obviously intending to enjoy their new status as sisters of the town hero.
Mombasa looked across his plate of ham and eggs at his father, mother and younger brother as the videophone chimed for the third time since they'd started to eat breakfast. His father grinned.
"Hope you're enjoying your vacation, son."
"Holy Mike! I didn't expect this!"
Shawna went to answer the call. Kent's grin broadened. "Serves you right for making a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole town."
His mother appeared in the doorway. "It's Ed Cooley, the editor of the town's newsstrip. He wants to do a story on you and is asking if he can come over sometime today." She laughed at Mombasa's horrified expression.
"Tell him no! Tell him I'm camera shy!"
"He knows that isn't true. Remember when you used to play with his son, Del, when you were kids? He knows what a ham you are."
Mombasa resigned himself. "Sure. Tell him to get it over with."
Cooley arrived thirty minutes later with an attractive young holographer in tow. Mombasa was interviewed, recorded and thoroughly embarrassed. At last they left and Busaidi heaved a sigh of relief. "Look, if it's okay, I'm going to take a little walk."
"Sure." Kent relaxed back in his chair, grinning over his third cup of coffee. "Take a break."
Mombasa went out the back way and down the path that led through an arm of the forest that stretched onto the property. He wandered along the path through the towering evergreens, thinking hard. What a mess he'd managed to get himself in! Town hero - "Small Town Boy Returns and Cleans Up!" Yuk!
He came out the other side of the trees and glanced cautiously around. No one was nearby, thank god. He crossed the rough ground toward a paved path that led into Greenwood's tiny park and strolled down the walk. A young housewife saw him and called a friendly greeting from her window. Mombasa waved back, hoping devoutly that she wouldn't come out. He needed to be alone.
She didn't and he breathed a sigh of relief. Other people saw him and waved greetings - people who had been stand-offish previously. A warm glow settled in his middle. Life was good. If only he didn't have to go back, but that was a futile wish.
He rounded a turn in the path and came face to face with Harold Powell.
He hadn't seen Powell close up for many years and he'd forgotten what a big man he was - taller even than Mombasa, himself. He was broad-shouldered, and still sported a full, dark beard. His head was shaved, or else he was bald naturally, and his large, protruding eyes were blood-shot. He glowered at his former rival.
"Hi there, hero!" The words were intended as a sneer but the slurring as he spoke ruined the effect, and even two meters away as he was, Mombasa could smell the alcohol. Powell was tipsy - not really drunk, but he'd had enough to make him obnoxious.
"Hello, Harold," he said, expressionlessly and started to pass the other man.
Harold reached out, trying to catch Mombasa by the shirt. He missed, staggered a moment and regained his balance with some difficulty. Mombasa put some distance between them. "Go home and sleep it off," he advised. "I don't want to fight with you."
"Yeah; that's 'cause you're a crawling chicken." Again Powell tried to reach him. Mombasa evaded him without difficulty and tried to continue down the pathway, but Harold wouldn't let him. He followed, cursing Mombasa for a coward. Busaidi turned at last to face him.
"Get the hell away from me, Harold," he said.
"Can't take it, huh? Beat up on kids, but can't take it yourself." The words were considerably slurred and Mombasa revised his estimate of the other man's level of intoxication. "Stinking 'trol! One of those boys was my sister's kid!"
That figured, Busaidi thought. In a small town like Greenwood, what were the odds that one of the town troublemakers would be a relative of Powell, after all? "Sorry 'bout that. He should have left Mr. Peabody alone."
Harold voiced his opinion of Mr. Peabody, Mrs. Peabody, the town in general and concluded with a description of Mombasa that was, to put it politely, unflattering. "You stay away from Dagmar, or I'll --"
"Or you'll *what*?"
"This!" Powell leaped for him and this time Mombasa didn't bother to dodge. They fell to the path together and Mombasa grunted as Powell's elbow caught him below the eye. He employed an art taught in the Patrol and Powell gasped in pain and hunched over, grasping a sensitive part of his anatomy. Mombasa bounded upright, and then realized that there was no need to hurry. Harold was staggering clumsily to his feet, his bloodshot eyes fixed malevolently on Mombasa. He voiced a slurred obscenity and stumbled forward.
Mombasa sidestepped and tripped him. Powell went down again and rolled into the muddy shallows of a small pond. Mombasa reached down, hauled him up by his collar and the seat of his pants and tossed him forward into the deeper water. Powell came up, spluttering and gasping. Mombasa turned and walked away as the other man hurled unimaginative curses and threats after him, ending with a jumbled promise to kill them both if he didn't stay away from Dagmar.
At that, Mombasa paused to ponder a moment. Perhaps the kindest and most expedient way of taking care of Mr. Powell would be to just shoot him here and now. No one was around, and he could quietly dispose of the body in the center of the pond ...
It was tempting but after a moment of serious contemplation, he decided against it. Powell had a rich and powerful family that would certainly make trouble -- not for Mombasa, as the Jils would doubtlessly ignore any demands from an offended Terran family against one of the Patrol's high-ranking officers, but for Dagmar and Selena. And besides, everyone would know that he'd done it, and he knew it wouldn't fit with his newly acquired image.
He arrived home an hour later to the aroma of homemade stew and fresh bread. Another plate of cookies, two cakes and a pie had arrived during his absence, and he was glad he hadn't succumbed to temptation. Killing Harold just wouldn't have been right, he decided virtuously. The guy had been drunk, after all, and not responsible for his behavior.
