luck." X X X Bemish has barely driven through the Shavash's mansion gates, when a white limousine, long like a sturgeon, slid a millimeter away from him. Kissur's stuck his head out of the window and waved a hand. Bemish will-less swerved to the curb. They got out of the cars and embraced. "Let's go drive," Kissur demanded. Bemish glanced at his Urun indecisively. Kissur clicked his tongue - a small servant in linen pants got out of the back seat. Kissur pointed a finger at him. "Give him the keys and he return the car." Bemish gave him the keys and sat next to Kissur. "There is a great pub nearby," Kissur said, "let's go there." The pub was low and damp; a fountain splashed in the middle of a octagonal yard. Next to the fountain, a flat dancing god stood, with an colossal-sized penis and four breasts. The god was generally naked except for a huge advertisement boards covering him on three sides. The ad called to buy 3D-sets by the Corund company. A nimble chief appeared next to Kissur and placed a great grilled goose, sprinkled with lime juice and covered with a golden crust, and a palm wine jar in front of the guests. Kissur noticed that Bemish was ogling the god and asked the host, "How much did they pay you for putting the boards up?" "Two." "Here is four. Go and scrape this offal away." Bemish lowered his eyes. He felt crappy after the yesterday's binge, he didn't eat anything at Shavash's place - he couldn't even look at the goose! What should he do now? Bemish realized that, when Shavash mentioned the offiicials hating Kissur, he meant himself first of all - that's why he told Bemish about his fiancee and his shriveled hand... Should he tell Kissur that his brother-in-law hates him? But they are friends. It would look like an Earthman dropped by, did some fishing with Kissur and quickly contrived to sow a discord between him and his brother-in-law. Should he not say anything? What if Kissur considers Shavash his friend and will be snared sooner or later? Though, Kissur is hardly all that innocent. Bemish remembered how, despite being totally stoned, he was shocked by one of the Khanadar's songs about a battle with Akol people. A local tribal king dispatched his brother and other highly placed war chiefs to Kissur asking him not to attack the tribe. Kissur said, "So it will be," and showered the envoys with the gifts way more luxurous than customary. They couldn't refuse the gifts, of course, without insulting the Empire's most powerful military commander. So, they returned to the king and Kissur sent them letters in such a way that the king intercepted them. Kissur reminded in the letters that he promised not to touch their land in exchange for their king's head and he asked them when they were going to fulfill their part of agreement. The rich gifts were presented as a bribe for the king's head. The king, naturally, ordered the butchering of his brother and war chiefs, beheading the army leadership and arousing the tribe's discontent. After that, it took Kissur two days to finish him off. And even though everybody agreed that Kissur was not even close to deceased Arfarra with the tricks of this sort - he still didn't resemble a guileless lamb. Kissur, meanwhile, poured wine in the cups, covered them with the lacquered tops with straws going through, and offered Bemish a cup. "You are driving," Bemish reminded him. Kissur grasped the straw imperturably and, seemingly, gulped all the wine in a minute. Anyway, he opened the cup immediately and started to pour more wine. "Why are you so sad?" Kissur asked, "was the bribe, Shavash demanded from you, too large?" "No. It's just that I've never found myself in such a position. I don't know what to do." "You are doing great," Kissur laughed, "you have already fleeced Shavash for six million." "What?" Bemish was astonished. "Didn't you know? The IC company gave Shavash six million so that it gets the spaceport. Shavash has to return money now as an honest briber." "It's impossible," Bemish said, "the auction takes a precedence over bribes." "How do you know that it all depends on the auction?" "I came here," Bemish said drily, "only after I had learned the experts' names and met the other companies' representatives, for example, Eseko. None of them had any difficulties obtaining a permission to participate in the auction." "What about you?" Bemish got a bit embarrassed. "Well... small officials wanted small gifts..." "It has nothing to do with gifts," Kissur said, "IC paid Shavash six million dollars so that not a single company, that could really compete with it, took part in the auction. This Eseko of yours could get all the permissions with no sweat, while you and some other folks were blacklisted." "Shavash is really afraid this Trevis of yours. He is nervous that Trevish will devour him whole." "What's he raving about?" a thought passed Bemish's mind. "Where could this IC, a small and practically unknown company, scrape up such a bribe? And why? It's local mythology and tabloids." "I am sure," Bemish said, "that's you are not correct." Kissur burst out laughing and waved his hands. "Yeah! Shavash has already started digesting these six millions and - kabloom! You get the company!" Kissur laughed, happy with Shavash's failure. "Hold on," Bemish exclaimed, "firstly, I didn't get the company, I just obtained a permission to take part in the auction. Secondly..." Bemish wanted to say that, secondly, he wasn't all that hot about quarrelling with Shavash... "But you will win the auction!" "If my offer is better than the others," Here, Kissur slid his hand in the pocket and pulled out, to Bemish's astonishment, a small white box. "What is it," Bemish asked. "It's a plasma bomb," Kissur answered, taking it amiss that the Earthman has never seen such a commonplace invention of his own culture." "What?!! Why?!!!" "Why what? We'll leave it under the IC representative's door and, if he doesn't get out of the planet then, we'll stick it under his pillow." Bemish was dumbfounded for a while and, then, he said drily, "I will not do that." "Why? Are you afraid to get bagged?" "Kissur, listen," the Earthman asked, "is it true that you engaged in a personal combat during your wars, with the enemy's commanders before the battles." "So?" "Why wouldn't you, during the fight, order your archers to shoot your opponent? "Are you nuts?" Kissur was astounded, "all my troops would abandon me after such a base trick." "Was it the only reason?" Kissur lowered his eyes. Of course, it was not the only reason. Bemish sighed, "You know, Kissur, we grew up in different worlds and, if I was a military commander, I wouldn't engage in a personal combat before a battle. But, when I participate in an investment auction, I will not slip a bomb to my opponent. You should have some decency." "I've always thought, " Kissur said, "that, when money comes into play, there is no place for decency." "It may be true on Weia," Bemish said, "but it's not true on Earth." Kissur put the bomb back in his pocket as casually as a pack of cigarettes. The Third Chapter Where Kissur opens the Emperor's eyes to a foreign briber while Terence Bemish received a gift of a luxury villa. The next morning, Kissur was desperately bored. He called Bemish but Bemish was running around somewhere like a chicken with his head cut off. Kissur could find him but what was the point? The man is rushing from one office to another - you can screw a slut together - but bribing an official is a private matter; why would Bemish need Kissur as a witness? The other guy, Welsey, said that tomorrow they would go to the spaceport. Kissur beat a servant with no reason - Kissur didn't beat him really, he just pushed him a bit, but the servant slammed into a bronze vase and hurt himself badly with the vase. Kissur ate goose and marinated liver pirogi for breakfast and went to a pub and, after that, to the fortune-tellers. All the damned fortune-tellers were familiar, however, with the sovereign favorite's mug and Kissur didn't learn anything interesting. Finally, Kissur returned home, undressed and dived in a huge pond, inlaid with heavily veined Chakhar marble and surrounded by blooming trees, with an altar in the Western Gazebo hanging over the water. Kissur was leisurely swimming in the pond, when a faraway car rustled behind the carved lattice. A door banged, voices clamored excitedly, a man from the car evidently shook the servants off and stomped down the garden path. Kissur dived. When he got to the surface, shining leather shoes stood on the pond's marble edge. Excellent quality grey pants ascended above the shoes. "Ok, how much do you want?" Kissur raised his head - an unfamiliar Earthman, with a red and round, like a street light, face stood in front of him. The Earthman's eyes were crazed and his chin stuck out aggressively. "How much do you need?" the Earthman repeated. Kissur got out of water unhurriedly and shook himself like a dog. The water drops from his blond hair splashed the Earthman's expensive suit. The Earthman was clearly uncomfortable - Kissur bathed naked, out of an old Alom habit, and he didn't even try to cover himself with a towel, demonstrating his contempt for the visitor. "Who are you?" Kissur asked, "And what has happened to you?" "You know perfectly well who I am!" Having planted his feet against the pond's marble edge, Kissur moved his bare toes. Reddish Weian sun danced on Kissur's wet hair and on the water drops stuck in the cracks between his powerful muscles. "Ok. My name is Kaminsky. Five months ago, I bought the land and they promised me to classify it as industrial zoning. I started to build a garbage processing plant. Now, thanks to the complaint you filed to the sovereign, it is classified as business zoning. If I want to keep this land, I have to pay the difference in price - two hundred million. If I don't want to pay the difference, I can get my money back and the land will be resold." "What's my part here?" "Khanida demanded one million and three hundred thousand more; how much do you need?" "I don't sell my country." Kaminsky burst out laughing. His stout face shook - he was probably starting to get hysterical. He stuck his fat finger at Kissur. "All Weian officials can be bought and they can be bought at a clearance price. I have never seen people who want to sell so much of their motherland at such a low price." Kissur paled and his eyes narrowed a bit. "These words," Kissur said, "are not like the land in Godfather's Dale. You will pay full price for these words." Kaminsky burst out laughing and he suddenly pulled out a large crocodile skin wallet. "Of course," he said. "I'll pay. How much should it be per word? Will ten thousand be enough? Just don't tell anybody, please, that I pay money for every spit or people will be waiting in line to spit at me..." Kissur grabbed the Earthman by his broad tie with one hand and twisted his arm and pulled him towards himself with the other. The Earthman flipped over in the air, drew an arc and, with a thundering splash, landed in the pond. Kissur wrapped a towel around himself and, not interested in the least, whether or not his pestering visitor drowned, walked to the house. X X X Bemish spent all night studying the company reports (clearly fabricated) and he spent all day dashing around the precincts. He spoke to Earth three times. They told him that Werner McCormick, the LSV expert on industrial construction, would arrive at the spaceport, next to the capital, in the evening. At three o'clock, Bemish drove to DJ Securities. One of the best broker firms in the Empire resided in a tiny place in a distinguished neighborhood. It was located in the palace pavilion's western wing - previously the building had housed the Cheese Bureau. All these bureaus were dissolved, along with the palace administration that used to duplicate the state apparatus. The Earthmen moved in the former palace officials' pavilions. The small building, crammed