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 fantasmagoría 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.