Web of Sand

Book 0: DUMAREST SAGA

by E.C. Tubb

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

Synopsis

There was only one way out of Harge: to find a singing jewel, the greatest prize on that world of sand dunes. But the jewels were hidden deep in the burrows of Harge's most vicious predator. Earl Dumarest could fight humans, could match wits with the implacable Cyclan. But now, in his galaxy-spanning quest for the lost planet Earth, he must face the WEB OF SAND. (First published 1979)

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 156

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)

Marta Caine had a singing jewel which she took from its box and held cupped in her palms as she stood in the salon of the Urusha.

“From Necho,” she said, her eyes on the crystal. “I bought it when young and have carried it with me ever since. A long time
now. Too long.”


“It looks dull,” said Kemmer. “Dead.”

“It’s fatigued.”

“Why haven’t we seen it before?” Grish Mettalus leaned forward from where he stood behind Chai Teoh. Like the girl, he was
tall, slim, eyes slanted beneath narrow brows but where her face held a high-boned delicacy his features bore a broad and
flattened stamp. “You are unkind, Marta. The gem would have helped relieve our boredom.”


“As I said, it is tired.” The veined hands seemed to press reassuringly against the crystal cupped in the palms. “I have kept
it cooped in darkness too long. When we reach Fendris I shall set it on a high and open place where it can feed on sunlight
and starlight, be caressed by soft breezes and laved with gentle rains. Then it will regain its vitality and become young
again.” Bitterness edged her voice. “Would to God that it was as easy for others to restore their beauty.”


“You are beautiful enough,” said Kemmer with heavy gallantry. “With a warmth no stone can possess.”

“You are kind to say so, Maurice—but my mirror tells a different story.”

“Mirrors can lie. The beauty of a woman is more than a patina of skin. It is the need within her, the spirit, the response
she creates in those who watch her walk and talk and smile. A thing of the heart. Am I not right, Earl?”


Dumarest nodded, making no comment as he watched the jewel cupped in the woman’s hands. It no longer looked gray and dull like flawed glass but had gained an inner luminescence as, triggered by the metabolic heat and stimulation of flesh,
it responded in vibrant light and sound. The glow became brighter, splintered in a sudden mass of broken rainbows which filled
the salon with swaths of drifting color, a kaleidoscopic brilliance which gave the chairs, the tables and fittings a transient
and enticing magic. And as with the furnishings so those who stood bathed in the splendor now streaming from the jewel; Kemmer,
suddenly no longer the gross trader he was but now a figure of dignity as the harsh and somber shape of Carl Santis the mercenary
took on hints of a chivalry he had never known from a tradition he had never suspected. Mettalus, the girl standing before
him, Dumarest who now wore a shattered spectrum to decorate his face and hair and clothing. But of them all Marta was the
most transfigured.


She stood like a priestess of some esoteric cult, hands lifted now, the effulgence of the jewel bathing her uplifted face
and robbing it of the scars and marks of time. The skin had smoothed, the mesh of lines marring the flesh at the corners of
the eyes lost in flattering glows. The lips had gained fullness, the chin liberated from sagging tissue, the bones of cheeks
prominent above exotic concavities. The nose had thinned, become arrogant in haughty affirmation of youthful pride, age and
dissolution stripped away to show the girl she once had been. The hair, too, had changed, now displaying glints and glimmers
of vibrant hues, of sheens and enticing softness.


The light gave her beauty and she drank it and returned it through the touch of her hands, the emitted nervous tensions of
her body which stimulated the symbiote she held into a higher plane of existence.


Chai Teoh gasped as it began to sing. “Grish! What—”

“Be silent, girl!” Santis rasped the command. “Be still!”

His tone held the snap of one accustomed to obedience, but more imperious in its demand for attention was the song of the
jewel itself. It lifted, keening, undulating, a note of crystalline purity which penetrated skin and bone and muscle to impact
on the nerves and brain and the raw stuff of emotion itself. A song without words and without a predictable pattern but one
which held love and hope and joy and all the promise there ever could be and all the happiness ever imagined.


“God!” Kemmer’s whisper was a prayer as he stood, tears streaming over his rounded cheeks. “God—dear God!”

A man lost in the past or dreaming of what he had known or touched by a gentleness hitherto unsuspected and frightening in
its overwhelming tenderness. He did not weep alone. The face of Chai Teoh glistened with moist color, shimmering pearls falling
unheeded from the line of her jaw as she stood lost in a radiant pleasure. As Santis stood, his scarred face a prison for
his eyes, the eyes wells of somber introspection.


Mettalus said, “This is fantastic! I’ve never—”

“Be silent!” snapped the mercenary. “Hold your tongue!”

His scowl deepened as the singing faltered and then, reluctantly, faded to quaver and finally to cease leaving a silence so
intense that it could almost be felt as a tangible presence. As the sound died so the shimmering colors diminished, closing
in to form a luminescent cloud, a ball, a tinge on the surface of the crystal, a memory.


For a long moment Marta Caine held her poise then, slowly, she lowered her hands to stand looking at the dull surface of the
gem. Robbed of its magic she looked as she was, a woman too old for comfort, one who had lived hard and who showed it. The
face, lax, showed the marks of cheap cosmetic surgery; subtle distortions of ill-matched implants giving her a pathetically
clownish appearance. Her hair looked like the graft it was. Her eyes when she finally raised her head, betrayed her misery.


For a moment only and then the mask reappeared, the hard cynicism which was her defense against misfortune and her shield
against derision.


“Well? Did you like it?”

“It was superb!! Chai Teoh dabbed at her eyes. “So wonderful! I felt as if—oh, how can I explain?”

Grish Mettalus was direct. “How much?”

“For what?”

“For the jewel, of course, what else? I want it. How much?”

