Empire builder Max Feyman had ruthlessly gained control of an invention called the 'zipdrive', a system of ultra-fast space travel. But his world is shattered when his daughter Celia, vacationing on the moon, is suddenly rendered unable to walk or speak - dependent on others to remain alive. Then, across the solar system, others are also struck down. Feyman must find a cure for the mysterious affliction that threatens not only the life of his only daughter - but also humanity itself.
Release date:
September 29, 2011
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
160
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E. C. TUBB is an English author particularly well known to all followers of the Gryphon Science Fiction Rediscovery Series, and indeed to all readers of science fiction the world over, his work having been translated into more than a dozen languages.
Since 1951, he has published over 120 novels, and more than 230 short stories in such magazines as Astounding/Analog, Authentic, Galaxy, Nebula, New Worlds, Science Fantasy, and Vision of Tomorrow.
His early novels were exciting adventure stories, written in the prevailing fashion of the early 1950s, which demanded that
stories should be colorful and fast moving, and above all else, entertaining. Yet from his very first novel, Tubb’s work transcended
its genre trappings, standing head and shoulders above that of most of his pulp contemporaries. His earliest work was characterized
at all times by a sense of plausibility, of logic, and human insight. These qualities were even more evident in his short
stories, which tended to a more thoughtful, psychological type of story, so that by 1956 Tubb’s short stories began to be
reprinted in the prestigious Year’s Best Science Fiction series of anthologies. He was introduced to American readers by series editor Judith Merril as “almost unknown in this country
but probably Britain’s most popular writer of sf.”
Tubb later became renowned in America—and the rest of the world—for his long-running “Dumarest of Terra” series of novels,
the galaxy-spanning saga of Earl Dumarest and his search to find his way back across the stars to the legendary lost planet
where he was born-Earth.
Reprints of many of the best of Tubb’s early novels have already appeared in this series, including Saturn Patrol, I Fight For Mars, The Wall, Earth Set Free, and The Stellar Legion. And I have also had the pleasure of writing introductions to a number of “new” Tubb novels, early works that through the
weavings of fate and circumstance, were not published at the time they were written. These “lost” novels became Gryphon Books world first editions,
and included Pandora’s Box, Temple of Doom, and Alien Life.
Undoubtedly, the high watermark of Tubb’s Gryphon Books first editions was reached with the first-ever English language publication
in 1997 of The Return, the 32nd book in his famous “Dumarest” series, a novel that had been “lost” for ten years.
Yes, the followers of the Gryphon Science Fiction Rediscovery Series have been well rewarded-one might even say spoiled-in the way of vintage Tubb first editions. And, I suspect, all of you
reading this will have thought that the feast was over—that there were no more unpublished Tubb treasures to come. Well, I’ve
got good news for you—you were wrong!
This book you are now holding is an entirely new Tubb novel, never before published! Footsteps of Angels is not an early work, but is a novel representing the author in his most modern vein, written at the height of his powers.
Like The Return, it brings together all of the vigorous qualities of his early work, but is blended with fascinating philosophical and psychological
insights. It is not space opera, but a novel of human interest set against a futuristic interplanetary backdrop.
In the tradition of the best modern science fiction, it has a carefully worked out extrapolation of many worrying trends in
our modern society, projected into a futuristic background. The author has imagined the Earth and the solar system as it well
might be in the next century.
Mankind has begun the colonization-and commercial exploitation-of the solar system. The Moon and Mars, and the larger Jovian
moons have been colonized, and the Asteroid Belt is being mined. The frontiers are being expanded further by the advancement
of science, and daring men are even beginning to explore and exploit the terrible and menacing giant planet Jupiter. However,
the frontiers of the solar system are not being pushed back by idealistic scientific explorers, but by cynical and grasping
commercial forces. Tubb’s vision of the future is no idyllic utopia, but a darkly realistic vision of commercialism and human
greed and frailty. The author shows us that whatever astonishing scientific advances the future may bring, human nature will remain the same.
With the skills of a mature novelist, Tubb brings his future society to vivid life through the eyes of his main character,
Max Feyman, a millionaire entrepreneur. Feyman is no unrealistic heroic young adventurer, but a man of middle age, who has
ruthlessly exploited others on the way to making his personal fortune, building his commercial empire by gaining control of
an astonishing scientific invention, the “zipdrive,” a system of safe and ultra-fast space travel.
