Arthur K. Barnes - Gerry Carlyle 05 - Siren Satellite.pdf

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THE ADVENTURES OF GERRY CARLYLE
THE INTERPLANETARY HUNTRESS
SIREN SATELLITE
By
Arthur K. Barnes
ASSIGNMENT: Siren Satellite
Chapter I. Ill-Starred Voyage
Chapter II. Intrigue in Space
Chapter III. Murder With Mathematics
Chapter IV. A Hairy Intruder
Chapter V. Gerry's Stratagem
Chapter VI. Knockout
Chapter I
Ill-Starred Voyage
GERRY CARLYLE draped her very lovely form over the functionally-designed Plastair and nibbled
moodily at a long, bronze curl. She had just discovered how vulnerable she was and, like all-important
public figures who happen to find themselves in such a situation, she was annoyed. That she was
important, no one could deny. Gerry Carlyle was perhaps the most famous woman on Earth. She was
beautiful. She was rich. And she was amazingly successful in a profession so rigorous and exacting that
not one man in a thousand would dare face the dangers and hardships and excitement that she faced
almost daily.
Queen of the space-rovers, in her mighty ship, The Ark, this slim woman covered nearly the entire Solar
System in her quest for exotic and weird life-forms to be returned live for the edification and astonishment
of the public at the London Interplanetary Zoo. Her name was a byword, and she was respected and
loved throughout the System for her courage, as well as her beauty.
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And yet, for all this, Gerry Carlyle was very vulnerable in one regard. Like all champions, she couldn't
pass up a dare or a challenge, no matter what its nature. She had to take on all comers, and she had just
realized that fact.
"The nerve of that fellow!" she muttered, then looked up in annoyance at her fiance, Tommy Strike.
"You're none too sympathetic, either. What are you pacing around for?"
Strike was medium tall, and darkly good-looking in a rugged sort of way. He grinned tolerantly at her,
the grin that always made her heart stumble.
"Just trying out the new flooring," he said.
The pilot room and main corridors of the Ark had just been refloored with zincal, the new metal, plastic,
air bubble combination which gave under the foot like an expensive rug, but which never showed signs of
wear.
Gerry pouted.
"Well, you might show a little interest," she said. "After all, you're second in command around here." But
Gerry was not the pouting kind, so the pout was not very successful.
"You've been mumbling to yourself for the past half hour," Tommy Strike pointed out. "How do you
expect me to know what It's all about? If you care to commence at the commencement, in words of one
syllable, so my dull wits can grasp whatever it is that has so upset you, perhaps I'll listen."
Gerry gave her man a smoky, heavylidded glance, smiled, and made room for him on the Plastair.
"It's this fellow Dacres," she began. "He came around the other day with a business proposition. Said he
wanted to use The Ark to rescue his brother whose expedition has apparently cracked up on Triton. He
offered to finance the whole thing, with me furnishing the regular crew. He would simply be a passenger.
Naturally, I turned him down. Gerry Carlyle does not run a taxi service.
"Triton, eh?" Strike grunted. "Neptune's only satellite. And with a very nasty reputation. Isn't that the
place that's never been explored?"
"That's the place, all right. Two or three expeditions tried it. None ever returned."
"Oh, yeah. I remember reading about that. They call it the 'siren satellite.' Very dramatic. And also a
very long way from here. Your pal Dacres must be well off to be able to afford such a jaunt."
Gerry tossed her blond hair.
"He's no pal of mine!" she said, hotly. "Wait till you hear what he did! He's blackmailing me!"
"Ah?"
"He's gone to all the papers and telefilm services and spread the story that I refused to rescue Dacres'
brother because the rumors about Triton have scared me off. How do you like that?"
He leaned over, snapped the telenews switch, and pointed to the wall-screen. A headline flashed on.
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GERRY CARLYLE SPURNS RESCUE PLEA!
Angrily, Gerry spun a dial to reveal a second lead.
QUEEN OF HUNTRESSES SHIES AWAY FROM TRITON CHALLENGE!
Miss Gerry Carlyle, the Catch-'em-Alive woman renowned the world over for her adventures while
raiding the Solar System for weird monsters, today rejected the plea of Lawrence Dacres that she put
her space-ship, The Ark, at his disposal for the rescue of his brother, believed lost on Triton.
Mr. Dacres alleges that fear of unknown forces upon the lonely, unexplored satellite of Neptune
prompted the refusal.
It is true that Triton's record of being the grave of more than one ill-fated expedition is cause enough to
make anyone wary. But if, as is asserted, something has been discovered at last which gives pause to the
redoubtable Miss Carlyle, then man, indeed, bites dog.
Gerry's furious fingers again moved, and a third line of heavy type declared:
SWEETHEART OF SPACE SHUNS SIREN SATELLITE!
Strike sniggered. Gerry interrupted.
"I had a few words with the editor who dreamed that one up," she said with quietly vicious satisfaction.
"He is now resting in a sanitarium."
"I can see what an awkward position that puts you in," he admitted. "The Dacres fellow's already tried
the case in the press and found you guilty of something or other."
He rose, walked around behind Gerry. Presently his voice came again, musingly.
