Eye of the Zodiac

Book 0: DUMAREST SAGA

by E.C. Tubb

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Continuing his quest to return home—the lost, legendary planet Earth—Earl Dumarest befriends a young man who claims to come from Nerth. Could this be New Earth, Dumarest wonders? Or even the original planet Earth?

And so Dumarest comes to Nerth...where he discovers that the Cyclan, his greatest enemies, are already there—along wtih more mysteries.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 173

Sample

The Dumarest Saga:

1: The Winds of Gath (1967)

2: Derai (1968)


3: Toyman (1969)


4: Kalin (1969)


5: The Jester at Scar (1970)


6: Lallia (1971)


7: Technos (1972)


8: Veruchia (1973)


9: Mayenne (1973)


10: Jondelle (1973)


11: Zenya (1974)


12: Eloise (1975)


13: Eye of the Zodiac (1975)


14: Jack of Swords (1976)


15: Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun (1976)


16: Haven of Darkness (1977)


17: Prison of Night (1977)


18: Incident on Ath (1978)


19: The Quillian Sector (1978)


20: Web of Sand (1979)


21: Iduna’s Universe (1979)


22: The Terra Data (1980)


23: World of Promise (1980)


24: Nectar of Heaven (1981)


25: The Terridae (1981)


26: The Coming Event (1982)


27: Earth is Heaven (1982)


28: Melome (1983)


29: Angado (1984)


30: Symbol of Terra (1984)


31: The Temple of Truth (1985)


32: The Return (1997)


33: Child of Earth (2008)


The Cap Kennedy (F.A.T.E.) Series (E.C. Tubb writing as Gregory Kern)

1: Galaxy of the Lost (1973)


2: Slave Ship from Sergan (1973)


3: Monster of Metelaze (1973)


4: Enemy Within the Skull (1974)


5: Jewel of Jarhen (1974)


6: Seetee Alert! (1974)


7: The Gholan Gate (1974)


8: The Eater of Worlds (1974)


9: Earth Enslaved (1974)


10: Planet of Dread (1974)


11: Spawn of Laban (1974)


12: The Genetic Buccaneer (1974)


13: A World Aflame (1974)


14: The Ghosts of Epidoris (1975)


15: Mimics of Dephene (1975)


16: Beyond the Galactic Lens (1975)


17: The Galactiad (1983)


Alien Dust (1955)


Alien Impact (1952)


Journey Into Terror (originally published as Alien Life (1954, rev 1998))


Atom War on Mars (1952)


Fear of Strangers (first published as C.O.D. – Mars (1968))


Century of the Manikin (1972)


City of No Return (1954)

Death God’s Doom (1999)

Death is a Dream (1967)

Dead Weight (first published as Death Wears a White Face (1979))

Escape into Space (1969)

Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)

Hell Planet (1954)

Journey to Mars (1954)

Moon Base (1964)

Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)

Pawn of the Omphalos (1980)

S.T.A.R. Flight (1969)

Stardeath (1983)

Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)

Stellar Assignment (1979)

Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)

Fifty Days to Doom (first published as The Extra Man (1954))

The Life-Buyer (1965, 2008)

The Luck Machine (1980)

World in Torment (originally published as The Mutants Rebel (1953))

The Primitive (1977)

The Resurrected Man (1954)

The Sleeping City (1999)

The Space-Born (1956)

The Stellar Legion (1954)

To Dream Again (2011)

Venusian Adventure (1953)

Tide of Death (first published as World at Bay (1954))

E. C. Tubb (writing as Arthur MacLean)

The Possessed (revised version of Touch of Evil (1957))

E. C. Tubb (writing as Brian Shaw)

Argentis (1952)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Carl Maddox)

Menace from the Past (1954)

The Living World (1954)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Charles Grey)

Dynasty of Doom (1953)

The Extra Man (first published as Enterprise 2115 (1954) & then as The Mechanical Monarch (1958))

I Fight for Mars (1953)

Space Hunger (1953)

The Hand of Havoc (1954)

Secret of the Towers (originally published as The Tormented City (1953))

The Wall (1953)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Gill Hunt)

Planetfall (1951)

E. C. Tubb (writing as King Lang)

Saturn Patrol (1951)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Roy Sheldon)

The Metal Eater (1954)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Volsted Gridban)

The Green Helix (originally published as Alien Universe (1952))

Reverse Universe (1952)

Planetoid Disposals Ltd. (1953)

The Freedom Army (originally published as De Bracy’s Drug (1953))

Fugitive of Time (1953)



At night the sound was that of a monster, a feral roar which rose to the skies and was carried on the wind, a hungry growling
interspersed with staccato explosions which thickened the air and left an acrid taint. At day the monster was revealed as
a conglomeration of men and machines which tore into the flank of a mountain, delving deep, gutting ancient stone and pulverizing
rock for the sake of the metal it contained.