But Feyman’s selfish personal world is brought crashing down into the dust when his beloved only daughter Celia falls victim
to a terrifying affliction whilst holidaying on the Moon. Suddenly, inexplicably, she is struck down to become a human vegetable—a
zombie! Unable to walk, talk, or communicate with anyone. Utterly and completely dependent on others to be fed, washed, and
to remain alive. And, for all his personal wealth and power, Feyman is helpless to effect a cure.
He soon discovers that Celia is not alone in her terrible affliction—all over the solar system, others are being mysteriously
struck down also. Medical science has already indexed a thousand recorded cases—but is completely baffled by the outbreak.
The reader is immediately caught up in Feyman’s personal agony, as he embarks on a desperate quest—one that takes him across
the solar system, seeking anyone and anything that might save his daughter and, perhaps, his entire civilization. Can he succeed,
or will humanity slide into the dark abyss?
E. C. Tubb’s new novel is one of his most powerful and mature works to date, and its cover also introduces to American readers
the work of famed veteran British artist Sydney Jordan, creator of the long running newspaper strip Jeff Hawke. Another sure-fire
collector’s item in the ongoing Gryphon Science Fiction Rediscovery Series!
-Philip Harbottle,
Wallsend,
November, 2003.
THEY were the favored of fortune; young, spoiled, rich. The heirs of established wealth which cocooned them in a safe, snug,
well-ordered world, their happiness marred only by the threat of boredom. Free to do as they pleased some made bizarre choices.
The latest was to zip the sun.
“He’s mad.” Celia Feyman moved to the window to stare at the bleak grandeur of the Moon. “He’ll never make it. It’s suicide.
He should be stopped, Aldo.”
“By whom?”
“You could talk to him. Use your influence.”
“And spoil the event?” Fabrizi shook his head and joined her at the window. “I’ve talked to him,” he admitted, “but who am
I to say that he’s wrong? And even if I was certain he would fail what difference would it make? Paolo has made up his mind.
He’s going to zip the sun.”
Following how many who had tried it before him? Too many, she guessed, and like the others he would never be seen again. Everything
was against it; the math, the physics, the basic logic of the thing. And, most of all, the sun itself. The ravening atomic
furnace waiting in space to convert Paolo and his ship to a puff of incandescent vapor.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Fabrizi and she felt the touch of his hand as it circled her waist. “Other than to wish
him luck, of course. Will you do that?”
“Of course. Now?”
“Later.” His hand rose a little higher towards the swell of her breast. “We have plenty of time.”
“But not for that.”
She turned, breaking free, moving away to halt in the center of the loom to face him where he stood against the window. A
man inches taller than herself, smoothly formed, his skin a deep olive, his eyes liquid, his movements holding a cat-like
grace. At twenty-two he was slim, taut, proudly masculine.
“Celia?”
“Nothing.” She was no prude, no stranger to sex or passion, and she had liked him from the first. Enough to have accepted
his hospitality knowing what it implied. “I’m sorry, Aldo, but-”
“You are thinking of Paolo, I understand.” If disappointed he hid it well. “But we are on holiday. Here to enjoy what Luna
has to offer. After Paolo has left we shall dine and visit the gardens. We could swim a little or dance or go sledding or
zip to Kepler. We could take a crawler and examine the rays. As for the rest-” His shrug was eloquent. “It will be as you
decide.”
It had been that since she was twelve, eight years ago now, and she saw no reason to change. But Aldo had been kind and she
closed the gap between them, hands extended, bead craning forward as she closed their lips in a kiss.
As it ended she said, “Let’s go and wish Paolo luck.”
He was not alone. Everyone in Tycho it seemed had come to look at the man who hoped to push back the frontiers of knowledge
or the nut who had chosen a weird way to die. Which depended on the point of view; Paolo was both, but he was obviously enjoying
his moment.
Celia studied him as she and Fabrizi moved closer. He stood on a dais at the end of the chamber leading to where his vessel
waited outside. A smooth and smiling main, one too young to be tired of life, too old to have the unthinking confidence of
a child. Too rich to be stopped and too handsome to be wasted. A man who radiated the excitement that dominated him, the euphoria
born of what he was about to do.
Prometheus daring to snatch secrets from the sky-Celia h hoped he would have a different fate.
“Can you tell me what you hope to achieve?” The voice was nasal, emanating from a big man carrying a recorder. A newshound
after material. “Everyone knows the zipdrive can only move a ship forward at about ten thousand miles a pulse. To penetrate
the sun will take at least eighty pulses. How do you hope to survive?”
A good question and Celia strained to catch the answer. The problem was obvious to a schoolboy; the moves weren’t long enough
and Paolo would approach too close then would actually emerge within the sun itself. Why was he being such a fool?