with super modern hardware, greeted Bemish with wondrous flower smells and a silver fox snout jutting out of the bushes. The broker, he came to talk to, was a fat young man with eyes, merrily jumping, like the numbers on a money counter display, and smooth golden skin. His name was Alexander Krasnov. Krasnov led Bemish to an office, closed the window facing the garden, turned the air conditioning on, and they started to talk about Assalah. The approaching investment auction rumors slightly raised the Assalah shares' prices. Almost nobody was, however, willing to sell them. The Assalah stocks could still be considered non-liquid assets - the difference between the buying and selling price had reached 20%. Bemish was greatly impressed with the fine emanations of success, coming from the small office, excellent employees' cars and cute long-legged secretaries. Before coming to Weia, Bemish had carefully studied various Weian companies' conditions and prospects; he had chosen Assalah and acquired in advance quite a significant block of shares- more than 80% of the stocks had been acquired through Krasnov. These were bearer stocks, but an owner of a block of shares larger than 5% was supposed to register. Bemish currently owned 6% of the Assalah shares but he had not intention of declaring it. Bemish and Krasnov discussed their financial dealings and, then, the young broker plunged into his reminiscences of the Weian securities' fabulous cheapness. The brokers had literally paid cents buying securities but it would not happen again unless the "Followers of the Path" gained power. "It was such a margin," Krasnov described. "Imagine, they sold stocks for a rice vodka crock. Do you know how much I paid for twenty seven thousand shares of Ossoriy nickel concession? A vodka barrel for the village and a Hershey chocolate bar! Do you know how much I sold them for? I sold them for four hundred thousand dinars!" Bemish grinned, "How much did you pay the peasants for the Assalah shares?" The broker was silent, pondering. Then he did something unexpected. He started to undress. He took off his jacket and wide wine colored tie; then, he took off a fashionable shirt with a vertical collar and turned his back towards Bemish. Horrified Bemish loudly exhaled. The Krasnov's back was covered with pale, but still noticeable pink welts, from the neck to the tailbone. Krasnov put the shirt on and coolly explained. "When I arrived in Assalah, a local official met me. "Broker?" - "Broker." - "Buying stocks?" - "Yes." - "Let's get to the precinct, I'll weigh you the goods." We came to the precinct, and he put me in a manure pit overnight, gave orders to whip me with a whip soaked in brine, and told me, "I wouldn't like to see you in Assalah again." "Oh, my God!" "By the way, he kindly explained his actions to me. He claimed that the people are like children, selling stocks for a vodka crock, and the officials should take care of the people's welfare. While he is alive, not a single foreign hyena will dare show its face in Assalah. Not that I couldn't appreciate his welcome, really. You know, I hadn't been whipped with a brined whip before." "Haven't you sued him for the whipping?" Bemish wondered. But Krasnov just looked at him in such a way that Bemish realized what a stupid thing he just blurted out. Having returned to the hotel, Bemish felt hungry and ambled to the restaurant. Galactic dinar prices were the only civilized part of the restaurant. Bemish randomly tapped couple of entries. In a moment, the waiter brought him a full bowl of steaming soup with dumplings, several small plates with appetizers and an object that reminded belatedly to Bemish about the locals' favorite - dog meat burgers. Bemish had just finished the appetizers, when a guy took a sit next to him. Bemish raised his eyes - it was a middling tall man with stern eyes, transparent like gasoline, and with a body that local peasants described as "a really inept god hewed him out." However, upon more careful inspection, the guy's face didn't go together with the overall crude image - it was hard, as if made from the twisted together wires. "Good day, Mr. Bemish," the man said, "My name is Robert Giles. I represent IC company - you know, we are participating in the Assalah spaceport investment auction. "What a coincidence," Bemish said, "I am participating also in it." "But you are not in good standing with Mr. Shavash." "It's not a reason for disappointment." "I recommend you, Mr. Bemish, to leave this planet before they kick you out of here." "And I recommend you to get out of this table before I bathe you in my soup." "Believe me, Mr. Bemish. A company's hostile takeover is intended for a civilized country. While, if you try to buy a local company, when its director doesn't want it... do you know that this director has his own jail?" "I know," Bemish said, "that this director can be dismissed by the sovereign if somebody close to the sovereign proves that this director doesn't act in the company's best interest. Have you heard what happened to Joseph Kaminsky thanks to Kissur? Have I made myself clear?" "Quite. So, Kissur stands behind you and Shavash stands behind me. Who will flatten whom into the ground?" Here, the waiter brought Bemish the dessert and, elongating his neck, inquired Giles if he liked to order anything. "No," Giles said, "I am leaving. And if you, Mr. Bemish, knew the local cuisine well, you wouldn't have ordered a guinea pig burger." X X X Kissur spent the rest of the day with Khanadar, the Dried Date, and a couple of close friends in the pubs. Kissur lost twenty thousand in dice and he didn't really drink much, though he did thwack somebody's mug. In the evening, Kissur got in his car and drove to Shavash. Shavash was in the Cloud Gazebo and he had an Earthman as a visitor. The Earthman had to be a close enough associate because, firstly, Shavash received him in the gazebo for the Weian guests and, secondly, two beautiful girls were also there. They were more undressed than dressed; one girl sat on the Earthman's knees and another one, breathing zestfully, licked that particular object sticking its bloated head out of Shavash's unzipped pants. Shavash reclined, leaning backward, on the carpet and his jacket and shirt sprawled nearby. The table was filled with appetizers and fruits - the friends had finished the business part were starting to relax. The Earthman shook the wench off and got up. "Robert Giles," Shavash said, "the IC representative." Kissur silently took the Earthman's chair and sat astride it. "I guess, I should go," the Earthman said, glancing at the girl regretfully." "Go," Kissur said, "these girls cost five isheviks per pair next to Trans-Gal, don't be greedy." The Earthman left. Shavash pulled the girl on himself, half closing his eyes, and the girl mounted him. Shavash breathed heavily and greedily. "Lie on your back," he told the girl. She followed the command obediently. Kissur waited till Shavash came. "Why don't you go, bring a jar of Inissa wine," Kissur told the girls. "Both of you." The girls left the gazebo. Shavash lay on the carpet groping for the shirt with his hand. "Everybody, like, is running around with this spaceport," Kissur said, "and they all run to you." "I am the company director." "Who was the director before you?" "A man named Rashar." "Hey, wasn't he your secretary? So, at first you sent him to the director's chair, and then to jail." "You shouldn't steal," Shavash replied, "in busloads." "Come on. He would give you away half a busload and you wanted three quarters. You will waste the country, scoundrels." Shavash finally buttoned up the shirt and pants, propped himself up and poured a cup of wine. "Kissur, one little tank trip of yours over the Coke plant cost more to the country than everything I have ever stolen and I will ever steal." "Why do you all fret so much about this stupid factory?" Kissur exclaimed. "And Terence was just yakking about the same thing." Shavash silently sucked on a straw. "Whatever. Bemish will buy your company and make you all sweat." "He will hardly buy the company," Shavash said. "Mr. Bemish often acquires companies but I haven't heard him actually buying a single one." "What do you mean?" "Mr. Bemish is quite a good financier but he made his money the following way. He would buy a company stocks threatening it by a takeover, and then sell the shares back to the company at higher than market price. It's called greenmail. He worked with very small companies in the beginning, then, he switched to the larger ones but, then, they asked him to get out of the civilized countries. He hasn't really broken any laws but they made it clear for him and his boss that they should go out and have fun someplace else." "His boss?" "His LSV boss. Ronald Trevis. Where do you think he got the greenmail money? Trevis raised money for him and Bemish was just a cudgel. Did you see a gentleman named Welsey, next to Bemish? This is Trevis - a morsel of Trevis." "I see," Kissur said. "LSV is a cool company," Shavash continued, "They find people, ready to get out of their own skins and skin the others to scrape together a dinar, a crown and a dollar, and they set them at large companies. They are not financiers - they are gangsters. They would be shot dead on our planet. They were reproached elsewhere and they decided to move to the places with no strict financial laws and a lot of under priced property." Shavash was silent and, then, added, "This rascal bought 7% of the Assalah shares through the dummy agents and he has been buying them in small blocks for many months to not disturb the market." The girls came back with wine and one of them sat on Kissur's knees and other one crawled to Shavash and started to touch him with her hands under the shirt and Shavash laughed and put the wine glass on the table and reclined on his back again. X X X The next day, the first vice-minister of finance Shavash stood in front of the head of the government, old Mr. Yanik. Mr. Yanik became first minister a year and a half ago after the death of his predecessor's, a certain Mr. Arfarra. Everybody unanimously considered Yanik to be a nonentity and a temporary replacement. Who cares how to plug a hole as long as it doesn't leak? However, the nonentity clung to his position way longer than many people who thought him to be a temporary incident. Yanik and Shavash belonged to different generations, and more importantly, to different parties. Shavash occasionally expressed quite loudly his opinion about Yanik while the latter occasionally and quite loudly used the former, as an example to express his regret about the old times when the overly rapacious officials would find themselves hanging on all four palace gates - a quarter per gate. "Make yourself familiar," Yanik said, handing Shavash a white plastic folder. Shavash opened the folder and concentrated on reading. It was a construction project of a humongous aluminum complex in the east of the Empire, in Tar'Salim, rich in alumina but poor in energy resources. The construction consisted of the aluminum extraction and processing facilities, two power plants - fission and magneto-hydrodynamic ones, and a small plant making composite alloys for gravitonic engines. The total construction estimated expenditure was two hundred million galactic dinars. The company was naturally state-owned. Shavash turned the last page and found what he was looking for - the person nominated for the company general director position was Chanakka - the first minister's twice removed grandson, an empty-headed and debased man who had already failed at at least three projects. Cosmopolitan Shavash, with his impeccable knowledge of the major Galactic languages and stylish suits, especially loathed Chanakka's fanatical nationalism. "This," the first minister said, "is an unquestionably important project. No longer will we drag behind the Civilized Worlds. No other planet has