As an officer in the United Nations Law Enforcement Agency Ralph Mancini was dedicated to the worldwide War on Drugs, employing all the resources of the U.N., whilst working with the national and international police forces. But now an insidious new drug was being developed, one in which the people taking it experienced a trip like no other. They became, in effect, God-like beings, and once they had experienced 'heaven' they could think of nothing but their next trip - whatever the cost. Ralph and Inspector Frere follow a tangled trail of murder and intrigues to try and find the source of the peril-but will they be too late to stop it spreading across the world...?
Release date:
January 30, 2014
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
89
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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Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)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Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)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Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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)
Ralph Mancini smelt the odour of carnations and recognised Cybele’s distinctive perfume. She’d come through the shadowed darkness to stand quietly at his side, head tilted so that the soft light from the sky shone on the smooth contours of her face, the dark wells of her eyes. Standing there she resembled an ancient Grecian statue. An anachronism here on this penthouse garden a mile above the streets of the city. Then she moved a little and the spell was broken.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Beautiful!”
Together they looked up and over the parapet to where the broad arc of Halley’s comet hung like a glowing scimitar in the sky.
“Beautiful,” she said again, and added. “No wonder the sight of it used to upset the old-timers.”
“They though it a visitation from the gods,” he said quietly. “A terrible omen of dreadful things to come.”
“Superstition.”
“Perhaps. But when it appeared in 1910 the world, as people then knew it, shortly ceased to exist. The First World War,” he explained. “That wrecked the social order and redrew national boundaries which laid the basis for World War Two. And you know what happened after that.”
“Atomic power,” she said. “Intercontinental transportation. Space travel. Computers… I see what you mean. But those were good things, not bad. They led to progress. And after the comet came again in 1985 we’ve had the internet, genetic engineering and countless medical advances.”
“And this time?”
“Nothing. You’re no mystic. You don’t believe in omens and all that rubbish. No one does in this day and age.”
Her tone was dogmatic, brooking no argument, but he had no intention of arguing despite his annoyance that she had sought him out and broken his introspection. Cybele Howarth was his hostess and it was both impolite and impolitic to be rude.
“It’s beautiful anyway,” he said. “And rare. You’ll be almost a hundred years old before you get the chance to see it again.”
It was a diplomatic lie but she didn’t correct him as to her true age. Instead she said. “No, it’ll hang around for a while yet.”
“You’re being precise, Cybele. When it goes it will be seventy-five years before it returns. That’s a long time.”
Long enough for the entire world to change. He looked again at the comet wondering how many who saw it now would be alive to see it then. Not many, he guessed, only the very young and the very rich if they were not too old. Not over thirty, say, which put him five years on the wrong side even if he had the money to buy extended life, which he hadn’t.
He was seeing Halley’s Comet for the first and last time.
It was a sobering thought and he concentrated on the spectacle oblivious to the pulsing beat of music rising from the floor below. Any excuse was good enough for the Party crowd to throw a party and Cybele had really let herself go. An astronomical affair with everyone in appropriate costume. But of all the guests only he and she and a handful of others had bothered to step into the garden to look at the comet.
“Ralph.” Beside him the woman moved, restless, impatient. “Come on, now. You’ve looked at that thing long enough. I didn’t invite you here just to stargaze. Anyway,” she added. “I’m having it filmed so you’ll be able to see it again if you want to.”
An invitation? Anything was possible and his job held certain glamour for the uninitiated. Or was it perhaps more than that? His eyes searched her face, falsely young in the subdued illumination, but saw nothing other than a mask of superbly applied cosmetics. He looked at her eyes, glowing with reflected comet-light, the pupils apparently normal. He looked away before his scrutiny became obvious.
“Well?” Her voice held amusement. “Did you like what you looked at?”
Deliberately he was obtuse. “The comet? It is almost the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Almost?”
“You, Cybele, outshine everything in the sky. Alone I could appreciate the comet. With you at my side its glory seems less.”
“Flattery?”
“The truth.”
Her hand closed on his bare arm, tightened. “It was kind of you to say that, Ralph, but you disappoint me. A policeman should never try to act the gallant. He should be hard, tough, ruthless. That’s what I find so attractive about you—you look that way. “Don’t spoil the image with soft words.”
“I apologise.”
“Now you’re making things worse.”
“Then go to Hell!”
“That’s better.” Her smile was radiant. “Shall we go there together?”
Hell rested at the foot of thirty curving steps of transparent crystal, an artistic depiction of Pluto, a red-lit place of noise and smoke and confusion. Blue, green and silver draped the walls, the chilliness of the colours counterbalanced with swathes of red and gold. Bubbles drifted lamely in the air, popped they gusted sweet perfumes or nauseous vapours. Strobe lights flashed in hypnotic tempo and a ten-piece group blasted amplified sound.
“Hi, tall, dark and handsome!” A girl swayed from between the drifting balloons. She was naked aside from bands of body-paint around hips and breasts and carried a tray of drinks. One of the dozen waitresses hired for the occasion, sparkling, eager to please. “Help yourself.”
She watched as he took a glass.