“Your name, sir?” Paolo nodded as the questioner gave it. “Well, Mister Calton, I assume you know how the zipdrive works.
A pulse is generated and the field and the vessel embraced in it is displaced from one point to another. You understand? The
ship does not move-it is displaced. The difference is important. It means that a ship can penetrate any barrier because it
does not actually move through it. How this happens is not as yet fully understood but it does and that is good enough.”
“So?”
“In a zipship you have the impression of continuous movement. Computers take care of the triggering and modulation of the
pulse so that by a back and forth displacement you get just where you want to go. The same computers make certain you can’t
emerge within a solid object. The pulse itself is of short duration and can be varied within certain limitations. In actual
fact we achieve a working velocity of a twentieth the speed of light. Is that perfectly clear?”
“I appreciate the lecture but you haven’t answered the question. The sun is about five light seconds in diameter. That means
you’ll be a hell of a time inside. About two minutes, right?”
“Normally, yes. The journey would take that long.”
“How are you going to stop getting burned?”
“Because I won’t actually be within the sun.” Paolo’s voice betrayed his impatience. “The ship is displaced-not moved. You
talk as if I’ll be driving through the sun.”
“But you’ll emerge within it.”
“No.” Paolo took a deep breath. “Not actually. The computers wouldn’t let me get close unless they were reprogrammed which
they are. What I intend to do is to use three generators in sequence. As one zip ends another pulse is generated before the
first has fully died. They overlap, so to speak. The third generator is for emergencies.” Paolo lifted a hand to end the interview.
“No more now. I don’t want to give away any secrets. See me again after I’ve zipped the sun.”
The rest was anticlimax. Of edging forward and touching his hand and wishing him luck as all the others were doing. Of waiting
until his ship lifted in a zip that took it from view. Of waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
Of finally accepting that Paolo had failed.
“He had his moment.” Fabrizi lifted his glass in a toast to a man who had tried to do too much. “And he did as he willed.”
Celia joined him as he drank. Paolo was gone, now a memory, yet it was hard to think of the living, breathing man she had
seen as now a coil of vapor. What must it have been like? The waiting, the tension, the mounting excitement, the final fear
when, too late, he had known he was wrong. Yet death must have come quickly, so quickly that he need never have known. A kindness
and she drank with a lighter heart as she thought about it.
“Aldo?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s have fun.”
A shift of mood, euphoria generated by the propinquity of death, one he took advantage of glad that she had ceased to brood.
Tycho held a variety of delights and he took pleasure in guiding her around.
“Beautiful!” She stared at blooms of glowing intricacy and monstrous size housed in the regulated environment of deep-dug
caverns. A forest of orchids tended by deft gardeners. “Aldo! I never guessed!”
As she had known little about the pool with water tinted to a violet shade, streaked with metallic colors that crawled over
her naked flesh to create transient patterns of enhancing loveliness.
Or the slides down which she plummeted to be slowed and spun and sent hurtling again in a long, twisting, stimulating journey
through transparent tubes hugging the side of a crater wall.
The soaring edifice which gave a magnificent view of the rays stretching from the crater itself and which had made Tycho both
mysterious and enticing long before men had learned to fly.
A crevasse which contained a enigmatic construction which could have been the bulk of an ancient, time-distorted vessel or
an accidental fabrication or the happenstance of weathering but which caught at the imagination and made her feel suddenly
very small and very vulnerable to the hostile forces of the cosmos.
Then back to the hotel to nibble at succulent dainties and sip at foaming drinks glowing blue and amber, emerald and ruby,
tasting the bittersweet blend of herbs, the tang of alien ice.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
“And me?”
“I love you too.” She reached out to send her fingers tracing a path over his cheek. “Aldo. Dear Aldo.”
They danced and he felt the softness of her against him before the music had them part to gesticulate, to weave an intricate
saraband, to meet again in formalized abandon. A game which merged with the other they played, the old game of love and being
in love. One both had played before and would play again many times and, when the time for parting came, neither would have
regret.
“A toast!” A woman rose at the edge of the floor, tall, regal, her skin black, her hair, gown, shoes, teeth a gleaming white.
The drink in her hand was the color of blood. “To a hero! To Paolo!”
The end of the wake and Celia joined the others who buried his memory. Fabrizi caught her as she stumbled.
“Celia?”
“I’m high.” She smiled at him. “Too high. Get me something to bring me down.”
Tablets to neutralize the alcohol while leaving the exhilaration. To t. . .
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