Read Online David's Sling by Marc Stiegler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marc Stiegler
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deals in the commodities market, to his successes in stocks, and finally, his takeover of one of the biggest companies in the world. At each step, he had been involved with the tobacco industry— first, because he had been bom there; then, because tobacco was such a volatile commodity; and finally, because the companies that controlled the world s cigarette industry were such cash cows.
At each step he had lived the harrowing life of a man whose survival depends on his interpretation of tiny indicators of the future. He had lived that life brilliantly. Consequently, it did not surprise him that Kira failed to see inevitable dangers. Not even the corporate directors of the huge conglomerates had seen thee future as clearly as he. Had they been able to, they would have prevented his conquest of their companies.
And now his alarms pounded with every new bit of information he received on the Zetetic Institute. Politicians, he could control. Crowds of voters, he could manipulate. News media, he could redirect. But an organization dedicated to enhancing human rationality might be beyond his influence.
He was playing with lightning here in other ways as well. Kira might hold divided loyalties if she had friends in the Institute. Even more frightening was the danger that his attack on the Institute could backfire. The Zetetic Institute was, as Kira had noted, a tiny thing today. By bringing media attention to bear on it, he could be fueling its growth, even if all the attention were directed at its oddities. A certain percentage of the people who enjoyed going against the conventional wisdom would seek the Institute out because of such notoriety. He frowned, wondering about Kira's failure to comment on this danger.
But he knew that inaction led down a short path to disaster. And whatever the truth or falsehood behind the allegations that cigarettes killed, Daniel knew a more important truth.
He remembered his mother, on her broken-down farm in West Virginia, discing the soil with her broken-down tractor. That tractor had already taken two of her fingers in payment during half-successful attempts at repair. He remembered the hardness of living poor. He remembered how old she had looked at the age of 35—older than Kira Evans would look when she was 50.
Cigarettes were a minor part of the dangers of life. Poverty was the real horror. Poverty killed. Looking down upon the world from his steel-and-glass fortress, Daniel swore that never again would one he loved suffer from that land of poverty.
The Zetetic Institute would fall before him, as the others had fallen in the past. As for the uncertainties of Kira, he felt little concern. He had already set in motion some of the types of plans they had discussed. His reporters were already on the job.
As he watched, the snarl of traffic on the parkway broke free, and started to flow as easily as the gentle Potomac River that paralleled its course. The bright wall of cherry blossoms was all that divided the flow of belching metal from the flow of quiet water.
Major Vorontsov . The title sounded good when it preceded his name. It was quite a victory. Major Ivan Vorontsov .
Ivan wondered why his victory tasted like the bitter steel of a Kalashnikov; why his mood matched the gunmetal gray of the weather outside his window, rather than the bright sunshine that the weather bureau— his weather bureau—had predicted for this day a week ago.
He had just received the promotion to major, making him one of the youngest majors in the army. He had also received an assignment—one that might well end his career.
They had ordered him to re-evaluate the predictions of global consequences of a nuclear war. The purpose of the re-evaluation was to ''perform an analysis that allows the Soviet Union to maintain an advantage in confrontations with the United States."
Ivan was a good Russian. He was also pure Russian, born in Kursk as the only child of wholly Russian parents. As often happened with
At each step he had lived the harrowing life of a man whose survival depends on his interpretation of tiny indicators of the future. He had lived that life brilliantly. Consequently, it did not surprise him that Kira failed to see inevitable dangers. Not even the corporate directors of the huge conglomerates had seen thee future as clearly as he. Had they been able to, they would have prevented his conquest of their companies.
And now his alarms pounded with every new bit of information he received on the Zetetic Institute. Politicians, he could control. Crowds of voters, he could manipulate. News media, he could redirect. But an organization dedicated to enhancing human rationality might be beyond his influence.
He was playing with lightning here in other ways as well. Kira might hold divided loyalties if she had friends in the Institute. Even more frightening was the danger that his attack on the Institute could backfire. The Zetetic Institute was, as Kira had noted, a tiny thing today. By bringing media attention to bear on it, he could be fueling its growth, even if all the attention were directed at its oddities. A certain percentage of the people who enjoyed going against the conventional wisdom would seek the Institute out because of such notoriety. He frowned, wondering about Kira's failure to comment on this danger.
But he knew that inaction led down a short path to disaster. And whatever the truth or falsehood behind the allegations that cigarettes killed, Daniel knew a more important truth.
He remembered his mother, on her broken-down farm in West Virginia, discing the soil with her broken-down tractor. That tractor had already taken two of her fingers in payment during half-successful attempts at repair. He remembered the hardness of living poor. He remembered how old she had looked at the age of 35—older than Kira Evans would look when she was 50.
Cigarettes were a minor part of the dangers of life. Poverty was the real horror. Poverty killed. Looking down upon the world from his steel-and-glass fortress, Daniel swore that never again would one he loved suffer from that land of poverty.
The Zetetic Institute would fall before him, as the others had fallen in the past. As for the uncertainties of Kira, he felt little concern. He had already set in motion some of the types of plans they had discussed. His reporters were already on the job.
As he watched, the snarl of traffic on the parkway broke free, and started to flow as easily as the gentle Potomac River that paralleled its course. The bright wall of cherry blossoms was all that divided the flow of belching metal from the flow of quiet water.
Major Vorontsov . The title sounded good when it preceded his name. It was quite a victory. Major Ivan Vorontsov .
Ivan wondered why his victory tasted like the bitter steel of a Kalashnikov; why his mood matched the gunmetal gray of the weather outside his window, rather than the bright sunshine that the weather bureau— his weather bureau—had predicted for this day a week ago.
He had just received the promotion to major, making him one of the youngest majors in the army. He had also received an assignment—one that might well end his career.
They had ordered him to re-evaluate the predictions of global consequences of a nuclear war. The purpose of the re-evaluation was to ''perform an analysis that allows the Soviet Union to maintain an advantage in confrontations with the United States."
Ivan was a good Russian. He was also pure Russian, born in Kursk as the only child of wholly Russian parents. As often happened with
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