"Larry Niven and Steven Barnes - The Descent of Anansi v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

Fleming eased into the control seat and waited for his assistant to climb in next to him. Mrs. Kelly was a chunky woman on the far end of forty, married to one of the solar engineers. Bright, competent, and fiercely loyal to Falling Angel Enterprises. But she never moved quickly enough for Fleming's taste. After more than thirty months at the facility, she still wasn't used to zero gravity. No problems with it, in fact just the opposite.
Unless there was a specific demand for speed she seemed to linger over each separate movement, savoring it.
She had buckled herself in and sealed the door. Fleming broke anchor manually and they floated away, accelerating.
The universe was silence and razor-edged shadow as they cruised along the sprawling structure of Falling Angel. A score of Shuttle external tanks were splayed out in orbit around the Moon, serving as a basis for the industrial complexes that served the needs of America, the Soviet Union, and the European Combine.
Suddenly Fleming's crow's-feet squeezed flat, and he pointed at a dimly lit rounded object, like a water smoothed rock equipped with tailfins. "Notation, Kelly. Find out why Strickland still has men working on the cable re-entry package. I was told it was ready to go."
She nodded, scribbling, glad that he had broken the silence. "What do you think about the meeting?" They were passing through a cluster of Shuttles. She ticked the names of the winged boxcars as they passed: Susanoo, Lucifer (that name had proven an ill omen: on its thirteenth descent to Earth, the landing gear exploded on impact. Only fast action by the fire crews, and a shock-absorbing restraint wall made of Dexter Stonecyphe?s "enhanced" fiberglass, had saved lives and cargo.), Haephestus, and the newest addition, Anansi.
Fleming said nothing for a few seconds, only the flickering dim lights of the computer display bringing his face to life. He watched the spinning bulk of the exercise room pass to their right. "We'll make it. We'll be down to half strength, but the people who stay, they're the real workers. The deadweight just voted itself out." His hands played delicately over the controls, and his voice never wavered. It took someone very familiar with his ways to sense the bitterness in him, but Mrs. Kelly was that close, and more. "We can count on them. You'll see." His eyes never left the shadow-crested shapes rising beneath and around the scooter.
He smiled now, and she was happy to see it was his private smile, not the one he pulled out and glued on for meetings. She could imagine him smiling thus at an hour's worth of sand castle, fifty years ago. "You know... sometimes when I'm sitting at my desk it gets easy to be abstract about this. . . junk sculpture. It's just so much metal and plastic tubing, consuming so many pounds of oxygen and water, and so many millions of dollars a month. A thing. But here-" She could see his eyes building infrastructures as they scanned the complex. Building, changing, improving and never satisfied.
The scooter went into an approach path for the administration buildings: a flat disk connecting three Shuttle tanks. The tanks rotated about the axis of the disk, providing "gravity" for the offices. The center disk housed the filing and supply warehouse.
He docked without a bump, and Kelly sealed their door on, waiting for Safety to approve and admit them to the tiny airlock. She barely noticed the sensation of weight returning as she lifted Fleming's briefcase from the rear seat and carried it off with her.
The alarm in Kelly's wristwatch buzzed until she flicked it off. "Looks like we're just in time," she said, helping Fleming from the scooter. "The calls are coming through."
"Good, good. Put them on hold. We'll be there in a minute." The inner lock opened and let them through. The hallways and corridors were largely plain, but not severely so. Kelly could remember infinities of bare plastic trim laid on foam steel. Now, the niceties of gracious living were creeping aboard. The crew, invited to assist with the decorating, had responded with a generous sampling of their talents: oil paintings, sculpture, an achingly beautiful tinsel and blown glass mobile. There were many moonscapes, including one spectacular view of the Apennine mountains which had won second prize in the Venice Arts Festival, Earthside. Kelly still remembered passing the hat to pay for the shipping space aboard a Shuttle.
Closer to the center of the hub the floor was carpetted in Velcro, but that was unnecessary out at the edge, with two-thirds Earth gravity to hold a traveler down.
The office section was largely deserted, which made the narrow hallways seem more spacious. It was a feeling to cherish and to dread. If this desperate plan didn't work...
Fleming was reaching for the doorknob when it slid away under his hand. Dr. Stonecypher popped his head out, bending so that his greying hair barely grazed the top of the six-foot doorframe. His thick eyebrows knitted in perplexity. "There you are, Benjamin." He checked his watch with poorly concealed irritation. "I was beginning to worry." He moved his towering frame aside to let them pass, moving with the strange, disjointed grace of a praying mantis. Dr. Stonecypher was one of the original Falling Angels, and held the record for time spent in nullgrav, beating out the nearest contender, a Russian communications specialist in orbit around earth, by several thousand hours.
He virtually lived in the Metallurgy and Special Projects lab he had built over the past fifteen years, spinning out the miracles that made Falling Angel what it was: the most advanced zero-gravity research and production facility in the world. During that time, he had undergone one of the rarer effects of long-term work in space. Unhampered by gravity's fierce and constant tug, fed a constant high mineral diet to counteract the negative calcium transport often-experienced by long term astronauts, his skeletal structure had experienced a second anabolic stage. The bones were growing again. He was nearly seven inches taller than the Stonecypher who had matured on Earth, and the medics were frankly baffled as to when the sixty-three-year-old metallurgist could expect it to stop. Eight years older than Fleming, Stonecypher was one of the few people who addressed him by name, and the only man Kelly had ever seen upbraid him. Fleming took it well. There was only one Dexter Stonecypher, and his expertise in a very special field was irreplaceable.
