Earl Dumarest, trans-galactic soldier of fortune, is still seeking his birthplace, the fabled planet Earth. On the distant, decadent planet Dradea, he meets the mysterious, mutant woman Veruchia. She selected him from the gladiators' arena to become her servant. . . and more. Soon, Dumarest discovers that she too is engaged in a quest - and that the fate of her planet hangs in the balance. Fascinated, compelled, he agrees to help her. But then he must face bizarre perils which make the gladiatorial arena seem a haven of safety. . . (First published 1973)
Release date:
September 29, 2011
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
190
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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Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)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Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)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Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)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)
There was something cathedral-like about the museum so that visitors walked softly and spoke in little more than whispers,
awed by the nobility of the building. It was of natural stone, the high, vaulted roofs murmuring with distant echoes, the
vast chambers flanked with galleries and long windows of brightly stained glass. Even the attendants standing unobtrusively
beside carved pillars seemed more like exhibits than men: creatures subjected to the taxidermist’s art, uniformed simulacra
set to guard fabulous treasures. It would have been easy to have forgotten their presence.
Dumarest did not forget. From the moment he had entered the museum he had been conscious of their watchful eyes. They followed
him now as he walked with a dozen others, his neutral gray in strong contrast to their city finery, a stranger and therefore
an object of interest. Even guards grew bored.
“A phendrat.” The voice of the guide rose above the susurration of halting feet. He pointed upwards to where a winged and
spined creature hung suspended on invisible wires. Even in death it radiated a vicious ferocity. The treatment which had preserved it had not detracted from the glitter of its scales.
“The last of its species was destroyed over three centuries ago in the Tamar Hills. It was a carnivore and the largest insect
ever known on this world: the result, apparently, of wild mutation. Its life cycle followed a standard pattern, the female
sought out a suitable host and buried her eggs in the living flesh. See the sting? The venom paralyzed the selected creature
which could do nothing as it was eaten alive by the hatching young. Note the long proboscis, the mandibles and the hooked
legs. This is the sound of a phendrat in flight.”
The guide touched a button set in a pillar and a thin, spiteful drone filled the air. A matron cleared her throat as it died
away.
“Are you certain there are none left?”
“Positive, madam.”
‘I’ve a farm in the Tamar Hills. If I thought those things were still around I’d sell it tomorrow.”
“You have nothing to fear, madam, I assure you.” The guide moved on. “A krish,” he said, halting beside a ten-foot display
case filled with a mass of convoluted spines. “This one was found at the bottom of the Ashurian Sea. If you will study it
you will see that the body-shell is almost covered with bright stones. Sometimes they are found so thickly laden that true
mobility is lost. The stones are not natural to the creature and, as yet, we cannot determine whether or not the adornment
is deliberate or accidental. By that I mean there is a possibility that the creature actually chooses to adorn its shell in
the manner you see. If so the purpose could either be for camouflage, which seems unlikely, or as a means of attracting a
mate.”
“Like a girl dressing up?” The man was young and inclined to be frivolous.
The guide was curt. “Something like that, sir. But this is a male.”
“But wouldn’t that mean it is intelligent?” The girl had a thin, intent face with thick brows over eyes set a little too close
for beauty. She glanced up at Dumarest and he noted, among other things, that she had stayed close to his side all through
the tour. “Wouldn’t you say that? I mean, if a creature exercises free choice doesn’t that imply it has a thinking brain?
And, if it can think, then it must be intelligent.”
The guide moved on and saved him from the necessity of a reply. This time the man halted before a pedestal bearing a peculiar
fabrication of metal.
“A mystery,” he said. “The alloy is of a nature unused and contains traces of elements which are not native to this world.
It was obviously part of a fabrication, a machine, possibly, but what the machine was or the part this played in its construction
is unknown. It was found buried in alluvium and was discovered during the mining operations at Creen. Aside from the fact
that it is very old and of an artificial nature nothing is known about it.” He paused. “Of course there are rumors: an earlier
native civilization which developed a high technology and then completely vanished without leaving any other trace; the discarded
part of a spaceship of unknown manufacture; an art form of a culture unknown—the choice is limited only by the imagination.