"Now let's see. Triton. Diameter, three thousand miles. Revolution, five days, seven hours, three minutes.
Stellar magnitude-"
"You sound like an encyclopedia." Gerry twisted around, trying to see.
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"That's because I'm reading from an encyclopedia, I'll bet... Stellar magnitude at opposition, thirteen.
Retrograde motion. Gravity, two and a half times that of Earth. Oh, yeah. That's why they call it the 'siren
satellite.' It lures the unwary space-traveler close, then hauls him in with the unexpected gravity... Mmm.
Composed of matter not native to the Solar System - hence the terrific mass. Believed to be a wanderer
from space trapped by Neptune. That would explain the retrograde motion."
Brisk, muffled footsteps sounded along the corridor, followed by an impatient knock on the pilot room
door.
"That'll be friend Dacres now." Gerry grimaced. "Come in!"
Dacres made his entrance. He was not self-important, but he was imposing, and whenever he entered a
room he would inevitably command attention. He was tall, slender in the manner of a rapier, and blond.
He bowed stiffly.
"Good morning, Miss Carlyle," he said.
Gerry almost expected to hear his heels click. She introduced the two men, mentally compared them, as
all women do.
"So, you've come to apologize for your insufferable conduct?" she said then.
"I've come to see if you have reconsidered your unfriendly and uncooperative attitude," he amended.
Gerry began to incandesce.
"Why, you - you-" she could scarcely contain herself. "You deliberately spread lies and false insinuations
through the press, making me a laughing-stock, blasting my reputation, impugning my courage! And now
you have the crust to pretend that I'm in the wrong for not throwing my whole organization into the lap of
every would-be joyrider who comes along! You're nothing but a blackmailer!"
Dacres refused to be stampeded.
"Sorry to exert pressure on you in such fashion, Miss Carlyle," he said, unperturbed. "As you imply,
however, I have, no scruples. None, at least, when my brother's life is at stake."
Gerry found it hard to answer that one. She had tried unsuccessfully to answer it ever since Dacres had
first spoken to her. The blond man knew this, and pursued his advantage.
"While we argue here," he pointed out, "my brother and his crew may be dying slowly being crushed flat
by the terrible gravity. He weighed two hundred on Earth. Up there, he'd weigh five hundred. The human
heart simply cannot stand that kind of punishment. It'll quit."
The words conjured an unpleasant picture of freezing, starving men crawling painfully about like injured
crabs, praying for quick release from agony. Gerry winced.
"Weren't the explorers equipped with degrav units?" she asked.
"Yes, but how long will they last? A couple of weeks at low power, possibly. Then-" Dacres brought his
palms together with slow expressiveness. "That's why every second is precious."
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Gerry felt cornered, and she glanced at Tommy Strike in an exasperated appeal for reinforcement. But
Strike was strictly neutral. If anything, he found her predicament amusing, taking a perverse delight in
seeing the ever victorious Gerry at bay for once.
She made one last try.
"Why pick on me, Mr. Dacres?" she asked. "Why is it so essential to have my ship, and only mine?"
"Rocket ships visiting Triton, however powerful, have so far all cracked up. Complete safety demands
the tremendous power of a centrifugal flyer, like The Ark. How many such ships exist today? A handful.
And how many of those are owned by other than government agencies? Only yours, Miss Carlyle. If you
refuse me, I shall have to try and find a lesser ship. But I'm staking a great deal on having publicly put you
into an intolerable position, so you can't afford to turn me down."
Gerry gasped. The fellow was certainly frank about it. What's more, he seemed to have all the answers.
If she were ready to quit her romantic and risky business and settle down, she could safely say no. But as
long as she wished to remain queen of the space-rovers, she dared not let a single questionable act stain
her record.
She looked despairingly at Strike, but he simply shrugged, grinning faintly.
"Well, here we go again," he said.
Dacres tendered an olive branch.
"There might, of course, be some interesting alien life-forms on Triton. After the rescue is completed,
you'd be welcome to try for a. couple of specimens, if that would enable you to - er - save face."
Gerry felt her temperature climb to a new high, and she counted ten, then stood up.
"You are insulting, Mr. Dacres," she announced. "I do not like you. The only reason my fiance has not
knocked you down is because he feels I sometimes think too highly of myself, and that a dressing down
does me good. However, your brother's peril and your own machinations force me to accept your
proposition. Come back in an hour with your checkbook and your attorney. Our contract will be ready
for you. We can leave at dawn."
Dacres bowed again, very tall and ever so slightly triumphant.
"Thank you," he said. "I regret our inability to be friends but, after all, that is unimportant. I'm sure we'll
manage a successful and uneventful voyage."
He stalked out, ramrod-stiff.
"Whew!" Strike shook himself like a big dog. "The electric potential of this room must be terrific. Think
I'll go outside and ground myself. I've never seen a fellow so completely right every time he opens his
mouth. Most disconcerting."
And Tommy Strike gave out with a roar of accumulated laughter.
Lawrence Dacres seemed to have been in error once, however, when he predicted a journey without
incident. Just before reaching Mars, five of The Ark's crew became violently ill after dinner.
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