_The Second Satellite_
When, eventually, they swung into the orbit of Jupiter and headed in
toward the enormous red-belted body, the two Earth men were heartily
disgusted with the voyage and with themselves. Repeated doses of the
pink gas--the ignominy of their utter subservience to the will of
Antazzo--had worn them down no less than had the hard work and loss of
sleep. Both were in vile humor. They endured the triumphant chatter of
their captor in bitter silence.
"Over there, my friends," he said, pointing; "see? It is our
destination. The golden crescent, Io, is something over a quarter
million of your miles from the mother planet. See it? It is home, my
friends; home to me and for yourselves in the future--if the Zara
spares your lives. Lay your course to the body, Carson."
Blaine growled as he sighted through the telescope. Yet, in spite of
his fury, he could not overcome the feeling of excitement that came to
him when the powerful glass brought the satellite near. This body was
like nothing else in the heavens. Antazzo had called it the golden
crescent. Rather, it was of gleaming coppery hue, and now, as they
swung around, it was fully illuminated--a brilliant sphere of unbroken
contour. Smoothly globular, there was not one projection or indentation
to indicate the existence of land or sea, mountain or valley, on its
surface. It was like a ball of solid copper, scintillant there in the
weak sunlight and the reflected light from its great mother planet.
Antazzo laughed over his absorption. "Looks peculiar to you, does it
not?" he asked; "rather different from any of the bodies you have
visited, you are thinking."
Blaine grunted wordless assent. The globe that was Io rushed in to meet
them, growing ever larger in the field of the telescope. Now it
appeared that there were tiny seams in the smooth surface, a regular
criss-cross pattern of fine lines that looked like--Lord, yes, that was
it! The body was constructed from an infinite number of copper plates,
riveted or brazed together to form a perfect sphere.
* * * * *
"Why, the thing's made of copper!" Blaine gasped. "Copper plates. It's
a man-made world; artificial. But where are the inhabitants?"
Antazzo laughed uproariously. "Not man-made, my friend," he corrected,
"but preserved by man for his own salvation. A dying world, it was, and
the cleverest scientists in the universe saved it and themselves from
certain death. What you see is merely a shell of copper, the covering
they constructed to retain an atmosphere and make continuation of life
possible--inside."
"Your people live _inside_ that shell?" Blaine was incredulous.
"What else? We must have air to breathe and warmth for our bodies. How
else could we have retained it?"
It was staggering, this revelation. The young pilot could not conceive
of a completely enclosed world with inhabitants forever shut off from
the light of the sun by day and from the beauties of the heavens by
night. Yet here it was, drawing ever nearer, a colossal monument to the
ingenuity and handiwork of a highly intelligent civilization who had
labored probably for centuries to preserve their kind. A titanic task!
Who could imagine a sphere of metal more than twenty-four hundred miles
in diameter enclosing a world and its peoples? A copper-clad world!
They were coming in close now, and the gravitational pull of the body
made itself felt. Blaine was busy with the controls, sending tremendous
blasts from the forward rocket-tubes to retard their speed for a safe
landing. The incredibly smooth copper surface was just beneath them,
stretching miles away to the horizon in all directions.
The inductor compass was functioning. Evidently Io possessed as strong
a magnetic field as did the inner planets. Antazzo now consulted a
chart which he drew from his pocket, and examined minutely the surface
over which they were speeding. Here and there curious designs were
etched on the copper plates, and it was from these he determined their
course. Obviously there was an entrance to this sealed-in world.
* * * * *
When they had proceeded some two thousand miles in a northeasterly
direction Antazzo gave the order to reduce speed. Off at the horizon
there appeared a bulge in the copper surface, a round protuberance that
resolved itself into a great dome-shaped structure as they drew nearer.
A full two hundred feet it reared itself into the heavens, and Blaine
saw a number of large circular hatches in its side that evidently
covered air-locked entrances.
"You will land close by the dome, Carson," Antazzo barked, "and both of
you will get into your moon-suits."
At his tone Blaine saw red. He realized on the instant that the effect
of the pink gas had worn off and that he was his own master once more.
All the pent-up emotions of the past few days were unleashed. If only
he could get in one good punch. They might get away yet. There was
plenty of k-metal to replenish the fuel supply. He whirled suddenly,
muscles tensed. He faced the grinning hunchback--and was greeted by a
breathtaking spurt of the pink gas. This time it was not merely a
subjecting of his own will to that of the master but a complete
hypnotism, a somnambulistic state. As in a dream he turned to the
controls.
Now it came to him that the dwarf no longer spoke. He worked his will
entirely without words; his evil mind possessed fully the mind of his
victim. For Blaine Carson there was no further independent thinking. He
was an automaton, a sleep-walker.
* * * * *
Like a detached and more or less disinterested observer, he saw that he
had landed the ship. Then he noticed three dwarfs in bulky, helmeted
moon-suits, shuffling clumsily across the copper plates. Hazily he knew
he was with the others in an airlock; the hiss and the throbbing of
pumps told him that. Under the great dome there was the latticework of
a huge reflecting telescope; strange pigmy figures scuttled here and
there, working at curious machines. There was the constant purr of many
motors, the gentle pulsation of floor-plates beneath his feet.
With the moon-suit removed, he realized the atmosphere was fetid and
stifling. A great pressure bore on his lungs, making breathing labored
and difficult. And then they were in a lift that dropped into the
depths of its shaft with dizzying speed. Antazzo's grin; Tom's eyes,
dull and lifeless, floating there in the haze before his own--it was
all a nightmare from which he must soon awaken.