"Come, come," Dexter said, shooing Fleming along with a thin-fingered hand. Stonecypher walked along behind him with the painstaking delicacy he always adopted on his infrequent sojourns into the centrifugal zone. "I still have to supervise mating of Gabriel and the cable pod. Special Projects is going crazy over dead rats and dead fleas for gosh sake. Mark my word-you'll push me too far one day. Dead rats indeed. And oh," he added almost as an afterthought, "We're holding Japan and Brazil on the line."
Fleming took the briefcase from Kelly and took his position at the conference table. "Let's not fall apart now, Dexter. A bit of teasing never hurt a sale. If it's worth buying, it's worth waiting for."
"An unexpected result of overexposure to moonlight," Stonecypher growled to Kelly as he took his place next to Fleming. He looked down at the top of the administrator's head. "He's turning into a merchant. Some bizarre variant of lycanthropy, no doubt.
"Hush," Kelly said, absorbing the giant's petulant expression without a flinch. "I'm bringing the line on. Ready?"
"Ready."
"I've been ready for seven minutes."
Kelly hovered over the intercom console. "Three, two, one, live."
Ghostly images of two men flickered into existence, in two of the three empty chairs at the table. The slender, dark one was Jorge Xavier. The other was a solidly-built Japanese whom Kelly recognized as Retsudo Oyama, the son of the founder of Oyama Construction.
"Gentlemen," Kelly said, using clear, careful diction. "Are you receiving us clearly?"
There was a perceptible delay before Retsudo answered her crisply. "Yes, thank you. Reception is fine. And you, Mr. Xavier?"
His English sounded more British than American.
"Yes, thank you," Xavier said at once. "We had a problem with resolution, but it has been adjusted." He seemed somewhat stiff and unspontaneous. A handsome man, Kelly thought, but not an attractive one. "Please proceed."
"Gentlemen, Dr. Stonecypher, the head of the team which created the cable, is on my left. Mrs. Kelly is recording. Do we have any opening comments?"
Xavier cleared his throat. "I would like to point out that the sale of the cable should be influenced by other factors than sheer weight of gold."
"Indeed it has, Mr. Xavier," Stonecypher said with infinite gravity. "The fact that only two of you are left at this stage of the bidding indicates that quite clearly."
"Excuse me. I didn't mean the political pressures. It is possible that BTE can make an offer based upon a mutually profitable future relationship. We have Shuttle launch and refueling capabilities, which you may find useful in your present situation-"
"We have already made arrangements with the Japanese government, Mr. Xavier." A trace of annoyance thinned Fleming's lips. "You may rest assured that these arrangements will in no way affect today's bidding. The outcome will be based solely on the highest offer."
Oyama seemed curious. "Mr. Xavier, you speak as if you have already conceded defeat."
"Not at all. We are prepared to top your bid. I merely wished to point out that there are many ways that payment can be made, and that liquid assets are only one form."
"But what Falling Angel needs now are liquid assets," Fleming said quietly. "The item in question is already packaged for reentry, and can be available for shipping within ten hours. Shipping can be completed within five days, and will commence after the first third of the payment has been transferred to our bank in Zurich. We trust that this will be satisfactory. Dr. Stonecypher will accompany the cable personally to guarantee its safety.
Fleming looked from face to face. "Are there any further questions? No? Then let the bidding conclude."
A small white rectangle appeared in front of each holographic image, and hovered there. "You understand the rules, gentlemen. Each of you will be allowed one bid, and one bid only. The highest bid buys the cable." Tension had eased some of the depth from his voice, making it higher and thinner than usual. "May I have your bids, please?"
Xavier's rectangle filled at once: $120,000,000
Fleming nodded approvingly. "Mr. Oyama, are you ready?" The Oriental could not see Xavier's bidding box, but still he gazed studiedly at Xavier. Xavier's remarks earlier: had that been trickery, to lull him into lowering his bid? If BTE topped Oyama by one dollar, the cable was theirs.
Oyama's rectangle filled with- a nine-digit number: $176,000,000
Retsudo was poised on the edge of his seat, as if ready to fly or fight. His hands were knotted painfully tight on the desk in front of him.
"Thank you, Mr. Oyama. Mr. Xavier, I'm afraid Oyama Construction has topped your bid."
Xavier made a little bow in his seat. "Congratulations, Mr. Oyama. Perhaps another time, Mr. Fleming." His image fuzzed out.
If a ton of steel girders had been lifted from Retsudo's chest, his relief could have been no greater. "Now, Mr. Fleming. I can assure you that the first payment will be deposited to your account within forty-eight hours. May I ask that the cable be ready for shipment as soon as you have received word?"
The rest of the details-high finance and ground control-were relatively easy to work out, and within fifteen minutes Oyama had faded from the room. Fleming and Stonecypher grinned at each other with the unaffected pleasure of two children let loose in a toy store. "We did it." Fleming's voice was muted with wonder. "A hundred and seventy-six million dollars."
"Even inflation doesn't bite that too badly. Falling Angel has definitely hung out the shingle." Stonecypher ran skeletal fingers through his thinning shock of white hair. "We need to make decisions now, though. Our pilots are going to be busy ferrying the candy-pants back to terra firma. We'll need the very best pilots for the cable."
Fleming glanced at Kelly, who raised an eyebrow and silently mouthed a single syllable. Fleming nodded and turned back. "That would be Janet De Camp. Her husband Thomas would be my choice for ion drive tech. They're both space crazy-wouldn't think of going back."
"Yes, Thomas. Good man. We've traded pawns a few times. Isn't he prepping one of the ion drives for the Juno mining project?"
"Right, that's Gabriel, the one with the thermonuclear backup motor. He's been working on the others too. Nothing wrong with them, but he won't be here if anything does need repair. We were lucky there. The ion drive components came up before the political situation came apart. NASA could have stopped those flights."