such a facility!" Shavash thought that both Tranar and Dakia had the same facilities. They, however, were not state-owned. "In two year," the first minister said, "we will control the space engines market! Your department has a week to budget seventy million dinars for the primary equipment." "We can't do that," Shavash said coolly. "Why?" "We don't have money. The officials in Chakhar haven't been paid since last year." Yanik looked at the finance vice-minister disapprovingly. Shavash was too young. Yanik still remembered times when the words "We don't have money" just didn't carry any meaning in Weian Empire. If money ran out, more of it could always be printed. None of it influenced the prices, since the merchandise prices were determined not by the amount of money in circulation but by the Bill of Prices for goods and services. "Mr. Shavash," Yanik asked, "what is your monthly salary?" "It is three hundred isheviks," Your Eminence. Is it true that your last toy, a private space yacht of the Emerald class cost four hundred fifty thousand isheviks?" "It was a friends' gift," the official smiled. "Mr. Shavash," Yanik said, "Tas'Salim is the our country's most important construction. We must find money for it. Otherwise, we will take care of your yacht. Do you understand me?" "Quite." X X X Shavash returned to his luxurious office sincerely upset. He snapped at the secretary, flung a fashionable jacket on the chair's back, threw himself in the armchair, and sat immobile for a while. Those, who knew Shavash superficially, would be certain that he was upset by the first minister's open threat - the beautiful yacht clearly aggravated some people. However strange it may sound, Shavash was upset due to totally different reasons. In any case, in the absolute quietude of his office equipped with a dozen counter-tapping devices, he allowed himself to wrap his hands around his head and quietly utter, "What are they doing? Do these fuckers understand what they are doing?" He turned the office speaker on and ordered. "Daren! Could you find Stephen Sigel for me, quickly?" Stephen Sigel was a representative of Naren and Lissa Joint Bank, the twelfth largest bank in this Galaxy sector; he had showed up on Weia a week ago hoping to start joint projects. Stephen Sigel appeared in the first finance vice-minister's office in two hours. "Mr. Sigel," Shavash rushed head-on, "the Weian government would like to obtain a seventy million galactic dinar loan immediately from the Naren and Lissa Joint Bank for six months at a nineteen percent interest. Could we do it?" Stephen Sigel swallowed. 19% interest was a very sweat deal. The Federation bonds had 7% interest rate, the Earth Bonds - 7.5%. Though, the Weian Empire finances were, no doubt, in a way worse state than the Earth's finances, the bank would've considered 16% to be quite a decent number. "Yes," Stephen Sigel said. "Great," the official replied, "the credit agreement will be signed one hour after one half of a percent from the loan appears on my table, in an envelope." Next morning, one hour before the government meeting, the first vice-minister of finance Shavash put on the first minister Yanik's table the credit agreement with the Naren and Lissa Joint Bank. "Here is your seventy million," he said, "I assume there is no point including it in the budget revenue. The money is allocated as an out-of-budget industry support fund. He turned away and left the office. "He is such an incredibly deft man," the touched first minister thought, "How has he managed to procure money so quickly?" Of course, the first minister understood vaguely that there was some connection between Shavash's ability to obtain galactic credits quickly and his buying trinkets like a private space yacht. On the other hand, the first minister enjoyed the thought that the money Shavash grabbed on this deal, paled next to the rake-off his twice removed grandson would make buying the galactic equipment for his company from the front intermediaries at doubled prices. X X X The same day, when the budget problems for the Galaxy's fourth largest aluminum facility were happily solved, McCormick, Welsey, and Bemish drove to another construction - also state-owned and also humongous. Halfway to their destination, they almost drowned in a huge pothole - the road started again in seven meters after the rut. An oldster, living nearby, gathered the people and they dragged the jeep across the pothole on a sledge. They charged so little that Bemish even relinquished his suspicions about the old guy digging the hole himself to make money on it. Later Bemish learned that two districts joined at that point and their heads could not agree on who would fix the pothole. At the ruins, Bemish felt such sadness as he had never felt in his life before - from the inconceivable waste of nature and construction equipment. The black gate on the landing field lonely stuck out on the blue sky background like a victory arch, it was decorated by various appeals to gods and demons. Ponds, yellow and round like owl eyes, bloomed in the landing chutes. The giant overpass had fallen apart, grass and flowers grew on the poles and the blocks, ants dashed back and forth on the road designed for multi-ton trucks. An even and incredibly thorny hedge with little blue flowers and half inch barbs covered exactly half the space field making it look like a forest surrounding the Sleeping Beauty's castle. Alas, the thorns didn't disappear with Bemish's arrival. The spaceport administration wing was cleaved at the first floor level and an elevator chute pointed right in the sky. There was no way, somebody could work here but Bemish remembered clearly an office expenditures entree in a company report and it was about this building. There was something horrifying in this place that ceased to be a part of nature but didn't become a part of the industrial world. "However, the construction' expenses will be twice lower here," Bemish noted. The sun was hurrying up to noon, when Bemish and McCormick left the building for a small bamboo grove rattling in the background of the bright stainless steel hangar. Bemish saw that they were not the only ones here - a helicopter stood on the fanned out paws behind the bamboo grove and the wind, raised by its wings, entangled gentle green grass stuck to the landing field. Bemish walked down to the helicopter. Under its belly, a man, in washed out jeans, laid out a napkin and was eating a ham sandwich. Having recognized Giles from IC, Bemish smirked. Another man stood nearby, petting on the back a red horse with white stockings - Kissur. "Good day," Bemish said, approaching. "Did you fly in together?" "No," Kissur said, "I am riding." And he pointed to the side, where two more riders were circling - Khanadar the Dried Date and a servant. "Did you ride here from the capital?" Welsey was shocked. "I have friends nearby, and they have a private airport," Kissur explained. "Yeah, they know how to build here," Welsey said, "they juiced five billions in and nobody even mows the hay down. Why don't they, do you have any idea?" "They are afraid of ghosts," Bemish supposed. "Exactly right," Kissur said, "Do you know how a witch gets born?" None of the Earthmen was a witch genesis specialist and Kissur explained. Sometimes, a temple or even a simple house is built at a road intersection and then the world changes its masters, the temple gets forgotten or a house owner moves away, God knows where to. The house cries, grows older, grass grows on the roof and a hat of moss covers the gate poles. Water starts to cut doodles and lines on the pole and a crow builds a nest there. In the evening, the locals get frightened passing by the pole - they think, somebody is standing guard in the dark. The fear grows into the pole, covers its features and seeps in its soul. The pole's soul gets born of fear and wind, it starts to watch the moon and walk in the rain and slush - that's how a pole witch appears. Kissur pointed at the wide open gate on the summer field and added. "Who knows, maybe these poles also stroll around at night?" Giles chortled. Kissur turned to Bemish and asked. "So, does it cost a lot?" "You should ask McCormick," Bemish replied. "I am not a specialist here. My field is finance." "They abandoned the construction to sell it cheaper afterwards," McCormick said. "They built it for a while and abandoned in three years." "Why was it exactly three years?" Kissur wondered. "Because, accordingly to your laws, a start-up company is salary tax-exempt and can import equipment with half the custom tariffs for three years," Bemish replied. "Ahh," ex-minister drawled, "and whom are they going to sell it to?" "Not to me," Bemish noted. Kissur turned around and stared at Giles. The IC representative feigned a yawn. "It's time to go," Giles claimed. "I can give a ride to the capital to anybody except the jeep." "Terence will stay here," Kissur said. "We will ride horses together." Kissur nodded to one of his companions and he jumped of the horse. They walked the horse closer to Bemish and he stared in a large brown eye. The horse chewed on its mouthpiece and her sides rose and lowered. The horse watched Bemish and Bemish watched the horse. "This is the tail," Kissur said, "this is the head and the driver's seat is in the middle. What are you waiting for? Get in." "I don't like," Bemish replied, "that it moves before I turn the ignition on." Kissur and his servants laughed agreeably. Bemish, however, had to climb on the horse and trek through a crazy forest where the power line poles entwined by lianas grew instead of the trees. Bemish tired out, battered his butt and finally almost drowned in a lawn which in reality proved to be a swamp inside a landing chute. Kissur said, that he would cripple the horse riding this way, and Bemish said that he would like to observe Kissur driving a car ten years ago. Then, Kissur sent his people off with the horses and walked on foot next to Bemish. Bemish enquired, where they were going, and Kissur explained that the future owner of the spaceport should better get acquainted with the local villages. "In ancient times, a good official always arrived to his appointment region incognito, to learn the problems and difficulties of the oppressed locals," Kissur said with admonition. Bemish wanted to point out, that he was not an official and he was not going to solve the locals' problems, but he was afraid of overdoing it and he shut up. By the evening, they both departed from the spaceport through a hole in the wall and walked in the dusk down a beautiful beaten dusty road, winding by the neatly planted gardens and rice paddies. They were both unbelievably dirty. Kissur braided a water lily wreath for himself and dashed around the road, laughing. "Kissur," Bemish said, "I have a request for you." "Yes?" "The spaceport is built on the peasant land, even though there is a lot of state land around. But it was built on the communal land and the families were handed shares in the way of compensation. I could buy them out." "How much will you pay them?" Bemish hesitated. He would happily buy them for a rice vodka jug but he could still see the whip marks on the Krasnov's shoulders. "These shares aren't liquid, Kissur. They cost no more than three hundred isheviks each. I am ready to pay this money." "And, when you build the spaceport, will each one cost three hundred thousand? You will swindle this money out of the peasants." "They will not cost three hundred thousand if I don't build the spaceport." "Shavash told me that you are not even going to build it." Bemish shuddered. "Shavash said," Kissur continued, "that you make money, buying a company stocks, and then threatening the company management, till they buy the stocks back at triple price, and that you are reputed to be such a man, a greenmailer. Is it true?" "Yes," Bemish said. "So, are you going to buy Assalah?" "I am." "Why haven't you