“I’m Saturn,” she said abruptly. “See my rings? And you’re Mars. Man! You’ve got muscle! If you’re ma’s then I’d sure like to see pa’s.” She giggled, amused at her humour. “Have another drink.”
“Not yet,” said Ralph.
“Come on!” she urged. “Get loaded! When you’re ready to shoot just come looking.”
She moved away, tray held high, buttocks undulating an invitation. A big-breasted Rhea slapped them as the girl passed. A Juno ran a hand caressingly over her flank. An Eros, wearing only paint and a laurel wreath, smiled as he helped himself to a drink.
“She’s young,” said Cybele condescendingly. “Riding high and enjoying every minute. You fancy her?”
“No.”
“Why not? She’s young, pretty and you made a big impression.”
“And is that reason enough for me to want her?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
Ralph shook his head. “I stopped being a reactive mechanism ten years ago. After the first five hundred they’re all the same. Now I need something else,” he said. “A personality. And I want to be wanted for me as an individual and not just because I happen to be around.”
Cybele laughed. “You’re showing your age, Ralph. That’s the way women used to talk years ago. Maybe you should take a little something to restore your interest in life.”
“Life spelt S.E.X?”
“You’re cynical,” she said. “That’s what comes of being a policeman. Now drink up and join the party.”
The glass held a combination of rum and brandy both at least twelve years old. He sipped, tasting the blend, recognising nothing other than normal alcohols. Not that Cybele would have been stupid enough to add illegal ingredients but sometimes the caterers got ambitious or a guest might have spiked the drinks. And there was always the possibility of sabotage.
He sipped again, irritated with himself for his preoccupation, his eternal suspicions. It was, as the woman had pointed out, the result of his job. To be forever watchful, always on duty, always looking for the worst. Well, to hell with it! Tonight he would have fun.
The group fell silent, recommencing with a peculiar melody of flutes and pipes, the wail of strings and the hypnotic tap of a drum. A dozen Balinese dancers swirled on the floor, light winking from their elaborate costumes as they went through the mechanical perfection of a native dance. Against the near-nudity of the guests they looked bizarre, robot-like in their posturing, fantastically overdressed and yet, oddly enough, the more erotic because of it.
The lure of mystery, thought Ralph watching. The desire to see what lay beneath the shielding garments. The age-old attraction of the half-concealed against the wholly revealed. In the Western world flesh had become a debased currency.
He turned away as the dance ended, feeling detached, bored with the empty gaiety. A girl ran up to him, laughing, stabbing at a drifting balloon. He held his breath against the stink of asafoetida, caught a naked arm, crushed another of the bubbles against her smiling face. The clean tang of pine filled the air.
“You lost!” shrieked the girl. “Now pay a forfeit!”
“Later.”
“Now!” she demanded. “Hey, Max!” She waved across the room. “This guy lost and now he won’t pay.”
“He pick a sweet one?” Max, like Ralph, was wearing the classical costume of a Roman Legionnaire. It displayed his gymnasium-trained figure to its best advantage. He smiled with a flash of white teeth but his eyes held violence. “Come on, sport. You bet and you lost. Now the little lady calls the tune. What’ll it be, honey?”
“Grip him,” she said. “Bring him to his knees.”
“And kiss your feet? O.K.” Max held out his hand. “Come on, sport. Let’s shake.”
Ralph drained his glass and passed it to a willing hand. The strobe lights were beginning to get him, firing his blood with incipient hysteria, adding to the relentless pounding of the music with its jungle-rhythm appeal to the primitive.
Thoughtfully he looked at the other man. Max stood before him, legs straddled, right hand extended. He still smiled but his eyes held cruelty. He would take his opponent’s hand and squeeze it, forcing him to his knees, whimpering from the pain of crushed bones. A touch of sadism beneath a mask of civilised fun. A chance to see a fellow man grovel and so enhance his own concept of masculinity
“Come on, sport,” he said again. “Don’t keep the lady waiting. Ralph took the proffered hand, conscious of the circle in which they stood, the rapt and staring eyes. Together they tightened their grip.
There were ways to dodge it, Ralph knew. He could have thrust his own hand well forward so that the webs between thumbs and forefingers met and so negated the pressure. The hand within his own was short of skin but padded with muscle, strong, trained in gymnastic exercise, but where Max had trained for fun Ralph had trained for real. He summoned strength from his back and shoulders, biceps and forearm, and fed it into his hand. He felt muscles yield, the shift of bone.
“Down,” he said quietly. “On your knees.”
Max sucked in his breath. He was no longer smiling and the cruelty in his eyes had been replaced by hate. Sweat glistened on his forehead and ran in tiny rivulets down his face. For a long moment they stood, straining, then he made a small sound deep in his throat and, abruptly, was down on him knees.
“My feet,” said Ralph, maintaining the pressure, and then changed his mind. It was wrong to press a man too far. “No. The girl’s feet. Kiss them.”
She laughed at the touch of the lips, a silly, inane giggle. “Why, Max! I didn’t know you cared!”
He glowered as he rose to the sound of laughter. His hand was white streaked with red and the na. . .
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