Personally I believe the explanation to be less bizarre.”
The girl said, “And that is?”
“My own belief?” The guide shrugged. “The part of a machine which proved unsatisfactory and was reclaimed for salvage. The alien elements could have been imported and the alloy was probably one of a series tested for greater efficiency.
Economic pressure or the discovery of a cheaper substitute would account for it no longer being in use. It most likely fell
from a raft during transport to a smelter.”
A safe, mundane explanation, thought Dumarest, and one calculated to reduce interest in the strange fabrication. Who would
be intrigued by junk? Yet he did not turn away, stepping closer to the pedestal instead and studying the near-shapeless mass
with narrowed eyes. It was hopeless. The thing defied any attempt to determine its original function, the attrition of time
marring its delicate construction. And it was delicate, that much was obvious despite the damage it had sustained: metal-like
lace interspersed with solid elements and weaving conduits. If they were conduits. If the metal had originally been like lace.
“Old,” said a voice quietly. The girl was still at his side. “So very old. Did you notice how the guide paid no attention
to that in his explanation?”
“He probably didn’t think it important.”
“Do you?” Her voice held interrogation. “Are you interested in ancient things? Is that why you are visiting the museum?”
Dumarest wondered at her interest. Was it an attempt to make casual conversation or was it something deeper? She looked harmless
enough, a young girl, a student perhaps, busy widening her education, but appearances could be deceptive.
“It was raining,” he said. The museum offered shelter. And you?”
“I’ve nothing better to do.” Her voice fell a little, gained a slight huskiness. “And you can meet such interesting people in a museum.” Her hand slipped through his arm and held
it close. Through her clothing he could feel the cage of her ribs, the feverish heat of her body. “Shall we catch up with
the others or have you had enough?”
“And if I have?”
“There are more things to do on a rainy evening than look at the past.” She paused and added, meaningfully, “More pleasant
and just as educational. Well?”
“The guide is waiting,” he said, and pulling his arm free strode down the chamber.
The man had halted before a cleared space ringed with a barrier of soft ropes curling from stanchions. One hand rested on
a buttoned pedestal, the other was raised in a theatrical gesture.
“Your attention,” he said as Dumarest, followed by the girl, joined the party. “What you are about to see is a true mystery
for which even I have no explanation. First I will permit you to feast your eyes and then I will tell you what it is you see.”
He paused, a showman captivating his audience, then firmly pressed the button. “Behold!”
Later the balm of time and weather would soften the bleakness, rounding edges and blurring harsh contours, casting a net of
vegetation over the place so that the ragged outlines would merge into the landscape and the ruins be transformed into an
intriguing irregularity. But now the rawness was like a blow: a jumbled pile of desolation naked to the lavender sky, the
tortuous striations of savage color stark against a somber background; the exposed entrails of a beast stricken with the blind
fury of relentless destruction.
A city, thought Dumarest, like a machine, like a man, showed the agony of its death.
He stepped forward and felt the soft impact of the barrier against his thighs, blinking as he remembered that this was illusion,
but the hologram was so lifelike that it deluded even as to scale. It was hard to remember that these were not real ruins
a short distance away, that they need not even look exactly as they seemed.
Thickly he said, “Korotya?”
“The same.” The guide sounded surprised. “An unusual sight as I think you will all agree, and one of the mysteries of Selend.
No one knows how destruction came to this place. Even the existence of the city was unsuspected though there had been rumors.
The site is unfit for husbandry and so attracted no settlers. Hunters must have stumbled on it from time to time but, if so,
they never reported having found it. The assumption is that the inhabitants made sure they could not.”
A woman said, sharply, “Killed them, you mean?”
“Possibly, but there is no proof.”
To one side a girl whispered, “It’s horrible. Such destruction! And yet, in a way, it’s also magnificent. Those colors, those
shapes, but how …?”
“Atomics.” Her companion was emphatic. “What else could have generated such heat? See how the stone has fretted into outflung
traceries? Internal pressures must have done that, the superheated air on the interior gusting out to blast the molten walls.
The varied colors must be d. . .
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