That evening, the entire family went to a town meeting to discuss the rise in crime. Mombasa strongly suspected the meeting - called rather precipitously by Mayor Morrison - was in response to Mombasa's expedient disposal of the thugs who had attacked Mr. Peabody. He suspected also that the citizens of the town were hoping that he would attend. He declined as gracefully as he could to avoid further embarrassment. He wasn't up to any more gratitude and adulation - not at the moment, anyway.
His father and mother understood and even took the children with them to give Busaidi a little time alone. Zephan had wanted to stay home, but Shawna insisted. "No, Zephan, your brother is on vacation. Let's let him get some rest. He's had a busy time today."
Mombasa settled gratefully onto the sofa. His mom was right. He needed some time alone.
The family departed, Zephan still protesting, and Mombasa tried to relax, letting the peaceful sounds of the autumn night seep into his soul. Deliberately, he put thoughts of the Jils from him and concentrated on the memory of Dagmar's lovely face.
He must have dozed, for abruptly, he was starting awake, one hand reaching instinctively for his shoulder holster. Then he remembered where he was and sat up, blinking in the light. The clock on the mantle chimed once. It was 21:30. The rest of the family would be home soon.
A fist pounded frantically on the front door. Mombasa turned toward it, his hand once again going to his shoulder holster. Then he heard the voice.
"Commander! Oh, Mr. Mombasa, please! Open the door, *please*!"
He ran to the door and yanked it open. Selena catapulted through, practically into his arms. She was crying, sobbing uncontrollably. He caught her and held her against him, speaking soothingly and trying to pierce her hysteria. She was a mess, he saw, her blouse ripped, revealing a glimpse of lacy, pink underclothing, one shoe was missing and her lip and nose were bleeding. One eye showed evidence of swelling and her hair was disordered.
"Selena! Selena, it's okay! Calm down and tell me what happened!"
It took several minutes of soothing, but at last the girl's sobbing subsided to a faint hiccuping and she drew a deep breath, lifting her battered face. "It's Harold." Her voice was shaking and the words caught on tiny sobs but the hysteria had gone. She sucked in a deep breath and he could see her take firm control of herself. She was abruptly as cool and controlled as Mombasa always was in a crisis. "He's gone crazy, I think. He came home all wet and started drinking. Didn't even bother to change his clothes. He put away a whole bottle, all the while getting madder and madder --" She stopped, regaining mastery over her voice when it threatened to escape her control. "He started in on another one, and all of a sudden he started screaming at me. He said I was a slut and a ... well, that I was your kid and he - he was going to treat me like the whore I was ..." She broke off and took several deep breaths. "He grabbed my hair and tried to rip off my clothes. Mom tried to stop him and he socked her. I kneed him in the - well, you know - and ran, but he came after me. He caught me in the park and tried again. I hit him with a rock and got loose -" Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. I came here. I -I -" The control dissolved abruptly and she began to cry, although no longer hysterically. "I didn't know where else to go!"
Mombasa held her in one arm, feeling cold anger engulf him. Powell had tried to rape Mombasa's daughter. That tied it. Harold Powell was about to die.
Selena seemed to sense the change in him and drew back, her eyes meeting his. "What are you going to do?"
"Kill him." He said it matter-of-factly. "Slowly, if possible."
"Oh, but -- Mr. Mombasa, you don't know how mean he can be! He's awful strong and awful fast! He --"
Mombasa turned her to face him. "Listen to me, Selena. I need to know that you're going to do what I tell you. I want you to stay here; understand? He might come looking for you, and --"
He stopped at the sound of the latch of the front door opening and for an instant his hand reached for his shoulder holster again. Then the door swung open and his mother's voice said, "What's going on here, Busaidi?"
Shawna and Zephan were standing in the doorway. Mombasa stepped back to allow his mother and brother to enter and then pushed the door to behind them. "Come into the kitchen," he said. "There's been some trouble."
Shawna glanced at Selena and obeyed, leading Zephan by the hand. "What's happened. Selena, are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"I'll be okay. Thanks, Mrs. Mombasa."
"Harold?" Shawna asked.
"Who else?" Mombasa was slipping on his shoulder holster. "Mom, I have to go make sure Dagmar is all right. Selena said Harold hit her. Selena can tell you what happened, but I need to go." He turned to Selena. "Stay here. And don't worry. I won't kill him unless I have to."
"I don't care if you do." She was the cocky teenager again. "In fact, I hope you do, but watch your back. He's a sneaky so-and-so."
"I don't like leaving you here alone." Mombasa turned to his mother. "Where's Dad?"
"Oh, the meeting dragged on and Zephan got restless." Shawna jerked her head at him. "Go on. I'll lock the house and if Harold shows up, I'll send him about his business. I'm not afraid of him."
"If he shows up you keep the doors shut and call the sheriff. Come to think of it, you'd better call him anyway and report this. Maybe I'd better leave my blaster with you."
She shook her head, smiling faintly. "Your father's blaster is on the top shelf of the closet."
"You have an illegal weapon, Mom?" Somehow Mombasa wasn't shocked.
"No. This is the Terran Confederation, remember -- and a frontier world. A blaster's perfectly legal here. Don't worry. I know how to use it."
"All right. But keep the door locked, anyway."
"I'm not stupid. Now get going."
"Yes ma'am." Mombasa headed for the door.
**********
tbc