bought the other companies before?" "I wanted to buy them. Only, the stock price increased so much during the fight, that it would be stupid to buy them. As Shavash maybe told you, two companies, whose management bought me off, went bankrupt." "Has it happened because of you?" "It was their choice to set a ludicrous stock price." "The same will happen to Assalah, won't it? The price will seem too high for you, you will sell the stocks and the company will go bankrupt." I don't think so. You see, enormous amount of money was sunk in Assalah and, despite all this view around us, - Bemish here gestured with his arm encompassing the bamboo growth far away and the semicircular administration center hulk, looking like an empty watermelon rind- despite all this, the spaceport is more than three quarters built. If we try hard, the first ships will start landing practically in six months. You heard, why it was abandoned - to cost very cheap. Also, everybody has heard, that it's dangerous to invest in a market like yours, but not everybody understands that spaceports and, also, interstellar communication systems are the only safe parts of your economy. This item will not be abandoned at any government and it depends on the local communications, in the least, because its main profits come from the sky. Assalah costs now less than two eateries in the middle of Toronto but, really, it is impossibly under priced. So, the stock price may increase tenfold but it will still be a good acquisition. Kissur was silent for a moment. "Are you buying the Assalah stocks now?" "Yes." "How much do you have?" "The Empire Fund Committee requires registration of any company stock acquisition of more than 5%. I have more now but I would ask you to keep it confidential. I haven't registered it." "How is it possible?" "Several companies act as the dummy agent stockholders for me." Kissur paused and asked then, "What is this investment auction of yours?" "Ffty one percent of government stocks will be divided in two blocks - 20% and 31%. As you see, I will have a controlling block of shares even if I get only a 20% block at the auction." "Wouldn't it be better to offer a good price at the auction?" "I am not entirely satisfied by the tender conditions. They are defined so cleverly that they allow, for instance, the government to raise the price after the winner is selected." "What, if you don't come out as a winner, and Shavash sells the company to somebody else, will you sell these stocks with a multiple-fold profit?" "I will buy Assalah." Kissur was silent. The birds fluttered out of the grass, a lost cow mooed far away in the field, and the sun, round like a pumpkin, rolled above the Earthman's and the Empire ex-first minister's heads. "What did the clerks do? The ones bankrupted by you?" "What clerks?" "Well, these..." Kissur clicked his fingers, "general directors." "Nothing. They are civilized people." "Now remember this, Bemish. I will help you. But, if you do as Shavash said, I will shoot you." Kissur got up and walked down the road. X X X Richard Giles, the IC company representative, found the finance vice-minister, Shavash, performing a ceremony. Shavash walked stately around the new building of Adako bank carrying in his hands a golden basin, with a burning candle floating on a splinter, and two dozen children in the identical silk clothes followed him with the same candles in their arms. Numerous gapers enjoyed the view. Shavash entered the building, sluiced water on the marble floor and, with the proper words, handed the basin to the new bank's president - his good friend's nephew. When the ceremony finished in five minutes, Shavash withdrew to the future director's office. Giles followed him. Shavash dropped the billowing silk vestment and an impeccable white suit underneath revealed itself. "Oh, that's you, Dick," he said. "Welcome here, how didn't I see you at the ceremony start?" "I flew to Assalah," Giles replied dryly. "Bemish was also there." "He is in his right," Shavash shrugged his shoulders. "You have to agree, if the company wants to participate in the auction, its general director can visit a spaceport." "We had an agreement that he would not take part in the auction." "A man can't fulfill all his promises," Shavash explained, "especially, if the other offer is better." Giles swore glumly and said. "Damn it, if we pay a dinar per share, we can't afford somebody else applying for the auction!" "I regret, but you will have to raise the price. Terence Bemish is offering seven point seven dinars - just raise the price." "I didn't pay you, Shavash, to pay for the shares. Kick Bemish out." "I am sorry," Shavash said, "but Bemish is a Kissur's protg. If we show him the door, Kissur will complain to the sovereign. Do you want a second Kaminsky scandal?" "Enraged Giles silently slammed the door. His friend was waiting for him in the corridor. "So?" "The damned briber!" the enraged Earthman hissed, "Kissur's protg, my ass! Do you know who got the officials' signatures on the papers when they were all drunk? Kissur? Devil's spawn! Kissur was lying with a wench - Shavash was getting the signatures! He will now harry us with this Bemish till we pay three dinars for a share." X X X By four o'clock, Bemish was fatigued. The road was dusty and covered with potholes, the spaceport disappeared a long time ago behind the endless flat fields and the rows of olive trees, planted next to the road so that the dust settled on olives and they ripened faster. They made at least twenty five miles, not including the morning spaceport trip. Bemish was tired as a dog and was slowly getting nuts - what is Kissur trying to prove? That he walks on foot better than Bemish? It comes as no surprise in a man who fought in a country with motorized divisions consisting of one horsepower units! The temptation to make it all clear to Kissur was pretty strong. But Bemish still kept silence and dragged himself after the ex-minister like a dog's tail. By the evening, Bemish and Kissur reached a local village and came in a tavern. Both wanderers were dirty up to their ears and looked so unprepossessing, that the host didn't even move seeing them at the entrance. Only, when Kissur sat at the table and bellowed, did he amble to the visitors. Kissur inspected the geese the host offered, demanded to grill one of them and ordered, additionally, mushroom sauce, appetizers and wine. The goose soon appeared in front of the travelers in the grilled state and it was impossible to recognize - such an appetizing crust covered it and so cheerfully did the goose fat drip down in the steaming rice plate. The travelers embarked on the food and, though Bemish was very hungry, he soon realized that he had no chance holding his own with Kissur. They conversed in English. Bemish noticed suddenly that Kissur was trying to not to bang his spoon on the plate and was listening to the conversation between two poorly dressed peasants - they were scraping rice quickly out of their plates with their heads down. Finally Kissur couldn't hold it, he bid them come to the table, handed over some goose and started to ask questions. Bemish, being barely able to understand a few words, inquired what the problem was. "These are the peasants from the second village," Kissur said, "and they are going to the manor's headman. Two years ago, their father became sick and they borrowed money from the headman for medical treatment, at first, and then for the funeral. In two years, the interest grew to match the original loan size. At that point, the headman sent his servants to the village and took their sister as a loan payment. The guys went to their relatives to borrow money but it didn't work out and they are going to the headman again." They were silent for a while. "What about the shares," Bemish wondered. "Did you ask them about the shares?" "They don't know what shares are," Kissur replied, "if you mean the red paper pieces they were issued for their land, they gave it to the headman as a name day gift." "But they cost ten isheviks a share even now!" Bemish exclaimed involuntarily, totally forgetting a vodka crock. The peasants swung their heads nervously, listening to two bums talking - they were clearly speaking some thief's argot - the peasants couldn't make a single word out! Kissur pulled a wad of money out of his pants, counted two hundred isheviks and gave them to the older guy. "Hold it," he said, "that's for your sister's bail." The peasant's eyes bulged out at the bum, he fell down on his knees and started kissing the earth in front of Kissur, till Kissur threw him outside. "Where are we going now?" Bemish asked when the peasants left. Kissur opened his dirty coat's flap, making sure that the gun was still there, and said, "Let's spend a night in the manor where the sister was taken to." By the late evening, tired as a dog Bemish slogged after Kissur to a hilltop crowned by a toothy tarred fence. Upon the travelers' arrival, a gate appeared in the fence and a servant with a flashlight and an assault rifle appeared in the gate. "Talk," Kissur elbowed Bemish. "I... our... sleep," Bemish started. The servant raised his flashlight a bit, realized that he was dealing with the foreigners that understood the human speech worse than dogs and let them into the manor with hardly a word. X X X It's should be pointed out, that the headman, in the manor they came to, was an awful man. He fleeced the peasants mercilessly, traded in girls, purchased stolen goods and ruled a racketeering gang. He had a great relationship with the regional authorities. At the same time, he attempted to look honorable. Fleecing the peasants, he always referred to the manor owner's merciless orders. Since the local peasants were really dumb, it had never even come to their mind to complain to the manor's owner, living in the capital and totally ignorant of all these depravities. In such a simple way the headman persuaded the peasants that he was their protector. So, Kissur and Bemish found a place in a hay bale inside the cattle yard and watched the peasants come to the meeting hall. The headman even came out to meet them. "I am so sorry about this," he declared, "but I have already sent your sister to the lord in the capital, so there is no way to get her back. If the lord likes her, you are lucky - maybe he will agree to forgive you the rest of your debt." "But we managed to get the money," the peasant said happily and handed the banknotes over. Who could guess that the headman had quarreled with one of his servants yesterday and bashed his head in with a stick? He stuck the body into the trunk afterwards, got it out of the manor and threw it into the bushes next to the construction. In the morning, he said that he had sent the servant to buy some stuff in the capital. He was going to report the servant as having deserted afterwards but an incredible idea came to him, when he saw the money. He leafed through the bank notes again and, suddenly, he pulled one of them out - it was a twenty isheviks note with a "200" ink bank mark. "Hold them," he cried to the servants. "I gave this twenty isheviks note to my servant Anai when I sent him out yesterday. Anai should have returned this morning; they must have robbed and killed him. Otherwise, where would they get the money?" The servants grabbed the bewildered peasants. "Where did you get the money?" the headman attacked them. "Your grace," the elder begged, "a bum gave us the money; it looked like he followed us here - he is sleeping now on the hay bale! How would we know if he robbed somebody?" The headman ordered the servants to take a look and they reported in no time that, truly, one sturdy bum was sleeping on a bale and another one had dug himself in it. The headman was pleased. "The prey comes to the hunter on its own," he thought, "I will arrest these bums and accuse them of the murder!" But then he changed his mind. "Who knows where these bums