As guardian of the Universe's freedom from the domination by the Cyclan, Earl Dumarest is ruthlessly hunted by their agent, Cyber Broge, as he searches for the fortune necessary to finance his epic quest for the legendary, lost Terra -- the planet of his birth. Hunter and fugitive, predator and victim, Earl Dumarest lands on the planet Zakym.
Zakym is a cadaverous, twin-sunned world where the spectres of the dead daily claim the lives of the living; a decadent world that threatens to explode with the unparalleled violence of civil war and broken taboos. It's also home to the beautiful, haunted Lavinia, whose soul is claimed and condemned by a power-crazed madman.
Both Lavinia and her planet are doomed until a man appears who promises to be their saviour. Dumarest is the only person capable of challenging the terrifying menace of the Cyclan and the terrors of Zakym. But can even he triumph against such foes?
Release date:
September 29, 2011
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
173
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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Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)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Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)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Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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 TormentedCity(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)
Delusia came unexpectedly so that she continued riding towards the north, forgetting the passage of time in the stimulating
conversation with Charles. He looked well as he rode easily at her side, his clothes the same as she remembered him wearing
when, shortly after they had first met, he had attended her on a hunt. The bag had been negligible; some vermin tossed aside
on the homeward journey, but the pleasure had been great. They had wandered, hands touching, talking of a variety of things
with an irresistible torrent of words. Normally shy she had found a release in his presence while he, perhaps amused at her
young eager attention, had relaxed the guard he usually wore.
Now, riding close to her side, he was the same suave, charming man she had known when little more than a girl A long time
ago now and she had known him when he looked other than he did at the moment. There had been lines tracing the smooth curve
of his cheek and a sagging of the flesh beneath the chin. The old, familiar manner had become crusted with accumulated layers
of distrust and, when he had finally died, killed in some stupid quarrel, he had resembled an old and tired man rather than the youth she chose to remember.
“Charles!” She lifted her whip and pointed ahead to where a narrow cleft showed in the bleak wall of the Iron Mountains. “That
gulley, you see it? The first to reach it claims a forfeit. Go!”
A childish game and one she hadn’t played for years now and she had a moment’s wonder as to why she should choose to play
it now. A return to her youth, perhaps, her childhood? The fiction of a happier time? If so she knew better, for her childhood
had not been happy and the things it contained were best forgotten.
Leaning forward, heels drumming, she concentrated on the race. Beneath her she could feel the surge and pulse of muscle as
her mount sent iron-shod hooves against the bare rock of the foothills. In her nostrils she could smell the odors of sweat
and hair, of leather and oil, catch too the sensual scent of the beast; a mare close to seasonal heat—had that scent triggered
her own femininity?
The drumming of the hooves softened as they hit a film of drifted soil; grains carried by the winds and trapped in the shelter
of the cleft. Dull echoes rose to be caught and reflected by the soaring walls of either side. Before them shadows lay dense,
sombre banks of thickening darkness which hid what lay beyond and seemed to hide the hint of movement.
Abruptly the mare came to a halt, rearing, forelegs rising, eyes rolling, foam dropping from bared teeth and muzzle. A move
which almost threw her, would have thrown her had she not been about to check the forward motion of the animal.
“Steady, girl! Steady!”
Charles, of course, had vanished, but she thought nothing of him as she ran her hands over the head and muzzle of the frightened
beast, soothing the animal with words and touch. And the mare had reason to be afraid. She had ridden too long and wandered
too far and now it was dangerously close to night. Looking up she saw the edges of the gulley framing a strip of purple sky
palely flecked with the ghosts of stars. The suns were invisible, coming into view only when she had left the mountains and
begun the journey home.
They were lower than she had thought and she cursed the delusia which had robbed her of elementary caution. Already the day
was dying, the light diffused, the air holding a metallic taint, but with luck, she decided, she could just about make it.
If it hadn’t been for the stupid race with Charles she would have had no doubt but now, literally, it was a matter of life
and death.
“Go!” She snapped to the mare. “Run for your life now, girl. Run!”
She helped, easing the stirrups, loosening the reins, placing her weight so as to help and not to hamper the rhythm of the
animal. There was little more she could do. To have halted and removed the saddle would have lost time and the saving of weight
was not as important as it would seem. The beast was accustomed to the saddle and she was not skilled in bare-backed riding.
“Move, girl! Move!”
It was no time to be gentle. The spurs she wore more for decoration than for actual use dug into the heaving flanks, the sting
of the whip accentuating their message of urgency. Beneath her she felt the animal bound, fresh life sent to tiring muscles,
the stride lengthening a little now they had reached flatter ground. Behind them the bulk of the mountains began to shrink
as the ground streamed past around and below. The speed of their passage created a wind which thrummed against her face and
caught her hair, tearing it free from the golden clasps which held it, fanning the thick, black tresses and sending them to
stream like a silken pennant from the rounded contour of her head.
“On!” she urged. “On, girl! On!”
The sound of her voice acted as had the whip and spurs. Foam flew from the muzzle and the lungs strained in the barrel of
the chest. A machine, bred and trained for strength, speed and obedience, the animal raced through the thickening darkness
towards the haven which alone could save it. On its back the woman, sensing its fear and terror, conscious of her own, bit
at her lower lip until blood stained her chin, the gleaming white perfection of her teeth.
