Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading 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 that the 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 find himself 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, his jaw set in grim lines and his eyes narrowed to anxious slits as he peered into the diamond-studded ebon of the heavens. A million miles astern he knew the red disk of the planet Mars was receding rapidly into the blackness. And the RX8 was streaking into the outer void at a terrific pace--out of control. Something had warned him when they left Earth; the Martian cargo of k-metal was of enormous value and a direct invitation to piracy. Of course there was the attempt at secrecy and the shippers had sent along those guards. His engineer, Tom Farley, was thoroughly reliable, too. But this failure of the control rocket-tubes, missing their destination as 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'm coming up." "What is it, Tom?" he asked when the engineer's round face appeared at the head of the engine room companionway. Farley dropped his voice and his customary smile was gone. "I found the stern rocket-tube ignition jammed so it's firing continuously," he said; "and the others are all dead: won't fire at all. That's why she doesn't swing to the controls?" "Can't you fix it? Lord, man, we're headed out into the belt of planetoids. 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 to have a spare engine just to take care of the heating and air conditioning. 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 the stern 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 three especially 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 this couldn't just happen by itself. And, come to think of it, one of those guards was a queer looking bird: dwarfed and hunch-backed, sort of, and with long dangling arms. It would be better to investigate. "Get 'em up here, Tommy," Blaine said. * * * * *