came from? Only bandits carry this kind of money on them and they won't be overjoyed, if I accuse an acclaimed gang member of murder and robbery! I will meet my end this way. To the opposite, the bandits will appreciate my tact if I don't get them mixed in this business." And he assailed the peasants. "It's such nonsense! Where would bums get this money? You don't even stop at accusing innocent fellow travelers." And he ordered to bring whips and canes. X X X Kissur was by no means sleeping in the bale at that time. He aspired to see his philanthropy's results. To avoid attention, he took the boots off and stuck them in the hay, so that they looked like a sleeper's legs, noiselessly climbed on the barn roof and jumped from there to the main house. He took off his belt with a hook on the end, snatched a post on the roof with a hook and lowered himself down the belt, to a cornice encircling the house. He walked down the cornice to the entry hall. Hanging down there, he heard the peasants being accused of the servant's murder and he heard them breaking down at the torture and confessing their guilt. In a while, the prisoners were taken away, the headman locked the money in the small metal safe in the corner and everybody left. Having waited for half an hour, Kissur carefully pried the wooden frame open with a knife and climbed inside. X X X Bemish woke up in the middle of the night - Kissur was missing. "Where is he hanging his ass out?" Bemish got angry. The moon shined and the roofs of wing houses and utility shacks were clearly outlined on the night sky background. Just then, Bemish saw a man's silhouette sneaking along the main house rooftop with a sack under his armpit. Bemish shuddered and rubbed his eyes. The man jumped over to the garage roof and disappeared inside. "Hold the thief!" a scream issued, and something glistened in the house. Bemish jumped. Something boomed in the garage, its gate was thrown wide open and a truck rushed out puffing. "Jump!" Kissur screamed. Bemish leaped on the truck, tore the door open and fell on the seat. The truck scurried around the yard, kicked out the gate and sprinted down the slope. Awaken servants rushed after it but, since everybody was afraid that the robbers could start firing and make some holes in the lackeys' hides, - they limited their activities to the loud screams and flashlight hustling. The headman silently contemplated the stripped safe. "These robbers are crummy people," he thought, "in my benevolence, I didn't prosecute them for the murder and they thanked me in such a way!" X X X The truck swerved down the night road and, inside the truck Bemish castigated the Empire ex-first minister. Bemish finished and Kissur asked, "Terence, have you killed anybody at the construction?" The Earthman only flapped his hands at such a question. "I also think that you haven't killed anybody," Kissur agreed, "then, how did the headman recognize this note?" and he started recounting, what happened between the headman and the peasants. "I think," the Earthman said, "the problem is, that the headman has already sent the girl to his lord and he is afraid to call her back. That's why he kicked this hoax with the money off; the servant ran away somewhere or he will come in a week." "You think well," Kissur said, "and the peasants likely think the same way. Keep it." And to the financier's horror, the Empire ex-minister handed him over a wad of square notes that Bemish immediately recognized to be the Assalah bearer stocks. "My God," Bemish moaned, "what is this?" "These are your stocks. Do you remember the peasants' story, how the headman requested them as a gift?" "Why?!" "You said it yourself, that if you have these shares, you will be able to control Shavash." "Kissur! Firstly, I can buy low and sell high but I've never acquired securities yet with a bandit's lock pick. Secondly, exactly five minutes after this story comes out, not a single bank will agree to finance me. Thirdly, this story will surely come out, since the headman will complain about one of the robbers being a foreigner and there are not that many foreigners..." "He won't run to complain," Kissur said, "or he will have to explain, how he got the shares as a gift." Bemish gestured with his hand and became silent. It took them an hour to drive back to the beginning of the destroyed overpass, where Bemish and McCormick had abandoned the car in the morning - the car was still there. Kissur got out of the truck, threw the stolen stuff on the back seat and took the clean clothes out of the trunk. "Change you clothes." Kissur drove the car and Bemish grouched, kept silence and, looking at Kissur, thought, "He is not a man, he is a walking scandal." They arrived at a crumbly town and stopped in front of a red lacquered gate. Bemish realized that it was a district precinct. It was probably the same precinct where Krasnov was whipped for an attempt to acquire the shares. "Are you going to rob another precinct head?" Kissur, not responding, knocked in the gate. The district head, having learned about the Emperor favorite's visit, put the clothes on and went out to meet them. Kissur introduced Bemish to him. "We were inspecting the construction till the nightfall and we were barely able to get out," Kissur explained. In the morning, even before Kissur and Bemish walked downstairs, a bustle issued in the house. The official reported, bowing. "Mr. Kissur! Your manor is located nearby, and a modest man named Khanni is the headman there. Yesterday night, two bums robbed the house and stole four hundred thousand! Probably, these two guys also killed his servant and lifted his money - the servant's body was found today in the riverside bushes! Bemish understood some of the official's talk and froze. They drove to the headman - a dozen Kissur's servants, that he called that night from the capital, joined them on the way. The district head entered the yard, with a large crowd already assembled, and Kissur stayed in the crowd screened by his servants. The murdered servant's body was delivered, two peasants were brought in and the headman accused them. "Everything is clear. These two made a deal with the bandits and robbed and killed my servant - they didn't expect me recognizing the money. You were going to rob the manor together next but, since you were arrested, the bums went ahead on their own. Answer me - where did you bump into them? Imagine it, I was trying to protect you before your lord, turned your sister over to him, so that he would become lenient." Here, the crowd moved and Kissur moved out of it surrounded by three sturdy chaps. "Hey, Khanni! What was this girl you turned over to me?" The headman went gray in the face with horror. The crowd reacted. "How much, are you saying, they stole from me?" Kissur continued. "Four hundred thousand," the headman fretted. Here Kissur took the sack of his shoulder and emptied it right out for everybody to see. "Khanni," Kissur stated, "when I gave you this manor, I said, 'Don't oppress the people, only take one tenth.' Yesterday, I was passing by, with a friend, and I decided to check, how you obey my orders, and when you arrested the people I gave money to, claimed this money for yourself, and told them that I dishonored their sister that I haven't even met, it looked to me, that you obeyed my orders like a pig you are - that you sucked on the people's marrow and drank their blood. I decided to look in your safe and I carried away from it not four hundred thousand but, rather, six and half thousand and, secondly, I carried away from it the loan agreements signed with my signature - and this is a fake signature. Then I realized that I didn't waste my time poking into this safe, because you would doubtfully have shown me these faked agreements!" The headman could not speak - he bleated and crawled at Kissur's feet. "Spit it out," Kissur barked. "How many girls have you sold to the whorehouses in my name?" "Twenty of them, at least," somebody in the crowd responded. Here, Kissur leaped at the headman and crushed his nose and many other parts, and then ordered to "hang this fucker on the gate" - Bemish could barely persuade him to call the lynching off. They still stuffed the headman in the stocks at the punishment pole. By mid afternoon, hundreds of peasants drifted into the manor. "That's what happened," the peasants were saying, "the damned headman lied to us and cheated the master! Thanks to the master for coming here and sorting things out!" Kissur ordered to set a table across the pole, sat down at the table and started to hand the loan agreements out to the peasants while the district head, happy to still have his nose whole, was certifying that the deeds were fake. By the evening, the headman was taken away in the stocks and the satisfied crowd dispersed. X X X Kissur and Bemish stayed in the orphaned manor overnight. "So, how was I?" Kissur inquired Bemish at the dinner. He reminded Bemish of a victorious fighting cock. "If a society's fairness," Bemish said, "depended on the number of squashed noses, then your Empire would be the fairest place in the Universe. However, the situation is reversed." Kissur frowned. "The objective is," the Earthman said instructively, "not to break the corrupted officials' noses. The objective is to position the officials in such a way that they couldn't harass the people." "How do you like this place?" "Wonderful place," Bemish said, "one could build a heaven here or, at least, a wondrous chicken farm." Kissur burst out in laughter and slapped him on the shoulder. "It's all yours, then!" Bemish was astonished. "I can't accept such a gift." "Why? You just stated that the goal is not to kick a bad owner's butt, but to find an honest one. You are all bark and no bite." "But I don't even speak the language." Kissur, however, wasn't even going to listen. "Also, you need to live somewhere," he declared, "you will surely get this company in your pocket, don't worry! I will wheedle it out of the sovereign for you." And he started enthusiastically treating Bemish with wine. X X X Bemish woke up late. The sun was pushing in the open window and dancing on a deity's jade mug, grinning above the door, on an ancient silver lantern where an electric light bulb bloated like a white bubble. With an effort, Bemish recalled yesterday events. "There was a fight... We drank... Oh, my God! He granted me the manor!" Bemish jumped up in the bed - the house deed and a note from Kissur lay on the table - he returned to the capital. In an hour, Bemish thoughtfully consumed breakfast on a veranda. Frightened servants ran around. He could barely talk to the servants and was absolutely unable to understand their replies. He thought for a moment, went inside and called to Mr. Shavash's office. "Mr. Shavash," the Earthman said, "could you recommend me a really honest administrator?" The first finance vice-minister assured him, in a slightly ironic voice, that he would be happy to find for Mr. Bemish anything in the world - an eternal phoenix, three-headed dragon, and even an honest administrator. X X X At the other end of the line, Shavash hung up the receiver. He pondered for a moment and, then, he called the secretary and gave the necessary orders. Soon, a young man, with a round face and pleasant but sad azure eyes, entered his office. The young man's face was unusually pale, a raw dough color. An Earthman or another ignorant person would think that the face's owner was unhealthy or hadn't left home for a while. A Weian would immediately suspect that the guy had been in jail. So, the young man named Adini, approached to the official's table and froze three steps away, waiting for orders. "Kissur," Shavash said, "bestowed to a Earthman, named Terence Bemish, a manor next to Assalah and the Earthman is looking for a manor's headman. I would like to bestow you to him." "Yes, master," Adini said deferentially. "You will watch him and report all his meetings