A dual operation, the metal helping to pay for the pass and tunnel which would link inhabited areas, a passage which would
rob the sea and sky of expensive and dangerous transport.


One day it would be completed—but Dumarest had no intention of seeing it. Already he had stayed on Tradum too long.

He stood by the door of the hut which housed fifty men, looking towards the west, seeing the fabulous glory of the sunset.
Swaths of red and orange, pink and gold, streamers of purple and emerald caught and reflected by the mist of scudding cloud
so that he seemed to be looking upward at the surface of some incredible ocean.


A relaxing sight, something to ease the fatigue born of eight hours continuous labor. Now he faced another shift as an extra
night-guard. Hard work but added pay. Soon, he would have enough.


“Earl?” He turned as someone called. “You out there, Earl?”

Leon Harvey, young, thin, his face old before its time. He stepped from the hut, blinking, a towel over his arm. His face
brightened as he saw Dumarest.


“You should have woken me,” he accused. “You know how Nyther is—once late on the job and you lose it.”


“That could be a good thing.”

“Why?” Stung, his pride touched, the youngster bridled. “Don’t you think I can take it?”

“Can you?”

“Sure I can. I’m tired, true, but I’ll get over it. It just takes getting used to. Anyway, I need the money.”

Wanted, not needed, a difference Dumarest recognized if the other did not. He made no comment, stepping to where a trough
stood beneath a line of faucets, stripping and standing beneath one, water laving his head and body as he twisted a control.


Cold water piped from a mountain stream, numbing but refreshing, causing goose-pimples to rise on his skin, the chill accentuating
the pallor of the thin lines of old scars which marred his torso.


Shivering, his lips blue, Leon hastily rubbed himself down,

“You’re tough, Earl,” he said enviously. “That water’s close to freezing.”

Dumarest reached for his towel. In many ways Leon was a nuisance, but he could recognize the youngster’s need, even be a little
amused by his claim to affinity. He too had traveled, a few trips to nearby worlds, but it was more than that which had won
his tolerance. The boy was star-crazed, filled with the yearning for adventure, unable to see dirt and squalor for what it
really was. One day, perhaps, he would learn.


“Earl—”

“You talk too much.”

“How else am I to learn?” Leon watched as Dumarest dressed, wearing pants, sturdy knee-boots, a tunic long in the sleeves
and fitting high around the throat. The gray plastic was scuffed in several places, the glint of buried mesh showing, metallic
protection against the thrust of a knife, the rip of a claw. Reflected light from the setting sun winked from the nine-inch
blade which Dumarest carefully wiped before slipping it into his right boot.


“Earl!”


“What now?”

“When we get the money—when I get it—can I go with you?”

“No.”

“Why not? We could travel together. I could help you, maybe, and—why not, Earl?”

Too many reasons, none of which the youngster would understand. His very desire for companionship showed how unfitted he was
to follow the way he had chosen. A man traveled faster alone. It was easier to get one berth than two. And two men would be
easier to spot than one.


Dumarest said, “Forget it, Leon.”

“Why? Is someone after you? Is that it, Earl? Are you in danger of some kind?”

A guess—or perhaps a comment too shrewd for comfort. Certainly too near the truth. Dumarest looked at the young face, the
haggardness it revealed, the fatigue. Medical science could have made him appear younger, intensive training taught him a
part to play, rewards offered and promises made. There could be a thousand like him scattered on worlds in this sector, placed
where a destitute traveler would look for work, waiting, watchful, doing nothing until the time came to report to their masters.


Was Leon Harvey an agent of the Cyclan?

“Earl?”

“Nothing—I was thinking. Where is your home world?”

“Nerth. Not too far from here. I—”

“Nerth?”

“Yes. Earl, is something wrong? Your face—”

Dumarest forced himself to relax. It was coincidence, it could be nothing more. A name which held a special association. Nerth,
Earth, an accident, surely. Yet hope, never dead, responded to the familiar sound. A lure, perhaps? If Leon was an agent of
the Cyclan, he could have offered no greater enticement.


“Earth,” said Dumarest “You said Earth?”

“Earth?” Leon smiled. “Earl, are you crazy? Who the hell would call any planet by that name? No, I said Nerth. It’s a quiet
world, too quiet for me, I ran as soon as I got the chance. And I’m going to keep on running. Just as soon as I get enough
for a passage I’m on my way. Right smack towards the Center. You’ve been there, Earl?”


“Yes.”

“And you’ll come with me?”

“Before we can go anywhere,” said Dumarest. “We need the money.”