There followed a period of complete unconsciousness of movement and of
his surroundings. Light--light everywhere; a blue-white radiance that
beat upon his unseeing eyes with unrelenting ferocity. Stabbing pains
bored into his very brain, pains that carried with them an unspoken and
unintelligible command. Why couldn't they let him alone; leave him to
die in peace? He knew he was on his feet, swaying. There were voices,
strident and guttural, and then by some magic the veil was lifted. His
brain cleared and he saw that he stood before a dais where a much
bejeweled and resplendently clad woman sat curled in the luxurious
cushions of a golden seat. Chalk-white was her face and her lips
crimson; amazing eyes, cat's eyes, pupils red-flecked and glittering,
stared out at him.
* * * * *
"The Zara," Antazzo whispered. "You will make obeisance."
Mechanically, Blaine dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to
the floor. Tom Farley, over there, was doing the same, but Antazzo
stood erect with arms crossed over his chest and head thrown back. The
eyes of the Zara swept him contemptuously from head to foot. All was
not well between them.
Blaine arose from his humiliating position at a sharp command from the
hunchback. Tommy did likewise and the two exchanged sheepish looks. The
effects of the pink gas were wearing off once more. They were in a
large hall, obviously the throne room of a palace. Men-at-arms lined
the walls on either side of the dais, and these were straight limbed
giants with green-bronze skin and regular features--not at all like the
deformed Ionian who had captured them and stolen the RX8.
The Zara talked rapidly in throaty gutturals, her fierce gaze directed
at Antazzo and her brows drawn together in a scowl that could have but
one meaning. She was displeased with the hunchback, displeased and
furiously angry. What was it all about? Hadn't he brought home the
bacon--the k-metal they were after? Blaine was nonplused.
Then Antazzo replied to the woman who was obviously his queen. His
voice rose in shrill disagreement and his scowl was as fierce as the
Zara's. Threatening her, he was, the nervy devil. He clenched his fists
and raised his arms in an angry gesture, pacing the floor in his fury
and thrusting out a pugnacious chin while he raved. This Zara woman
rose higher in her cushions, and the look that flashed from those
terrible eyes would have warned a less excited human, however
justifiable his anger might be. But Antazzo was in too deep to draw
back, that was plain to be seen. Blaine held his breath in anticipation
of an explosion.
* * * * *
It came then, that explosion, and in a way entirely unexpected and
horrible to behold. The tiger woman uttered one fierce sibilant like
the hiss of a serpent, a terrifying sound that silenced the hunchback
and brought him stiffly to attention, mouth open and eyes bulging with
horror. One of those unbelievably white arms stretched forth,
threateningly tense, and a jeweled finger leveled itself at the rash
Ionian. From it there flashed an intangible something that leaped to
bridge the distance with the speed of light, something that screeched
as it flew and crashed like breaking glass when it struck Antazzo's
horrified face. In an instant he was on the floor, screaming and
writhing in mortal agony.
The Zara watched with compressed lips and livid features as a host of
black disk-like things covered the squirming body, spinning madly as if
driven by atomic energy and emitting a myriad high-pitched tones like
the angry buzzing of a swarm of bees. Antazzo's body shriveled as the
things hummed on in their devilish work. Soon there was but a tiny heap
of clothing with the angry black disks whirling and singing their song
of hate. And then, in a puff of thick yellow vapor they were gone,
their gruesome work completed. The odor of putrefaction lay heavy on
the air.
Blaine shuddered and a fit of nausea twisted his vitals. It served the
devil right, of course, but it was a horrible way to go. These damned
Ionians, even to their queen, were bloodthirsty creatures. And what
devilish ingenuity they had displayed in their development of weapons!
His eyes were drawn irresistibly to the flaming orbs of the Zara.
She was actually smiling at him, this beautiful, heartless animal, not
a smile of derision but one of deliberate allure. He felt the hot blood
mount to his temples. A languid arm beckoned him to her side and the
amazing creature settled back in her cushions with the drowsy,
contented motions of a lazy feline.
"Watch your step!" Tommy hissed.
That warning was unnecessary. Blaine shook his head and backed away
from the dais, an instinctive recoiling from a loathsome thing. The
Zara saw and understood; and she went again into a black rage. She sat
stiffly erect and called rapid orders to her men-at-arms.
The Earth men were surrounded instantly, their arms and legs pinioned
by powerful hands, their feeble resistance overcome by the bronze
giants as easily as if they had been children. Helpless and hopeless,
they were borne from the room.
* * * * *
This was the end of the story, Blaine thought. Why this Zara woman had
not made away with them at once was a mystery. Perhaps they were being
reserved for an even more terrible fate than that of the hunchback.
They were being carried along a dim-lit passage now, and Tom was
cursing his captors in a never-ending stream of invective.
A metal door opened and then clanged shut behind them. They were dumped
unceremoniously on metal tables that resembled those of a hospital
operating-room on Earth. Woven bands, quickly adjusted by the bronze
giants held them fast. Blaine turned his head and saw that Tommy was
still struggling against the inevitable. A gag had been placed in his
mouth; that was why he had ceased reviling the Zara's servitors.
The room was cluttered with elaborate and complicated mechanisms that
Blaine could not recognize in the slightest detail, excepting that
there were many banks of slender glass cylinders which bore some
resemblance to the vacuum tubes used on the inner planets for radio
communication and television. One of the bronze giants, he saw, was
bringing a metal cap from which a cable extended to one of the strange
machines. This cap was forced down over his head with a none too gentle
pressure and he could see no more.
There came a sharp buzz from the machine and a million stinging needles
drove into his brain. There was a moment of fleeting visions; strange
places he viewed, and strange creatures parading in a fantasmagoria of
delirium before his aching eyes. Voices, harsh and guttural, spoke in
his drumming ears; voices that were dimly understandable, though
uttered in the tongue spoken by Antazzo and the Zara. Then came sudden
and merciful unconsciousness.