and plans to me." Shavash picked a sheet of paper with a personal seal out of a folder. "The moment Bemish leaves the planet," Shavash said, "this sheet of paper will be destroyed. It is in your best interests, to operate so that Bemish leaves the planet quickly. Do you understand me?" "Yes, master." "Terence Bemish is a smart man and he, most certainly, expects me to use this opportunity to send him a spy." "Why did he ask you for a headman, then?" "He hopes to allure the spy to his side. Once he has given you enough favors, you may pretend that it indeed has happened. Remember, however, that Bemish can give you money or a stipend but only I can get rid of this paper for you. Also remember that, if Bemish had this sheet, he would not act as a good Samaritan towards you. He will be kind to you only because he doesn't have another weapon." X X X Bemish was enjoying the ancient mosaic overlaying the walls on the second floor, when he heard a descending flyer's characteristic rustle. He walked out to the gallery - a white flyer stood in the yard, the last "rainbow" shimmers were beating above its wings. In a moment, the "rainbow" dimmed, the flyer's roof opened up like a poppy flower carpel, and two people got out of the car - a handsome lithe youth in a strict white suit and another guy, more scrawny than slim, in a checked shirt with torn-off sleeves and a red flower in his hair, following the contemporary rebel fashion. "You can live here two months and more," the youth in the strict suit said loudly in English, evidently being sure that nobody could understand him, "no one will say a word. The local headman has sinned quite a bit and he won't even tell my brother about you." "And how much has he sinned?" "Not more than any damned bank director." Here, the older youth turned around and noticed Bemish who was standing openly at the gallery encircling the villa at the second store. "Hey, who are you?" the youth called out in Weian. "I am Terence Bemish and I am the villa's owner." "That's nonsense! The villa belongs to my brother." "That's true. However, Kissur threw out the manor's headman yesterday and gave the manor to me." The youth span his head nervously and Bemish said, "You are welcome. I don't think that Kissur would be happy to know that I showed his brother and his guest off." Bemish ordered the servants to serve the terrace table and, soon, he and his unexpected guests were devouring an ample breakfast. Kissur brother's name was Ashidan and his companion introduced himself, not without sarcasm, as John Smith. "What do you do?" Ashidan asked. "I am a financier." "My brother makes strange acquaintances," Ashidan noticed. "What do you do?" Bemish inquired from the new guest. "It's none of your business, shithead." Bemish was a bit flustered. "Excuse me," he asked, "didn't we meet two minutes ago? I don't know anything about you. What do you know about me to call me a shithead?" "What class did you fly coming here?" "First class." "That's it. How can a man with enough money to fly first class not to be a shithead?" "Are you an anarchist," Bemish wondered, "a communist?" "I am a sympathizer" "Whom and what do you sympathize with? Esinole? Marks? Le Dan?" "I sympathize with the people that the likes of you shit on with money." "Why do you sympathize with them on Weia?" "This planet is interesting for me," Smith said. "People here haven't choked on their money. "Yes," Bemish agreed, recalling peasants, crawling in the fields, "they haven't. But I hope to fix it." "Eh?" "I will help them to choke on their money," Bemish stated. "It's nonsense! You don't care about anything except your profits!" Bemish was unhurriedly eating the morning soup. Last time he heard the same thing from the former ADO general director, whom he kicked out from a comfortable for him, but burdensome for the company, armchair. "Don't push it, Johnny," Ashidan said sarcastically, "or he will be calling police in a second." "I would certainly call police," Bemish said, "if I saw you making a bomb. Since you are just yakking, why the heck should I call them?" "Will you tell my brother?" Bemish carefully looked at Ashidan. "What a brood," a thought passed his mind, "one drives tanks down the foreign companies' facilities and another reads Marx in Princeton... Why didn't Kissur give him the villa?" Bemish fished a satellite phone out of his pocket and handed it to the youth. "Tell him yourself," Bemish suggested. Ashidan got up and walked to the garden to make a call. Right then, the servants rushed to the terrace to announce the district head's arrival. The district head brought gifts with him - three dishes of grilled meat with garlic, a suckling pig, salads in flat baskets and, also, a plate of walnut shaped cookies and a round sweet quince pie decorated with the Bemish's last name misspelled on top. Bemish walked the guest to the garden gazebo. The official bowed to him with the pie and said, "It's a great honor for us, Mr. Bemish that you will now, in a way, live with us. I am happy to express my gratitude to you. Thanks to your help and Kissur's courage, a crime of unimaginable magnitude and horror was uncovered. "I think you were aware of it," Bemish said. "Hola, how can you say so?! I was shocked, squashed like a frog under a wagon!" Bemish shrugged his shoulders. A servant knocked and appeared in the door with a steaming teapot and sweets in woven baskets. The guest and the host treated each other with tea and, then, the district head inquired, "They say that you will be in the charge of our construction?" "It's too early to say," Bemish said. Here it seemed to Bemish that the district head winked his eye at him in a coarse and canny way. "Well, say," the district head said, "there is no reason to doubt now. Believe me, I and the others around will be utterly happy to do everything they can for Kissur's friend and their future colleague." "Did you whip Krasnov?" Bemish asked. "Eh?" "I mean the trader, who came to Assalah for the stocks. You said, that you wouldn't allow foreigners to rob the people." The district head nodded understandingly. His face became now important and benevolent. "Unfortunately," he said, "the people are like children and officials should protect them. How can I let them sell invaluable property for two cents?" "You can't let them sell it for two cents but you can let them sell it for free? To pay for the taxes you invented?" "Hola!" the district head exclaimed, "how can you say so?" His round kind face reddened and tears appeared on the wide open eyes. "Do you have company shares? Did you pay a cent for them?" The district head's eyes looked at Bemis honestly and directly. "From now on," the district head said, "the meaning of my life is to serve you! What would you like me to do? Tell me and I will carry it out." "I would like you," Bemish said, "to sell me the Assalah shares at the same price the peasants sold them to you - for free." The official choked. "Otherwise," Bemish continued, "the sovereign will know how you chased foreign vultures from here with a brined whip to bleed the people on your own." The official was silent for a moment and then bowed and pronounced, "It will be my honor to serve you." "I should get him fired," Bemish thought, "so that a man grateful to me for the appointment and not the man hating me because of the shares is head of the precinct. X X X When Bemish walked down in the garden, Ashidan was standing on the swimming pool edge and throwing thin well sharpened darts into a fat pot. "Well, did you talk to this mongrel? Ashidan asked, "How much money did he give you, so that you didn't prosecute him?" "Don't be rude, Ashidan." "This district head is a real weirdo, "the youth continued, "He is the only local official who spends every day in the office. Do you know what he engages in in there?" "Well?" "He locks himself with his young male secretary since his wife comes from a much better family than he does, and she doesn't allow these little tricks at home." The Fourth Chapter Where Kissur tells investment bankers how to train a highwayman's horse while Terence Bemish makes an acquintance with other contenders for Assalah stocks. The next day after his return to the capital, Bemish found himself at a party thrown by the district prefect to celebrate the plum blossoming or some other divine occasion. The party was grand. All of the high society arrived. The officials discussed the inflation and the importance of the preservation of the customs. The people from the stars discussed the inflation and the importance of the preservation of the customs. In a corner, the foreign entrepreneurs shared more particular impressions from the local business surroundings with each other. "So, this abbot comes to me and offers to bless the bank against a misfortune and he asks for two hundred thousand dinars for the ceremony. I refuse and the next night a fire starts in the office. The next day this vermin comes to me again, expresses its condolences, and asks for two hundred thousand again. When I complained to the police, they gave me the advice - don' buck and cough up the money - the abbot is connected to Horn's gang." "By the way, speaking about banks - do you know that only the companies, with accounts in Shavash controlled banks, received the budget financing this month? They say that Shavash had a ten percent kickback. And so on. And so forth. Bemish met the Federation of Nineteen envoy, an elderly Malaysian, and the envoy led Bemish into a corner immediately and started telling him true stories from local officials' lives. There were about dozen envoys present. Bemish was suddenly surprised by the number. He thought that only fifteen... not even fifteen - ten years ago - the envoys' number would be way smaller. The Earth colonies were leaving the Federation of Nineteen one after another, peacefully or with swords drawn. Bemish was also introduced to the Gera envoy. The envoy was talking to two people that looked familiar to Bemish. "Mr. Lawrence Edwards," the envoy introduced one of them. "Mr. Jonathan Rusby," he introduced the other one. Bemish didn't bat an eyelid. Half the Galaxy police have been looking for Mr. Lawrence Edwards. Mr. Edwards had owned one of the Galaxy's largest and most respectable businesses. An airport technician's son, he made a five billion dinar fortune by the age of thirty. He used land allotments he acquired for construction purposes, as collateral to obtain the bank loans, and the banks trusted him completely. Unfortunately, Mr. Edwards had more and more difficulties in the last several years and he created a network of companies buying these land allotments from each other and using them later as collateral for bank loans. At the fifth act's end, Edwards escaped. When disappointed banks arrested the land allotments and unfinished skyscrapers, they found out their real price was very different from the price paid by the affiliated companies, and it didn't even cover one twentieth of Mr. Edwards loans. As for Mr. Rusby, he had also been a financial legend and the manager of a successful offshore fund investing citizens' savings in risk free government securities. Unfortunately, the interest promised by Mr. Rusby exceeded the possible government securities trading profits by 3% and, henceforth, Mr. Rusby, while promising the complete safety, invested his clients' money using much more profitable but much less secure financial instruments. The clients, lured by high risk free profits, crowded at his office, the modest retirees and dishwashers who would have never invested in his fund if they had known the fund's structure, brought their money to him. Rusby, with his incredible nose for trading, often gleaned up huge pickings buying a bankrupted company's shares at 5% of the face value that would later rise to 90% and he had a great time meanwhile with the margin between his take-in and his payments to the clients. It was not economical