Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Stories,September, 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
The Copper-Clad World
A COMPLETE NOVELETTE
_By Harl Vincent_
[Sidenote: Blaine comes out of the hypnosis of the pink gas to findhimself deep within Io, the copper-clad second satellite of Jupiter.]
CHAPTER I
_Into the Unknown_
Adrift in space! Blaine Carson worked frantically at the controls, hisjaw set in grim lines and his eyes narrowed to anxious slits as hepeered into the diamond-studded ebon of the heavens. A million milesastern he knew the red disk of the planet Mars was receding rapidlyinto the blackness. And the RX8 was streaking into the outer void at aterrific pace--out of control.
Something had warned him when they left Earth; the Martian cargo ofk-metal was of enormous value and a direct invitation to piracy. Ofcourse there was the attempt at secrecy and the shippers had sent alongthose guards. His engineer, Tom Farley, was thoroughly reliable, too.But this failure of the control rocket-tubes, missing their destinationas a result--there was something queer about it.
"Tommy," he called into the mike. "Find anything yet?"
"We-e-ll, something," the audio-phone drawled after a moment: "I'mcoming up."
"What is it, Tom?" he asked when the engineer's round face appeared atthe head of the engine room companionway.
Farley dropped his voice and his customary smile was gone. "I found thestern rocket-tube ignition jammed so it's firing continuously," hesaid; "and the others are all dead: won't fire at all. That's why shedoesn't swing to the controls?"
"Can't you fix it? Lord, man, we're headed out into the belt ofplanetoids. We'll be wrecked."
"Nothing I can do, Blaine, without shutting down the atomic engines.Then we'd freeze to death and run out of oxygen. These ships ought tohave a spare engine just to take care of the heating and airconditioning. I always said so."
"What happened to the ignition system?"
Tom Farley looked over his shoulder apprehensively. "Dirty work,Blaine," he whispered. "I'm sure of it. Tool marks on the breech of thestern tube. And there's one of those guards I don't like the looks of."
"Nonsense. The k-metal people know their men; they picked these threeespecially for the job."
"Who else could do it? There's only the five of us on board."
There might be something in what Tommy said, at that. A thing like thiscouldn't just happen by itself. And, come to think of it, one of thoseguards was a queer looking bird: dwarfed and hunch-backed, sort of, andwith long dangling arms. It would be better to investigate.
"Get 'em up here, Tommy," Blaine said.
* * * * *
The RX8 drove on and on through the uncharted wastes outside the orbitof Mars. None of the space ships of the inner planets ever ventured outthis far, and Blaine knew there was grave danger of colliding with someof the small bodies with which the zone was infested. If one of thoseguards was the traitor he was risking his own neck as well as theirs.
Two of them entered the control room with Tom Farley, big, huskyfellows of stolid countenance and armed with regulation flame-raypistols and gas grenades.
"Where's the other, the dwarf?" Blaine asked, his suspicions mountingimmediately.
"In his bunk," Tom replied with a meaning look. "He said he'd be up ina few minutes."
The pilot-commander addressed the guards. "Fellows," he said, "Isuppose you know we're in a serious fix. The ship is out of control andwe've missed Mars, where your metal was to be delivered. We're speedingout into the unknown, out past the limits of space-travel toward theorbits of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus--God knows where. And my engineerthinks that one of your number has tampered with the machinery. Knowanything about it?" Blaine eyed them keenly.
One of the guards, Mahoney, flushed hotly. "No, sir," he snapped. "Atleast Kelly and meself had nothin' to do with it. But we've beensuspicionin' that little Antazzo ever since we came out. It's apeculiar way he has about him, the divil."
"You think he--"
* * * * *
An incisive voice from the doorway way interrupted, "Never mind what hethinks, Carson. I'll do the thinking from now on."
At one man they turned to face the speaker. It was the guard, Antazzo,and he was clothed from neck to ankles in a garment of bright metallicstuff that shimmered with shifting colors like those of a soap bubble.A mask of similar stuff covered his face, and in each hand there was aweapon resembling a ray pistol but of strangely unfamiliar design.
Mahoney shot from the hip and his stabbing ray splashed full on thehunchback's chest--but harmlessly. That lustrous garment was aninsulating armor; the traitorous guard should have been shriveled to acinder at the contact. Antazzo laughed evilly as his own weapons loosedstrange and terrible energies.
Tom Farley ducked, and Blaine watched in horrified amazement as thecrackling streamers of blue radiance from the dwarf's pistols foundtheir marks. Mahoney and Kelly, standing there, bathed for a briefinstant in horrid blue fire: tottering, swaying, their mouths openedwide in a last agonized effort, to cry out. Tiny pinpoints of brilliantpyrotechnics flashing and exploding within the columns of blue fire.Then, nothing! Where the two husky guards had stood there was utteremptiness; not even a shred of clothing remained. The air in thecontrol room became heavy and acrid.
"Antazzo!" White-faced and shaking, Blaine cried out in futile protest,"My God, man, what have you done? What does this mean?"
