The Temple of Truth

Book 0: DUMAREST SAGA

by E.C. Tubb

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

Synopsis

In relentless pursuit of Earl Dumarest come the emotionless minions of the Cyclan. Seeking the body-switching formula which would make them masters of the universe, they must seize Dumarest alive to gain his secret. It all comes together on the world of the Guardians, where in the great temple of their fanatical faith, the true co-ordinates of Earth are listed. There Dumarest will battle the Cyclan . . . while the fate of all humanity hangs in the balance. (First published 1985)

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 221

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)

Karlene shivered. Thirty dozen perlats had been slaughtered to provide her furs yet still she felt the cold. An illusion—born
of snow and ice and the pale azure of an empty sky. The visual effects overrode the electronic warmth cossetting her body
and she lifted her hands to draw the soft hood closer about her face.


“Cold?” Hagen had noticed the gesture. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Nothing.” An answer too curt and she expanded it as she swept a hand at the vista before them: a landscape of white traced
with azure and flecked with motes of nacreous sheen. Out there perspective was distorted so that the mound she looked at could
have been a hundred yards distant or a thousand, the dune a thousand or ten. “There’s no warmth,” she complained. “No shelter. It’s all so bleak. So inhospitable.”


He said, “Erkalt is a frigid world, but it has its uses.”

“Such as?”

“Low-temperature laboratories. Some mines. Some—” He broke off, knowing she knew the details. “As a site for the games,” he
said. “As a frame for your beauty. An ice queen should rule over a world of ice.”


Empty flattery but she restrained her annoyance. Instead she walked to the edge of a shallow ravine, one barely visible against
the featureless expanse. It was empty; a gash cut deep into the snow, pale shadows clustered in its depths. No trace of life
yet; looking at it, she felt the familiar touch in her mind.


“Something?” Hagen was beside her, his eyes searching her face. “You catch the scent?” His tone sharpened as she nodded. “When?
Soon? Late?”


“Late.” The touch had been too gentle. “Sometime ahead but too weak to tell when.”

Time and cause—variables beyond her control. Duration weakened impact so that a dire event in the distant future would register
as a small incident almost due. An irritation, but one he had no choice but to accept. Now he slipped an arm around her shoulders
and led her from the treacherous lip of the ravine.


“Probably a perlat slaughtered for its hide or some other small animal ending its life.” He kept his tone light, casual. “Victim
of some predator, no doubt. Don’t worry about it.”


Good advice; to brood on death and fear was to invite madness. Yet, at times, it was hard to ignore the shadows which stretched
back through time. In that ravine a creature would die and would know terror before it expired.


“Well try over to the east,” said Hagen. His tone, still light, masked his impatience. “Once we find the right place we can
set up the scanners.”


“If we find it,” she said. “And if it’s the right one.”

“It will be—you’ll see to that.”

His assurance held the trace of threat, but she said nothing as he led the way to where the raft stood on the frozen snow.
The driver, muffled in cheap furs, touched a control as they climbed aboard, and a transparent canopy rose to enclose the
body of the vehicle and protect them from the wind. It droned as they rose, a bitter, keening sound, and she shivered again
as the raft moved away from the lowering sun.


“Still cold?” Hagen was concerned. “Perhaps you are ill. I think you should see a doctor when we get back to town.”

“No!” Her refusal was sharp. “There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s just this damned planet.”

The snow and ice and shriek of the wind. A sound as if a lost soul was crying its grief as it quested empty spaces. Beneath
the raft the ground was a blur of whiteness; a board on which, soon, a bloody game would be played. What did a quarry feel?
Fear, that was certain, a rush of terror prior to a savage end, but what else? Hope, perhaps? The belief in the miracle which
alone could bring safety? Regret that greed and love of life had led to a frigid hell?


The heaters had taken the chill from the air within the canopy and she loosened the hood, throwing it back from her head and
face to release a cascade of hair. It fell in a cloud of shimmering whiteness over the pearly luster of her furs; hair as
white as the snow below, as white as the blanched pallor of her skin.


An albino; beneath the silver-tinted contact lenses she wore, her eyes held the pinkness of diffused blood.

“You’re beautiful!” Hagen was sincere in his appreciation, eyes studying the aristocratic delicacy of her face; the high cheekbones,
the hollow cheeks, the thin flare of nostrils, the curve of lips, the rounded perfection of the chin. Beneath the furs her
body was lithe with a rounded slimness. “An ice queen, as I said.”


A mutant and hating it despite the wealth it had brought her. Hating the talent she possessed which set her apart, now again
making itself manifest within the secret convolutions of her mind.


“Karlene?” Hagen had seen the sudden, betraying tension. “Something?”

“I think so.”

“Strong? Close?” He ceased his questioning as she raised a hand. Waited until it lowered. “No?”

“A scent, but it was weak. Where are we?”

Too far to the east and distant from the city. The raft turned as he snapped orders at the driver, slowing as it circled over
the too-flat terrain. Hopeless territory for the games as the fool should have known. The vehicle straightened, humps rising in the distance, to become mounded dunes slashed with crevasses torn by
the winds, gouged with pits fashioned by storms.