but rather political quandaries that destroyed him - a new tax law on Aegeia, where his head office was, and a couple of the adroit auditors. Rusby's assets were arrested, his wife divorced him scandalously, the fund immediately bankrupted and Rusby escaped to Gera, where he kept insisting that, all this time, he fulfilled his obligations towards the clients and paid them exactly as he promised. By the way, the federal committee didn't argue that. It just claimed that if the Rusby investments' real risk level had been known, he would have had to pay the investors five-fold. "Eh, Mr. Bemish," Rusby said with a friendly smile, "I heard that you were also taking part in the Assalah auction?" "Also?" Bemish winced. "Wow! Would Shavash really let this man, wanted by the Galaxy police, participate in an auction." Next to a lighted pond with gold fish, a small man stood - Shavash. "Thanks for the headman," Bemish said, "what salary should I pay him?" "Nothing - he is your slave." Bemish choked. "I thought there is no slavery on Weia. "Call it the way you want. This man owes me two hundred thousand isheviks and he signed a contract that he would work this debt off any way I choose. I will transfer the contract to you and send it tomorrow with the courier." Bemish was silent. "By the way," Shavash asked suddenly, "they say, all the Assalah documentation was transferred to you. What's your opinion?" "What do you mean?" "I meant just what I said. You just familiarized yourself with the most detailed documentation, you are a financier. What do you say?" Bemish hesitated. I'd say that I realized how they make money on Weia. They make money not on private profits but on state expenses. They fed off Assalah in two ways. The first way was the inflated contracts and the second way was the written-off equipment. For instance, the company Alarcon was in charge of the land works. The same man was both the Assalah director and the Alarcon founder. He owned 20% of the shares. There is the geological study's conclusion, that Assalah stands on an excellent basalt foundation with a forest situated above it. There are, also, seven million isheviks paid to Alarcon for draining swamps that have never existed. There is construction equipment paid for with the budget money at triple fold prices. And the same equipment was sold to Alarcon in two weeks and 97% of the resource was claimed to be exhausted. How can you exhaust 97% of the resource of a step excavator in ten working days? I bet, it was still standing unpacked at a warehouse, new and shiny! Any action was a financial pump that pumped state budget money from the company a manager was in charge of, to the company the manager owned. Shavash listened to the Earthman with eyes half closed. "You said that the director owned 20% of the Alarcon shares. Who owned the other 80%?" "I assume that you owned it, Shavash." A deferential waiter stopped next to them and Shavash took a crystal glass on a thin stem from the silver tray. "However, I didn't understand certain things," Bemish continued, "what is an "ishevik bill of credit"?" Shavash spread his hands. "We were forced to do this. When the ministry doesn't have money, it has sometimes to issue short-term bills of credit maturing in three months. You need to pay the contractors somehow." "In other words, you, Mr. Shavash, issue your own money." "Not exactly," the vice-ministry pointed out indifferently, "Money costs as much as it costs. While, when you obtain "ishevik bills of credit", you go to a bank to exchange them for money. The bank can pay you thirty percent of the face value or it can pay you hundred percent. It depends on how good friends you, I and bank are." "I believe," Bemish enquired, "it's meaningless to ask you if you approve of cutting the ineffective industry subsidies down." "Theoretically speaking, I approve of it," Shavash said tiredly. "You don't read local media. I am an enthusiastic supporter of the budget deficit curbing. This Assalah thing swallowed two billion isheviks while the real expenses were not even two million." The official's voice didn't carry either cynicism or sarcasm in it. Bemish kept silent - he didn't know how to snub a man who issued pseudo money as the first finance vice-minister, received it on the Assalah's account as a Board of Director's member, and ferried it to his personal account as real money. Right then, Bemish realized a very simple thing - Kissur can bequest a villa to him, Kissur can secure Assalah for him - but only Shavash has the life and death power over money in this country. "Who was the man who visited the manor with Ashidan?" Shavash asked suddenly. "Did you recognize him?" "No," Bemish came to his senses. Shavash silently opened the folder he had with him and extracted a newspaper article. The article showed the late Ashidan's companion and the title announced, "The main suspect in the Menszel trading exchange center escapes in an unknown direction." Bemish hadn't heard about the explosion and he leafed through the text quickly. The explosion was indeed a small one - two or three doors cracked and a computer had its brains blown out. The blast was small because only one explosive device performed - a non-fragmentation demolition shell with ten grams of trinex. A case with the equivalent of three kilograms of dynamite was next to it but, miraculously, it didn't detonated. If the case had exploded, the victim count would have been in tens or, even hundreds. "They left the villa," Bemish said, "the same day." "Ashidan has nasty companions, " Shavash said. "Though this guy is a friend of Kissur's." "Pardon my curiosity, Mr. Shavash - it's surprising how you know everything. You know even what happens at a villa two hundred kilometers away from the capital. Are you a vice-minister of finance or of police?" "I am simply a rich man," the small official said. "And a rich man is not the man who owns a personal villa or a personal spaceship. It is a man who owns a personal jail." "A personal jail? Is that a joke?" Shavash smiled. "Would you like to see it? I can organize a trip." "One way?" "Never joke about jail, Mr. Bemish," calmly and coldly the Empire official said. They were silent for a moment and, then, Bemish said, "How much is IC going to pay for the stocks? I can pay more?" "It doesn't matter, Terence, whether you pay more or less for the stocks," Shavash grinned. "Imagine, that you pay for the stocks more but your application is not set up correctly." "How much does a correct application cost?" In the uneven light by the lamps outside the window, the small official's raised eyebrows were easy to see. "Come on," Shavash smiled. "Listen," Bemish said quietly and clearly, "a fantastic sum given to you by IC was mentioned to me. I don't know whether or not it's true. I am not going to offer you this kind of money. If, however, I buy the company and you buy the stock options, in three years, your shares will be worth eighteen times more than any of IC's pitches." Shavash only smiled. "You know perfectly well what IC is, Shavash. And you know that it will bankrupt Assalah, and you know why it will do it." Shavash had a perfect composure but Bemish noticed surprise or, even, horror passing in his eyes. Here, the Gera envoy with another man entered the hall and Bemish bowed and walked away to the balcony. Giles sat at a corner table on the balcony. A glass of palm vodka, mixed with mango juice, stood next to him and an open magazine, that Giles was probably reading, was under the glass. "Good day, Mr. Bemish! They say that you already own half the Assalah with a cute villa on top?" Giles was drunk. He lamented probably that half the Assalah didn't belong to him. "I haven't asked for this gift," Bemish said, "and, anyway, I found myself in an idiotic position." "Especially, since you are not going to buy the company anyway, are you?" Bemish was tempted to empty the glass of vodka in the Giles face. "Let me introduce you to our executive director," Giles said lazily, "James McFergson." Bemish turned around - behind him, a stout short man with unusually lively eyes and a mole on a pug nose was smiling and extending amicably his hand. "Overjoyed to meet you," MacFergson declared, shaking Bemish's hand. It really looked, as if he was overjoyed to meet Bemish, and, as if no Bemish existed in this world, he would fall dead with sorrow. Here, the stage in the garden under the balcony was lightened, the harmonious sounds of flutes and lute-shells poured forth and a performance started below - in not too prudish dresses, four beauties were dancing a complex dance with swords. Quite a crowd surrounded the stage quickly and, when the performance finished, a guest -likely drunk- climbed the boards to kiss the dancing girls. "Who is this bloke?" Bemish enquired. "The Adana envoy, " McFergson answered. "The envoy fits the country." "An Earthman?" Bemish said with surprise. "They are no longer Earthmen," McFergson smirked, "the planet Adana, for your information, was settled by SD Warheim. So, Warheim brought there several dozen thousand unemployed people - subsidizing their one-way tickets. In just a short while, the unemployed realized that there were a lot of jobs on Adana and no unemployment benefits. So, they all screamed that it was slavery in disguise and demanded that the company transport them back to Earth. When the company offered the opportunity to earn money for the transportation fees on their own, they called it Earth imperialism and declared independence. However, I heard that their current President makes them work way harder than the company did and in concentration camps rather than free." "Mr. Bemish knows that," Giles interrupted his colleague. "Just when the trouble started, he bought United Ferrous shares and sold them later at triple fold price when the new Adana government transferred all of Warheim's concessions to United." Several people from the group of Weian officials noiselessly approached the conversing Earthmen. Among them, Bemish noticed Jonathan Rusby with the smiling Gera envoy. "Mr. Bemish has also provided a great assistance to Andjey Gerst. In my opinion, your decision to create a Gera-oriented portfolio investment fund made many financiers pay attention to Gera economics." "What's so bad about it?" Bemish enquired irritably. "Gerst is a dictator." "And how exactly does it show?" "So far, it shows, " Giles said, "in him attracting high level scientists and advancing huge loans to local companies for the newest technologies development - our government is forced to spend this money on social expenses. And Gera banks are reputed to be the most reliable in the Galaxy, though not due to the government protection but rather due to the very strict laws specifying the total personal responsibility of the management." "Whose nails do they pull out?" "Nobody's." "And where is the dictatorship? "Eh," Giles said, "in your opinion, a dictatorship is when they pull the people's nails out and talk stupidly... Only a weak dictatorship pulls the people's nails out, it's not a dangerous dictatorship, it will expire of its own accord, it's doomed because when they pull the people's nails out, the people don't work as much and the less they work, the more nails they have to pull out." "Do I understand you correctly," Bemish inquired, "that any state, where they don't pull your nails out, is a strong dictatorship? I think you just envy that Gera is better off than your own eh...?" "Australia," Giles said, "I am an Australian. I understand you, though. You have better opinion of Gera than of your own country because Gera's Dow index grows faster." He stood up. "It's a stupid argument," he said, "I've been to Gera and I could give you hundred proofs that its Leader is thousand times more dangerous than all the psychopaths... Why don't you think about this - the Gera army's total military capabilities are approaching those of Earth and all the other