They all needed money, the men who worked on the project, contract slaves killing themselves with labor to pay an ever-expanding
debt. Men who had accepted an advance, spent money on clothes, drinks, luxury foods. They had tried to recoup by gambling
and had lost. They stood in the middle of the hut, watching with envious eyes as others, luckier or more sensible, played
with cash they still could call their own.


The lure of easy money, a fortunate win which would enable them to pay off what they owed, accumulate a little more, get a
stake with which to beat the system. Some managed it, the majority did not. They would work until they died, the victims of
speed-accentuated risks, of haste-compounded errors. Fools who had walked willingly into a trap.


Elg Sonef was not one of them. He was a big man, squat, his face seamed, the knuckles of both hands scarred, the spatulate
fingers surprisingly deft as he manipulated the deck of cards. Every hut held one of his kind, the man who ran the game, who
used fists and feet to collect and to maintain his monopoly.


“The more you put down the more you pick up,” he droned. His voice was harsh, rasping, careless of the exhausted men trying
to sleep in the double-tiered bunks. “Come on, lads, why hesitate? The canteen has a new consignment of liquor and you get
paid in two days’ time. A little luck and you could take your pick of the seraglio. Why wait for luxuries?” Cards riffled from
his fingers. “Make your bets. Even money on any choice.”


The game was high, low, man-in-between, a simple game with simple rules. A cloth was spread on the table divided into three
sections, each section with three parts. A card was dealt face up before each of the three main sections and players bet on
whether it would be the highest, lowest or, the one between the others in value. Duplicates canceled out the middle. If all
values were alike they paid high.


Sonef was playing by his own rules, ignoring relative odds and ensuring that, with all sections covered, he had a high advantage.
An advantage increased by his own skillful dealing.


Dumarest watched, a little amused, wondering how the players could have been so gullible. At his side Leon said, wistfully,
“Earl, we could double our stake in a few minutes with luck.”


“Luck?”

“You think he’s cheating?”

Dumarest was certain of it, but it was not his concern. He turned from the cluster of players and moved towards his bunk,
thumbing open the small box at the head. The towel was still damp, but if he left it exposed it would be stolen. He threw
it into the container and slammed it shut. It would stay that way until the lock recognized the imprint of his thumb.


“It’s getting late, Leon. Let’s eat.”

The canteen was a crude hut filled with tables and benches, staffed with old men and cripples, a scatter of Hyead. Dumarest
stepped aside as one came towards him busy with a broom. A thin, stooped figure, dressed in filthy robes tied with knotted
string. A ravaged face, peaked, the eyes slotted like those of a goat. Blunt horns rose above a tangle of hair, gray shot
with russet. The hands which held the broom were four-fingered claws.


Despised, degenerate, the product of wild mutations, found running like animals in the mountains by the early settlers and
now used as servitors.


Cheap labor, working for discarded clothing and scraps of food, kicked, cursed, or ignored by men who were themselves little
better than beasts.


Dumarest led the way to the counter, picking carefully at the food, selecting items high in protein and low in bulk. An expensive
choice, but one which gave better nutritional value than the steaming chaff bought by the majority.


As they ate Leon said, “Earl, how did you know Sonef was cheating?”

“Did I say he was?”

“No, but was he?”

“You saw the way he dealt, cards face up and using no regular rotation. He was manipulating the bets, letting the low stakes
win, taking the high. Once you know how to bottom-deal it’s easy.”


“Could you do it?”

Dumarest ignored the question. “Tell me about Nerth.”

“It’s a dump.”

“And?”

“It’s just a world, Earl. A backwater. Mostly farms, no industries, hardly any cities. Ships are rare. They only call to pick
up furs and gems, and deliver tools and instruments. No one with any sense would want to go there.”


“And you ran,” said Dumarest quietly. “Why?”

“Why did you?” snapped Leon. “What started you on the move?” Immediately he was contrite. “I’m sorry, I guess that’s none
of my business. Let’s just say that I was bored.”


“A young man,” said Dumarest. “You had a family, a home?”

“If you can call it that, yes.” Leon stared down at his plate, then seemed to come to a decision. “I belonged to a commune,
Earl. It lay well back in the hills and was as isolated as you could get. Maybe I’m a freak of some kind, but I couldn’t accept
what they had planned for me. The tests, the ritual, the arranged marriage, the duties.” His laugh was bitter. “The duties.
Can you guess what they would have been? Just guarding a lot of old records. A Keeper of the Shrine. In twenty years, maybe,
I’d have made assistant Guardian. In fifty, I might have even become the Head. Fifty years of dusting, brooding, worshipping—I
couldn’t face it, I had to run.”


“How?”

“I—does it matter?”

A boy, twisted, unsettled according to his fellows, a rebel, a failure. Someone who would have planned, waited and stolen
when the time came. Something of value which would have been sold to gain the initial passage money—an old story and a familiar
one. Only . . .