“Anything?” Hagen glanced at the sun as she shook her head. Soon would come the night, the winds, the impossibility of further
search. To the driver he said, “Drop lower and head for the north. Cut speed.”


“But—”

“Do it!”

Too low and too slow over such broken terrain could lead to disaster; sudden winds, rising from uneven ground, could catch
the raft and bring it to destruction. Fears the man kept to himself as he handled the controls.


Waiting, watching, Hagen forced himself to be patient. There was nothing more he could do and his tension could affect the
woman’s sensitivity. Now Karlene was in command. Until she scented the node, they must turn and drift and turn again in an
ever-widening circle. He had chosen the ground, the decision based on skill and experience, but only she could determine the
node.


“You’ve found it?” He had spotted her tension. “The scent?”

She nodded, one hand to her throat, eyes wide at the touch of horror.

“Close?”

“Close.” She inhaled, fighting to be calm. “Close and strong. God, how strong!”

The node. The spot where the game would end. Hagen sighed his relief. Now he could relax. The rest was just a matter of routine.

*    *    *

Leaning back in his chair, Dumarest looked away from his hungry guest. Brad Arken was more like a ferret than a man; thin,
sharp-faced, with eyes which quested in continual movement. His clothing was shabby, his skin betraying chronic malnutrition.
To feed him was a kindness, but Dumarest was not being charitable.


“Earl?”

“Help yourself. Eat all you want.”

The bread, the vegetables, the bowl of succulent stew. He had barely touched them but he had guessed the other’s hunger. Could
guess, too, at his desperation; the reason he had selected him from those hiring their labor, the reason he had invited him
to dine.


Now, as Arken ate, Dumarest looked around. The restaurant was contained within the hotel in which he had a room. Warm light
bathed the area enhancing the comfort of soft carpets and heated air. To one side a facsimile fire burned against a wall,
the bed of artificial logs glowing red, gold, amber and orange in a framework of black iron.


A glow which merged with the yellow illumination from the lanterns and threw touches of color on the flesh and finery of the
others seated at their tables. A crowd, mostly young, all apparently wealthy. They were in an exuberant mood.


“Voyeurs,” said Arken. “Here to enjoy the games. Watching in comfort while others do the work. At least they’ll keep warm.”

His plate was empty, the bowl also. The vegetables were barely touched but the bread had vanished and Dumarest guessed it now reposed beneath the other’s blouse. He lifted a hand as Arken wiped his mouth on a napkin.
To the waitress who answered his signal he said, “Wine. A flagon of house red.”


It arrived with glasses adorned with delicate patterns engraved in the crystal. Dumarest poured, Arken almost snatching up
his glass, downing half its contents at a gulp, then, almost defiantly, swallowing the rest.


As he reached for the flagon Dumarest clamped his fingers on the neck.

“Later. First we talk. I’m looking for a man. Maybe you can help me find him. He’s old, scarred down one cheek, gray hair
and, maybe, a beard.” Scant details but all he had. “Celto Loffredo. Once he was a dealer in antiquities.”


Arken said, “Erkalt’s a big world but sparsely inhabited. The city here, a few installations at the poles. They are staffed
by technicians employed by the companies who own them and they’re choosy about who they take. An old man, even if indentured,
wouldn’t be worth his keep. Which brings us back to the city. I guess you’ve checked the usual sources? Hotels and such?”
As Dumarest nodded he continued, “So he isn’t living easy and a man without money has little choice. If he’s alive he must
be on the brink.”


“As you are?”

Arken said nothing but the answer was in his eyes and, as he reached again for the wine, Dumarest released his grip on the
flagon.


As the man filled his glass Dumarest said, “This is free but it’s all you’re going to get. Locate the man I want and it’s worth a hundred.”


“That isn’t enough.”

“All I want is a time and place.”

“I’ll have to check the warrens.” Arken was insistent. “Spread the word and ask around. On Erkalt no one does anything free.
I’ll need cash for expenses, bribes, sweeteners. How badly do you want to find him?” Dumarest didn’t answer, and Arken drank
and shrugged before drinking again. “All right, so it’s your business, but we’d find him quicker if I could put others to
work. And it would help if I’d more to go on.”


The man was right, but Dumarest had no more to give. A name, a vocation, the hint that the man could have information he wanted.
Details gained on another world and a hope followed because he had nothing else.


“How much will you need?”

“For expenses?” Arken didn’t hesitate. “A hundred, at least. More if you want to hurry things along. I’ll need to hire men
to go looking and there are a lot of places Celto could be. But a hundred should do it.”


He refilled his glass, looking at Dumarest, hoping he had struck the right note, named the right price. Too little and he
would have undervalued himself and lessened the chance of profit. Too high and he could have lost an opportunity. It depended
on his host but Arken thought he recognized the type. A man who lived soft and could afford to be generous; the food and wine
was proof of that. He dressed plain but that was not uncommon; many tourists tried to seem what they were not. The grey tunic, pants and boots looked new and the knife carried in the right boot could be for effect.


“Well?” The wine had bolstered his courage and Arken pressed his advantage. A man alone, looking for another on a strange
world, would need local help. And, if he was in a hurry, he wouldn’t want to . . .