Federation of Nineteen members' armies combined, and every time, when somebody in the Federation Assembly proposes to boost the defense spending, the owners of the accounts in the stable Gera banks start screaming that we should not spend money on war, we should spend the money on social assistance." Kissur came in after midnight - by his looks, he spent the evening in a more interesting way - in a pub. He ran into Bemish on a garden path, next to a grotto that, due to an evident reason, Bemish needed to visit in private. Kissur slapped Bemish on the shoulder and noted. "I haven't expected to meet you at this zoo! So, trader, haven't you yet changed your mind about buying Assalah?" "I will buy Assalah," Bemish said, "no matter what. At least, so that Giles wouldn't get it." "What's the difference between Giles or you buying it?" Bemish was silent for a moment. Kissur was clearly drunk and Bemish wasn't a picture of sobriety either. "The difference? I guess, I will explain to you, Kissur, what Giles is doing. Giles represents a company that nobody knows anything about. He says that a private financier stays hidden behind the IC initials and he is ready to invest ten billion in this business. That's bullshit. There are no such investors." "Why is he doing that?" This is chicanery. Whoever is behind Giles gets Assalah and issues the new shares. Your planet desperately lacks the space infrastructure, it's generally a state property, and private spaceport investments should be fantastically profitable. The stocks prices rise through the ceiling, IC makes billions on the price differential and gets out. Shavash gets millions, IC gets billions and the Federation investors with the Empire nationals get a fly speck. I spent this week making enquires about IC. It is a phantom. This is a trickster company that had a couple of projects on some planets that nobody has heard anything about, - and these planets had been expelled from the United Nations. A planet that's not a UN member - from a financial viewpoint - Kissur, is a planet where the public companies' accounting doesn't have to follow the Federal financial committee standards. They have a well developed system - they bribe an official, issue the stocks, advertising their "connections to the government", peddle these stocks to fools through a phony company, the stocks grow, the company cleans the cream off, and then - kabloom! Got it? "Got it," Kissur said. "I got it, that our companies have a merry choice - they can choose between a disreputable greenmailer and a company like IC." Kissur left soon, having loud-mouthed the Federation envoy and publicly promised some official to set the dogs at him, "If you, bastard, demonstrate your disdain to the sovereign again by parking your ill-gotten with bribes Rolls-Royce next to the Nut Pavilion." He did, however, invite Bemish for a dinner at Red Dog restaurant the day after tomorrow. X X X The next day, Bemish returned to the city and went, first thing, to DJ securities. The flower pot with summer hyacinths, right in front of the office entrance, was bent in by bulky jeep tires and people bustled through the wide open office doors like ants in a smashed anthill. "What's going on?" Bemish inquired from Krasnov coming out to meet him. "Tax police visited us," Krasnov said. "They locked up all the paperwork." "What laws did you break?" "You should better ask what laws we didn't break! What laws can you avoid breaking in a country where the regulations are made not with the goal of paying the taxes to the state but with the goal of paying the hush money to the tax collectors!" "Haven't you tamed the tax collectors?" "We? Come on, Bemish, every month... They apologized - we wouldn't do it but we were ordered to..." "Who exactly signed the order?" "A man named Danisha. He is a protg of Shavash's, by the way." "Is it because of Assalah?" The broker shrugged his shoulders. "Have you seen the article?" ` "What article?" Krasnov took a battered yellowish newspaper from a desk drawer and gave it to Bemish. The newspaper was local and Bemish was only able to make out Shavash's picture and he was barely able to get the paper's name - Red Star. On the picture, Shavash appeared from the waist up, presenting an outrageous sight with a girl, dressed only in a band, coquettishly tied around her neck. "What is it about?" "It is about the Assalah company investment auction, where a corrupted and lewd official Shavash settled with a foreign shark Bemish to sell him Assalah for the price of a rotten melon." Bemish took the newspaper with him and, in half an hour, he drove through Kissur's mansion gate. The majordomo wordlessly walked him to the living room; excited voices were coming from it. Bemish entered. The voices stopped. A very beautiful thirty-year-old woman, with the eyes, black as boysenberries, and a black braid tied around her head, rose to meet him. On the coach, dismayed Shavash pressed himself against the pillows. Shavash hurled the bundle of papers, he held in his hands, to the floor and said, "Let me introduce you - Terence Bemish - the house mistress." Bemish realized that Mrs. Idari, Kissur's wife, was in front of him and he bowed awkwardly. The woman laughed. Her laughter was akin to a silver bell. "Where is Kissur?" Bemish asked stupidly. "Kissur is not here," the official answered. "He will fly in tomorrow." Bemish suddenly felt himself blushing furiously. "I ... I will go... I didn't know..." "Please stay," Idari said politely, "I will leave. It is not befitting for a woman to stay too long with a man her husband hasn't introduced to her." She bowed and left - only the black braid tied around her head glistened in the door. Bemish was looking after her and blinking piteously. Then, he turned to the official. "Sit down, " Shavash waved his hand, "sit down and eat. Every time this obnoxious majordomo sees me with his mistress, he would even bring a peddler to the room." The peddler comparison didn't please Bemish. Shavash took him by his hand and walked him to a veranda where a round table covered for two people stood next to the gold-gilded rails. A plump maid was already standing next to a silver hand washing jar. Bemish washed his hands and dried them carefully with an embroidered towel and, when he turned around, the servants were already loading on the table a flat leather dish with an aromatic mound of chopped steaming meat. Having propped himself on the pillows, Shavash watched the Earthman. "What is, "Shavash asked, "sticking out of your pocket? "The Red Star article." "Ahh," Shavash drawled. "These nutcases... Where did you get it, by the way?" "My broker showed it to me. Tax police busted him. A man named Danisha." Bemish got used to Shavash enough to be ready now for an ugly snub from him. He could easily imagine Shavash smiling and saying, "Oh, Terence, what should we do! The Earthmen allow themselves so much on Weia, it's scary! These people had three different sets of books and didn't pay any taxes this year. They can loose the license." But Bemish didn't expect to see what happened next. Shavash's eyebrows levitated in astonishment. "What are you saying!" the small official said. "Verily, if you send an idiot to bring you water, he will revert a spring to your house!" He grabbed a T-phone off his belt. "Danisha," Shavash started speaking in the receiver in several seconds, "what happened to DJ securities?" The receiver quacked. "I'll show you three sets of books," Shavash screamed. "I'll show you taking the license away! You will bring me the fine, they paid you, personally. And you will bring me, what Giles paid you! You will bring it in an hour or you can go away to Inissa as a cheese inspector in two hours." Shavash threw the receiver down. "Not convincing," Bemish said. "I have nothing to do with it," Shavash snorted. "I just introduced Danisha to this scoundrel of Giles." "And the Red Sun article is not yours." "Come on!" Shavash drawled. "That's disgusting sleaze. I would sue them but I don't want to get my hands dirty." "Well, this article came out just right for you. Now, you can refer to the article to say, 'if I sell this company to Bemish, I will lose my reputation." Shavash shrugged his shoulders. "I don't even want to listen to you, Terence. Red Star is the zealots' newspaper. They tried to assassinate me twice." "What zealots?" "You saw them yourself while walking with Kissur - remember the iron people show?" Bemish shuddered slightly. As if it's not enough, that Shavash already knew who and when anyone visited Kissur's villa in Assalah! What's he doing - does he follow Bemish's every step? "Where did this iron men story come from?" "It was an old book," the finance vice-minister smiled, "with an iron braggart story. There was a prophecy at the end of the book, that at the world's end, plagues, hail and dishonest officials will come, and the iron men will crawl out from the underground. I have to say that every time rebellions or barbarian invasions happened in the Empire, the rebels were thought to be the iron men. However, once the rebels took power, everybody would immediately realize that they were not the iron men. As for the Earthmen - you don't grab the power and don't hang your enemies. Can't you be anybody else but the iron men?" "The ones that crawl out from underground?" "The ones that crawl out from the underground, eat children's brains, and carry nave peasants and officials underground, down their bewitched halls, to inflict visions on them." "And how many people believe it?" "A lot of people," Shavash said, "peasants, officials, artisans. Hey, I fired my secretary, Akhhar, because of that, right after our US tour." Bemish finally realized that Shavash was making fun of him. "Well," he said, smiling, "you secretary, having flown to Earth, is unlikely to think that we crawled out of hell." "My friend," Shavash said, "Akhhar just considers it to be an allegory, the wisdom of our ancestors who possessed the hidden knowledge and warned us about the danger. You see, when you talk about science, you either understand how a nuclear reactor works, or you don't. A myth, meanwhile, is capable of joining together the most different people's groups and minds. A simple peasant understands the prophecy literally, while an educated man interprets it metaphorically." "And how," Bemish asked, "do the preachers understand the prophecy?" "Oh, while talking to the authorities, they claim it is an allegory! Are they idiots to admit that they know the real truth about the iron men?" "It's incredible," Bemish muttered. "Can't you explain to your crazies what's really going on?" "It's impossible to explain to them, it's only possible to hang them. I think, however, that if we start hanging people for believing Earthmen to be demons, than you, the demons, will raise a horrible buzz." Bemish lowered his head. "Don't feel bad. These people have a special gift of quarrelling not only with the state but also with each other. Take cars, for instance. One sect will believes that cars don't exist, that they are demonic phantoms, and that you are not moving in a car but rather are moved by a demonic force. Another one believes that the ancestors themselves sent us the cars, but the iron demons grabbed the gift on the way and used it illegally." Shavash picked the newspaper up, waved it at Bemish's nose and said. "I am explaining all this to you, Bemish, so that you understand how difficult it would be for me to get an article published in Red Star, where, on the top of it, they christen me," Shavash squinted slightly and started translating the text, "a foul dung beetle, "a cockroach with a sack of gold instead of the heart," and "the foam of sacrilege..." Shavash paused for a moment and unexpectedly added. "You know, what my conclusion from the article is?" Bemish couldn't help but glance. The dirty article, as it has been mentioned, was accompanied by the picture of Shavash naked and Bemish i