THE VAULT IN THE VALLEY On a far semi-desert world, shunned by trade routes, and unattractive to star travellers, there is a barren and isolated valley. Dominating this valley is a great time-eroded Sphinx-like construction - a mass known to the few who have looked upon it as the Skull of Sykoris. Cap Kennedy followed a dangerous trail across many worlds - a trail of murder, duels, and evil - to find that it ended there, before the Skull, confronting a mystery older than all mankind. Beneath that Sphinx lay something desired by Earth's old enemies. Beneath it lay something that lured the criminal minds of many worlds. But what it was none knew - until Cap Kennedy himself released the frightful power of the Eater of Worlds.
Release date:
September 29, 2011
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
126
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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Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)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Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)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Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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 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)
Framed in the screen the face had the appearance of a faded tapestry, the planes and contours softened, creped with a mesh
of lines, the skin sagging a little at the jowls. A weak face, decided Ron Conway, then immediately corrected the impression.
Not a weak face but one in repose, the eyes closed as if asleep, the thin, lipless mouth parted a little to reveal strong,
blunt teeth. Above the small ears, sloping back from the protuberant forehead, the skull rose to form a discernible peak fuzzed
with the bristle of close-cropped hair. More hair lay along the ridges of the eyes, thick, dark, sharply rising at the ends.
“Dr. Priam Farrel,” said the warden dispassionately. “I can’t say that I’m sorry to be rid of him.”
Conway turned from the screen. “A troublemaker?”
“Not in the sense you mean.”
“A malingerer?”
“No.”
“What then?”
Chan Uiger shrugged. He had been in the penal service for almost forty years, in charge of the prison on Caldar for ten, and
it was hard to put the experience of a lifetime into a few, simple words.
“It’s a feeling I have. A feeling you get when you’ve been around criminals for any length of time. Think of a bomb. You know
that it is potentially dangerous yet you can handle it. Now imagine that same bomb, primed and fused and all set to explode.
You don’t know just when it will blow, but you’d stake your life that it will happen. Some men are like that. Farrel is one of them.”
Conway glanced again at the screen. The eyes were open now, deep-set pits of murky brown which seemed to stare directly at
him. The mouth had closed, the corners lifted as if in a sardonic smile, and much of the relaxed softness had vanished.
He said sharply, “Does the man know about the transfer?”
“Officially, no.”
“Then he doesn’t know.”
Uiger sighed, masking his impatience. The lieutenant was young and, perhaps, a little naïve. Gently he said, “We can’t be
sure of that. Information has an odd way of getting around no matter what steps are taken to prevent it. He shouldn’t know
that he is to be transferred, but I would hate to bet on it.”
A whisper overheard, a hint, the passing of a message, the mysterious grapevine that seemed to exist in all prisons against
all logic. Telepathy, perhaps? It was possible, if unproven. Men, cooped and held, denied a normal life, restricted in every
way, could have time to develop unsuspected talents.
Conway reached out and touched a control. The face in the screen diminished, became the overall part of a familiar scene.
A cell, the cot it contained, the toilet facilities, the body of the man lying supine on the bunk. The man could not possibly
know he was, at this second, under direct scrutiny but somehow gave the impression that he did.
“How long?”
“Until you can take him?” Uiger glanced at his watch. “Give it thirty minutes, time enough for him to eat and change. Maybe
you’d like to take a stroll around the walls while you’re waiting?”
A polite dismissal or a genuine invitation, Conway couldn’t decide, but he had no real choice. And it was good to leave the
monitoring room, to step out into warm sunlight and feel the wind on his cheeks, catch the scent of flowers. Caldar was a soft world, the prison seeming to be an ugly growth which somehow didn’t belong. And despite
the sunlight and the scented breeze it seemed to hold a dank miasma, an intangible something which radiated depression so
that even the high walls, smooth and clean as they were, had the impression of blocks of slimed and moldering stone.
That stupid feeling had no right to exist and he shouldn’t be aware of it. Squaring his shoulders, Ron Conway walked quickly
along the upper parapet, thinking of the future, when he would pass the final examination and leave the drudgery of his present
duties to others while he rose one more step up the ladder which could reach, literally, to the stars.
The ladder was long and not an easy climb. A trained and dedicated man could be accepted as a crewman of a MALACA, but even
though accepted, he still had a long way to go before reaching command. Yet the goal was worthwhile no matter what the cost:
to rule what was, in effect, a virtual empire. True, the territory of a Mobile Aid Laboratory And Construction Authority resided
in the ships which formed the unit, but the forces they contained were sufficient to destroy worlds. These far-flung guardians
of Earth could destroy as well as build, the watchdogs that resided in space, always alert, always prepared to defend any
world allied to Terra against alien aggression.
To any young man of ambition it was an enticing prospect.
He snapped alert at the sound of his name and hurried back to where the warden waited with two guards and a prisoner. Seen
in the flesh, Dr. Priam Farrel dispelled any concept of weakness. Despite his incarceration his flesh was firm, his eyes hard,
direct. He stood tall between the guards, his wrists manacled behind him.
He said flatly, “Am I to be told what all this is about?”
Uiger was curt “You are being transferred to another prison.”
“Where?” Farrel’s voice was harsh, grating. He added, “Surely I have a right to know.”
“What rights you have are being safeguarded.” The warden thrust a pad of printed forms toward Conway. “Please sign here, Lieutenant.
Your thumbprint also. Thank you. The prisoner is now your responsibility. Melier!”
He watched as the guard unlocked the manacles, frowning a little as Conway replaced them with his own, snapping one cuff around
his left wrist, the other around Farrel’s right. It was unwise practice to be fastened so close. The prisoner could run wild,
turn berserker, explode in a fury of maniacal rage, and fastened as he was, Conway would not only hamper his men but stand
a good chance of getting hurt.
Still, it was no longer Uiger’s responsibility. Flatly he said, “Your men are waiting in the external passage, Lieutenant.
An officer will guide you to the gate. May you have a swift and uneventful passage.”
“Thank you,” said Conway. He took a step forward and felt the tug at his wrist.
Farrell said again, “Where are you taking me?”
“To Oberon, the satellite of Uranus. As a citizen of Terra you belong within the immediate jurisdiction of Earth.” Conway
dropped a hand to the butt of his holstered gun. It was a needler, the darts loaded with stunning anesthetic. “A warning.
Walk quietly and you will not be harmed. Try anything stupid and I will have no hesitation in shooting you down.”
Incredibly Farrel smiled. “Trouble, Lieutenant? I wouldn’t think of causing trouble. Shall we go?”
Outside the prison the sun seemed warmer by comparison with the bleak interior. Farrel paused, sniffing at the air, inflating
his chest as his eyes glanced around. Conway waited, patient, then led the way toward the waiting vehicle and the six-man
escort. They also were armed, not with the relatively innocuous needlers, but with sprom . . .
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