Ellman’s Rest, a gnarled and oddly shaped mass of wood and stone, the great tree surrounded by the rock which it had shattered
by the relentless fury of its growth, appeared on her right. Wisps of night-mist wreathed it, tattered veils which blurred detail so that for a moment she thought it was a
creature of the unknown standing with outstretched arms to snatch her from the back of her mount, to crush her, to rend the
limbs from her body and to tear free her internal organs. A moment of illusion, then the thing was behind and now only a few
miles lay between her and the castle.
“We’re winning,” she said to the laboring animal. “Keep it up, girl. We’re winning!”
The suns were behind her, the magenta and violet, their discs blended, now both below the horizon. Night was closing in, limiting
her vision so that it was impossible to make out detail more than a few feet to either side, a little more ahead. Before her
the trail wound like a snake, the narrow path curving between boulders, around looming mounds, straightening only to twist
again. A bad road to take at speed even in the full light of day. One suicidal to attempt at a gallop on the edge of night.
“On, girl! On!”
The crest lay ahead, beyond it the curve, then the slope and, at last, a clear view of the castle. Once past the crest the
road ran downhill and, beyond the curve, it was wide and evenly smooth. A place maintained for racing but never before had
she raced with such determination to win. She would, she thought as they neared it, set a new record. Certainly it would be
one which she never intended to break under similar circumstances.
Then, as something moved in the dimness, the animal shied.
There had been no warning, no intimation and, lulled by the nearing safety, she had relaxed a little. Too late she grabbed
at the reins, felt the animal rear, and then was falling, hurtling through the air to land with a bone-jarring thud, her vision
laced with darting flashes. As they cleared she rose and looked around. The animal had fallen and lay, screaming, on the dirt.
“It’s hurt,” said Charles. He stood at her side and looked at the stricken beast. “A broken leg, see?”
She didn’t need the guidance of his pointing finger to discover the injury.
“Something frightened it. An animal of some kind crossing the trail.” His voice was soft, even. “Nothing you need worry about.
But the animal—you’ll have to kill it.”
The mare was young, healthy, a magnificent specimen of her species. She could be drugged, the leg mended with internal splints.
“You’ll have to kill her,” insisted Charles. “It’s too dark to do anything else. You know that. You have no choice. At least
be kind.”
To the animal and then, perhaps, to herself. She looked around, shivering, feeling the skin crawl on her back and shoulders.
The pull and drag of her loose tresses felt like hands tugging at her scalp. Their touch rasped dust and dirt over her tunic,
little scraping sounds which, because near, rose above the screaming of the beast.
“Steady, girl!” She took small steps forward, talking, smiling as she spoke, one hand behind her, the fingers lifting the compact laser from her belt. “Steady, girl! Steady!”
The animal looked at her, eyes rolling, ears pricked, teeth bared in fright and pain. She stepped closer, kneeled beside the
head, lifted the laser to rest its muzzle within the confines of an ear.
“Now,” said Charles firmly. “Now!”
A click and it was done, the beam drilling through flesh and bone into the mass of the brain bringing quick and merciful peace.
Rising she looked down at the dead animal. It would be waiting for her and, should she follow it, they could ride again. As
Charles would be waiting and so many others. A touch and it would be done.
“Lavinia! Lavinia, don’t!”
She heard the shout and the thud of racing hooves, turned to see the dim figure in the dying light. Roland with a spare mount
at his side.
“Up, girl!” he said urgently as he drew to a halt at her side. “Mount and ride!”
Delusia? The animals were real and Roland was alive as far as she knew. Quickly she mounted and felt the pound of hooves as
the beast carried her down the road. Ahead loomed the bulk of the castle, the gates wide, closing as they rode past them, slamming shut as the great curfew-bell sent throbbing echoes into the air.
“My lady, you are safe!” Old Giacomo, his face creased and seamed like the skin of a dried fruit, helped her to dismount.
“The Old Ones heard my prayers!”
“And mine, my lady.” A younger man, his son, she thought, touched a finger to his brow with due respect for her rank. Already
he had presumed too far. “I also begged for the Old Ones to protect you.”
“And I, my lady! And I!”
A sussuration, a chorus of voices, muttering, blending into a drone, turning words into things without meaning. For a moment
she swayed, seeing the great courtyard filled with a great assembly, the host dotted with familiar faces. Fan de Turah, Ser
M’tolah, Chun Chue, Tianark L’ouck—uncles and cousins and forebears whose portraits now hung in the galleries. Nobles who
had come to stay and fight and die for the Family. Strangers whom she had never known but who now filled her castle. Generations
which had lived and died before her own parents had been conceived.
“Lavinia!” Roland was at her side, his hand on her arm, his face anxious. “My dear, are you ill?”
“No.”
“You look so pale.” Gently he pushed back the thick strands of hair which had fallen over her cheek. “And your tunic is soiled.
Did you fall?”
“Yes.” She anticipated his concern. “It was nothing. Some bruises, perhaps, but nothing more.”
“Even so a physician should examine you. Tomorrow I will send for one or, better, accompany you into town.”
“No!” Always the tone of authority irritated her and yet she realized her sharpness had been uncalled for. He meant well and,
of them all, he alone had ridden out for her. “No, Roland, she said more gently. “I’m not hurt. A hot bath and some massage
is all I need.”
He said, stiffly, “As you wish, my lady. I have no right to order, and yet I think you are being unwise.”
“My lady?” She smiled and shook her head. “Roland you are my cousin and my friend. What need of such stiff formality? And
where would I be now if you had not come to rescue me?”
A question he chose not to answer. Instead, as they walked from the courtyard towards the. . .
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