And then, in a blaze of rage, he was on his feet. Murder was in hisheart as he set himself for a crashing charge that would sweep thebeast from his feet. His own flame-pistol was missing; it was a case ofkilling this monster with his bare hands. Tom was circling, over there,cursing horribly. One of them would get him. Strangely, Antazzo hadlowered the muzzles of his pistols.
* * * * *
A terrific punch, started from the floor, never reached its mark.Blaine saw a tiny puff of pinkish vapor that spurted from the bosom ofthat metallic garment. He was coughing and gasping; helpless. Musclesrefused to do his bidding. With a moan he dropped into the pilot'sseat, knowing that Antazzo's will compelled him. That gas had hypnoticpowers. Mechanically, his fingers strayed to the controls.
And Tom--good old Tommy--he was under the influence of the stuff too,creeping there on hands and knees toward the engine room companionway.
Antazzo was talking. "We come now to the matter of instructions," hesaid. "You, Farley, will assist me in restoring the ignition system tonormal. You, Carson, will keep to the controls and will lay a course toJupiter as soon as the control rocket-tubes will respond. Understand?"
Tom growled reluctant assent from where he was crawling.
Strange, this hypnotic gas! Blaine's mind functioned clearly enough,yet he was utterly at the mercy of this madman's will--a robot of fleshand blood. "Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "Why man, it's nearly a halfbillion miles from the sun. Not habitable, either."
Antazzo had removed his mask and now smiled a superior smile. "We'llreach it," he said: "the RX8 is very fast. And it's not the planetitself we're bound for, but its second satellite. Io, your astronomerscall this body, and it's a world sadly in need of this marvelousk-metal."
"But--but--"
"Enough!" The hunchback snarled his rebuke in Blaine's face andturned to Tom. "Come, Farley," he said, as if talking to a child, "wemust get to work."
* * * * *
In a daze of conflicting emotions, Blaine turned to gaze through theforward port when the two had left the control room. The RX8 wasaccelerating rapidly under the steady discharge of gases from the sternrocket-tube and had already reached the speed of one thousand miles asecond. If one of those tiny asteroids, even one no larger than amarble, should meet up with them it would crash through the hull platesas if they were paper. His heart went cold at the thought.
Oddly enough, he found himself _wanting_ to make this trip with thedemoniac Antazzo. It was the effects of the pink gas. Even with themisshapen guard down there in the engine room the power of his will waseffective. The devil must be an Ionian, he thought. But how in the nameof the sky-lane imps had he reached Earth? How had he wormed his wayinto the confidence of the k-metal people? He must have been thereseveral years, working to this very end.
There was a tinkling crash on the starboard side amidships; a screamingswish as something slithered along the side and caromed off into thevoid. One of those little planetoids. Probably no bigger than a pea,and luckily they had struck it glancingly. He wiped the suddenperspiration from his forehead.
Pressure on the directive rocket controls brought no response. Wouldthey never finish with that ignition system?
A gleaming light-fleck segregated itself from the mass of stars ahead.At first he thought he imagined it, but a second examination, this timethrough the telescope, convinced him it was growing larger. Drawingnearer, it was, and resolving itself into a well defined orb that wasdirectly in their path. Fifteen hundred miles a second, the indicatorread now! They'd never know what happened when they struck.
"Tommy!" he bellowed into the mike. "Are you fellows ever going tofinish down there?"
* * * * *
There was no reply for a moment, and the blue-white globe drove madlytoward them. He consulted the chart. Pallas--an asteroid some threehundred miles in diameter. Not very big as celestial bodies go, but bigenough!
"Just one minute now." It was Tommy's voice coming drearily,unnaturally through the audiophone. A minute! Ninety thousand miles! Itseemed the asteroid was that close already.
Antazzo was in the control room then, and the effect of his mentaldominance became more pronounced. Suddenly the dwarf let out a shriekof terror when he looked through the port and saw the brilliant bodythat now loomed so close. Blaine experienced a savage joy in theknowledge that the hunchback was mortally afraid.
"Latza! Latza!" In his fear Antazzo lapsed into his own tongue. Then,remembering, he shouted, "We're ready, Carson. Swing wide!"
The directive rockets answered to their controls now. Quick pressure onthis, a swift pull on that, swinging the energy value to maximum,brought results. The little vessel groaned and shivered under thestrain as a full blast from the forward tubes retarded them. Her hullplates twisted and screeched as the steering tubes belched full energyin swinging them from their course. They were thrown forward violently,though the deceleration compensators were working to the utmost.
Pallas swung around in their field of vision, and there was a fleetingglimpse of sun-lit spires of mountains, shadowed valleys, andmysterious crevasses from which clouds of steam and yellow vaporcurled. Still it seemed they must crash against one of those slenderpinnacles. Nearer it came like a flash; a dizzying blur, now, thatdrove directly in their straining faces.
And then, abruptly, it was gone. Already thousands of miles astern, thedanger was past. Miraculously, they had escaped.
Antazzo laughed; a hollow mirthless cackle. His fingers shook crazilywhen he untwisted them from their grip on the port rail.
"Good work, my friend. Very good, indeed," he jabbered, his chinquivering in nervous reaction. "And now we carry on--on to Io."
Blaine Carson, almost wishing they had collided with the spire, sethimself grimly to the task. He was powerless to refuse.