Larry Niven & Steve Barnes - The Descent of Anansi

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THE DESCENT OF ANANSI

LARRY NIVEN AND STEVEN BARNES

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or

incidents is purely coincidental.

A TOR Book

First printing, September 1982

ISBN: 523-48542-5

Cover art by: Howard Chaykin

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by:

Pinnacle Books, Inc.

1430 Broadway

New York, New York 10018

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1: HIGH FINANCE

2: GRAND THEFT

3: THE AUCTION

4: THE MAN WITH NO FRIENDS

5: THE PRESSURE COOKER

6: EARTHBOUND

7: COURSE CHANGE

8: DAMAGE REPORT

9: THE GOOD NEIGHBOR POLICY

10: DRAWING THE LINE

11: IN PLAIN VIEW

12: LOOSE ENDS

13: DOVE OF PREY

14: THE KILLING PLACE

15: PENDULUM

16: MANEUVERING

17: THIN EDGE

18: THE DESCENT OF ANANSI

19: TRANSITIONS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Members of the Brasil Techimetal Electromotores:

Jorge Xavier (Vice-President)

Lucio Giorgi (Engineering)

Edson da Silva (Finance)

Djalma Costa (Industrial Relations)

Luisa (receptionist, BTE building)

Castellon (President)

Eric Burgess (Captain, Brasilia)

Ricardo Diaz (Copilot, Brasilia)

Correro (Psychologist & Missions Specialist, Brasilia)

UMAF personnel:

Resa Mansur

Hassan Ali Hoveida

Falling Angels Enterprises personnel:

Fleming (President)

Miss Ellinshaw (Air Quality Control)

Janet De Camp (Pilot, Anansi)

Thomas De Camp (Ion drive technician, Gabriel)

Mrs. Kelly (Fleming’s personal secretary)

Marion Guiness (Copilot, Anansi)

Dr. Dexter Stonecypher (Metallurgist)

Tim Connors (Ion drive technician and pilot, Michael)

Oyama Construction personnel:

Takayuki Yamada

Retsudo Oyama

One

HIGH FINANCE

On October 16, 1970, the Comsat Board of Directors declared a dividend of 12.5 cents per

share. This was approximately one million dollars, and represented a milestone: they first money

made by the general public from a space enterprise. It took a little over six years for Comsat to

go from initial start-up to a dividend-paying operation.

The Brazil Techimetal-Electromotores building was the second tallest in all of Sao Paulo, a

glistening golden spire that sprouted from a cluster of drab five-story structures, an egotistical

giant among dwarves.

Xavier parked his Mercedes in the underground parking structure, and took Yamada up to the

thirty-first floor in a public elevator. There they changed to a security elevator.

Jorge Xavier stood perfectly erect, and nearly a foot taller than his companion. His face was

dark, his hair thick and fluffy and prematurely white; he was altogether a tailor’s dream. Now his

generous mouth was drawn into a slender line, his brows wrinkled in concentration. He asked—

in English; he had learned that Yamada’s Portuguese was poor—”You are sure of the amount?”

“Absolutely. Oyama Construction wants the cable at all costs. The Trans-Korea bridge will

make their reputation.”

Xavier slammed the edge of his palm into the elevator wall, swearing in Portuguese. “I know,

I know. It is why we must have it. With the Stonecypher Cable in our hands, we can force

Oyama construction into a merger. Such a merger would combine the raw materials and

manpower available to BTE with the technical resources and world respectability of Oyama

Construction. With terms favorable to beth sides, such a merger could be~—” he groped for

words. “I do not care what it takes. We will have that cable.”

“Your company president. Your Senhor Castellon. He will not match Oyama’s bid?”

“Castellon is a sick old man. He spends half of the year in Caxambu, drinking the waters to

heal a faulty liver. His problem is not in the liver—it is in the heart. He has no heart for a

gamble.”

An electric-eye scan of the BTE executive’s identification card admitted them to the fifty-

fourth floor. Yamada stepped out and smiled reflexively at the pleasant softness of the carpet. He

said, “And you do?”

“I would not have brought you here otherwise. I, and a few others in my company, we have

the heart. We are young, and strong. We will gamble.”

Yamada wondered, too late, if it had been wise to betray Oyama Construction to this man.

He was suddenly very aware of what he himself was gambling. Income, reputation, honor,

freedom...if he lost.

The BTE executive suite was as luxurious as practicality would allow. Muted music flowed

from the inner walls, and many of the outer walls were gold-tinted plastic. The tinting reduced

the glare without obstructing the view of the city. It was a view worthy of appreciation, a vista of

silver and red buildings sparkling in the sun almost as far as the eye could see.