“It isn’t for sale.”

“And if it were I would buy it,” said Kemmer. “Marta, you have been most gracious. I think I speak on behalf of us all when
I thank you for having let us share the pleasure given by your jewel. From Necho, you say?”


“Yes.”

“Necho.” Kemmer pursed his lips. “A long way from here but, perhaps, not too far if a high profit is to be made. Your home world?”


“No.” Gently she restored the jewel to its box. “I was born on Lurus. My people owned a farm but the climate changed and what
was once fertile ground turned into desert. A solar imbalance—” She shrugged. “The details are of no importance. I was young
and decided to help as best I could. I traveled—it’s an old story.”


And one printed on her face. The mercenary said, “Did you ever return?”

“Does anyone?” The lid snapped shut on the box. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Nor I,” said Kemmer. “How about you, Earl?” He smiled as Dumarest shook his head. “Once we leave the nest it quickly loses
its attraction. Sometimes we choose to dream of a childhood more pleasant than it really was and of a life garnished with
false tinsel, but when it comes to it who would go back home if given the chance?” He shrugged, not waiting for an answer.
“Well, how now to pass the time? Some cards?”


The Urusha was a small vessel, a free-trader plying on the edge of the Rift, and the passengers were left to entertain themselves. No
real hardship with planets close and quick-time turning weeks into days, the drug slowing the metabolism and relieving the
tedium of the journey. But even so boredom was an enemy and one to be combatted. Grish Mettalus had found his own method,
making it plain he regarded Chai Teoh as his personal property and she, for reasons of her own, had not objected.


Marta grunted as they left the salon. “The girl’s a fool. She is selling herself too cheaply.”

“How can you know that?” Kemmer dealt cards and turned one over. “A jester. Match, beat or defer?” He watched as they made
their bets, small amounts as to whether their own cards could show a value equal, higher or lower than the one exposed. A
variant of High, Low, Man-In-Between. “You win, Carl. Well?” He looked at the woman. “How do you know?”


“I’ve ears. He paid her passage and has promised her an apartment on Fendris. Promises!” She echoed her contempt.

“So they come to nothing,” said the trader. “But she has still earned passage.”

“And could gain more.” Santis scowled at his card lying face down on the table. “A settlement, perhaps. Even marriage. On
a journey like this a girl could make a man her own. Mettalus is young and impressionable despite his cultivated air of sophisticated
indifference, and the girl has charm.”


“But no brains.” Marta thinned her lips as, again, she lost. “And you’re mistaken about Mettalus. He’s older than he seems.
Right, Earl?”


“I wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’d know and so would you, Carl, if you took the trouble to look. I can spot it—the way he stands, moves,
walks. The way he acts. Young? He’s old enough to be her father!”


“And so would make a better prize.” Kemmer smiled as he dealt a new round. “There is no fool like an old fool and I speak
from experience. But what are a few years between lovers? Age brings experience and a certain degree of tolerance. Matched
to youth it can have a beneficial effect. Some cultures realize that. On Richemann, for example, no girl is permitted to marry
a man less than twenty years older than herself and no man a woman less than twenty years younger. That way all gain the benefit
of both worlds; when young you match with age, when old you enjoy youth. Sometimes I think I will settle there.”


“Why don’t you?”

“The journey is long and I not too fond of unripe fruit.”

“You degenerate swine!” Her words were hard but she smiled as she spoke them and Dumarest knew she was joking. Knew too that
she and the trader had both found comfort in each other’s arms.


He said, “Have any of you made this journey before?”

“From Elgish to Fendris?” Kemmer shook his head. “Marta? How about you, Carl?”

“Once—some time ago now.” The mercenary frowned, thinking, remembering. “It seemed shorter than this.”

“Shorter? You think something is wrong?” Marta Caine was genuinely afraid. They were in the Rift and in the Rift danger was
always close. “Maurice! Earl! Carl—are you sure?”


“No, how can I be?” He bridled beneath her urgency. “It was years ago. But if you’re worried I’ll ask the steward.”

“No,” said Dumarest. “We’ll ask the captain.”

Frome matched his ship, a small, hard man with filed teeth over which his lips fitted like a trap. He scowled as he came to
the door leading into the control room.


“You’re off limits. Return to the salon at once.”

“Willingly, Captain, as soon as you have eased our minds.” Dumarest kept his voice casual. “We are a little concerned about
the delay. Is something wrong with the ship?”


“No.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The ladies were anxious. Then it’s true we are being diverted? The steward mentioned—”

“What he shouldn’t have done.” Unthinkingly the captain fell into the trap. “The fool should have known better than to relay
ship-business to passengers.”


Dumarest said, flatly, “Our business too, Captain. Where are we heading?”

“Harge.”

“Harge?” Carl Santis thrust himself forward, his face ugly. “I booked to Fendris. I can’t afford the delay.”

“You leave the ship on Harge. You all leave it.”

Dumarest dropped his hand to the mercenary’s arm, feeling the tense muscle as he restrained Santis’s lunge. Frome was armed,
a laser holstered at his waist, one hand resting close to the butt—an unusual addition to any captain’s uniform and a sure
sign that he anticipated trouble. The navigator too was armed. He stood back in the control room, his weapon aimed at the
group beyond the door.


Kemmer snapped, “That isn’t good enough. I demand an explanation.”

“Demand?” Frome bared his pointed teeth. “Demand?”

The trader had courage. “A deal was made, passage booked, money handed over. A high passage to Fendris. That’s what I paid
for and that’s what I want.”


“What you paid for was passage to my next planet of call and that’s exactly what you’re getting.”

“You—”

“It should have been Fendris,” said Dumarest quickly. Kemmer was about to lose his temper and, once antago. . .