The receptionist was alert and smiling a greeting as the elevator door slid open. “Boa tarde,

Senhor Xavier.”

“Boa tarde, Luisa. Apresento-lhe o Senhor…” he turned to Yamada apologetically.

“Excuse me. Luisa, this is Mr. Yamada. We will be in conference. Call Mr. da Silva, Mr.

Costa, and Mr. Giorgi. Have them come to my office. Obrigado. Mr. Yamada? This way,

please.”

Xavier led the slender Oriental down the hallway and steered him around a right corner. This

corridor ended in a huge oak-panelled door with the name J. Xavier centered on a rectangle of

brass. The door swung open without a sound, and they entered.

There was a large conference desk in the front part of the office with a setup for videophone

conferences. Yarnada doubted that Xavier would want the contents of this particular conference

broadcast over any line, no matter how secure.

“Please. Be seated. Drink?” Yamada shook his head no, accepting the invitation to sit. Xavier

busied himself at a small wetbar, coming back with a short glass of ice and clear liquid garnished

with a twisted slice of lime.

He sat across from Yamada, sipped his drink and gazed at him speculatively. Yamada felt

naked, stripped to the skin and then flensed to the bone. Xavier probed and examined and

weighed, finally laying the meat arid organs back in place, slipping the skin back onto the body.

No Japanese would have stared so. The room’s silence was oppressive, and Yamada fought

to escape that gaze, to break contact with those bottomless black eyes. He found a painting to

look at, a garish thing of oranges and blacks. Concentric rings of color surrounded plastic

bubbles that rose inches out from the canvas, sprays of yellow arcing through the black

background like comets through space.

A name clicked in his mind. “This is your Mr. Castellar’s work, is it not?”

Xavier smiled, some of the coolness leaving his face. “Yes. You know our painters? He was

one of the finest. Emilio Castellar dreamed of space when much of our country was trying

merely to enter the industrial age. A man of vision.”

The office door opened, and two men entered, followed a moment later by a third. One of

them was Xavier’s height, a fraction over six feet, but heavy in the stomach and thighs. He

nodded without speaking. Xavier filled the silence. “This is Mr. da Silva. Edson da Silva.”

The second was a small, neat man with a beard that had been trimmed to a razor point. His

hazel eyes seemed to be in constant quick movement. His skin was lighter than Xavier’s or da

Silva’s. He sized Yamada up in two intense seconds, then stretched out his hand. “Djalma

Costa,” he said. “Djalma with a D.”

“Takayuki Yamada.” Yamada turned to the third man, noting the limp, and the silver wolf’s

head cane that corrected it. “And of course you are Mr. Giorgi. Lucio Giorgi.”

Giorgi was as tall as da Silva, but much thinner. His eyes were hollow, and the skin on his

face was stretched taut over the bones, as if a long illness had stripped away the fat. Giorgi

nodded with satisfaction and spoke with excellent, though accented, English. “I see that news of

my accident precedes me.”

“We were interested in your work on the Parana Dam project. Of course, when the scaf-

folding collapsed, we knew that the famous Giorgi had been the only survivor.”

“I am perhaps too old to continue on-site inspections.”

“If this project is as successful as we hope, we will definitely desire your expertise.” They

shook hands, and all five men were seated.

There was a moment of uncomfortable tension. Then Xavier cleared his throat and slapped

his palms on the table. “Well, Mr. Yamada. If you would be so kind as to share your information

with us.”

“Certainly.” All hesitation had left him now. He swung his briefcase up to the table and

dialed its five-digit combination. There was a sharp click, and Yamada eased it open and re-

moved a thin folder of papers. He locked the case and set it on the floor.

Yamada thumbed through the folder, talking to himself in barely audible Japanese. “Ah, yes.

I trust that I do not have to fill you three gentlemen,” nodding in the direction of the newcomers,

“in on much, of the background material?”

“Skim through to today’s business,” Xavier suggested.

“Agreed. The item of interest is a cable recently extruded by Falling Angel Enterprises. Put

as simply as possible, the cable is a strand of single-crystal iron filaments locked in an epoxy

matrix.” He looked up at them with a distracted look on his face. “It is eight-tenths of a

millimeter thick and fourteen hundred kilometers long. All preliminary tests indicate that it is

much stronger than Kevlar, at least ten or twenty times stronger.”

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摘要：

THEDESCENTOFANANSILARRYNIVENANDSTEVENBARNESThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright©1982byLarryNivenandStevenBarnesAllrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbook,orportionsthereofinany...

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