othing and went to Shavash." "Well?" "Shavash is a very intelligent person," Bemish said, "and his education is impeccable. He knows everything about IPO, underwriters, cumulative privileged stocks, etc... You have to admit that in a country where most people are sure that when an Earth starship reaches the sky, the Earthmen knock in the sky and God opens them a brass door, that's pretty impressive. He is a very intelligent man who encompassed the best in the both cultures - Weian and Galactic ones." "What does it mean?" "He can bankrupt you without breaking a sweat like a vulture fund manager and he can personally cut your head off like a true Weian official. He is the most charming man." "So, what has the most charming man told you about your desire to buy Assalah?" "That to agree to our proposal means to sell the motherhood for a sour cream jar." "Well, should we pack our things and leave?" "Not necessarily. Mr. Shavash hinted that he would be ready to sell the motherhood for a sour cream jar, if the jar was big enough." Welsey hummed. "Don't I dream sometimes," he said, "that at some point the Securities and Stocks Committee will allow us to have an entry in a balance sheet - "for bribing of the developing markets officials" - and it will be tax deductible... How much does he want?" "We didn't get to particular numbers." Bemish was silent for a moment and continued, "The company stocks are unbelievably under priced. I am not going to give him any money. Let him buy stock warrants, this way it would be in his interest for the company to survive and prosper." "What is that you don't like?" "Shavash is not the director of the company." "Excuse me," Welsey was amazed, "what do you mean, he is not a director? All the forms say - Shavash Ahdi, the director of the state-owned Assalah Company." "Stephen, it is a poor translation. The company is not owned by the state, it is owned by the sovereign. Do you see the difference? "State" and "sovereign" are two different conjugations of the same word in Weian - nouns have conjugations here - what a language... When the translation says, the state appoints, it really means, the sovereign appoints. The sovereign personally appoints and revokes the company president; the sovereign personally accepts financial plans. What if the sovereign does not accept the IPO plan? Bye-bye sour cream..." "Hmm," Welsey said, "From what I've heard, you can't really say he spends all his time studying companies' IPO plans during the de-nationalization process. They say he has seven hundred concubines..." "Yes, but what's the guarantee that some official that can't stand Shavash doesn't go to the sovereign and tell him about the sour cream jar." "Giles from IC told me that we would not even be able to get papers for the space field preliminary checkup without bribing Shavash first." Bemish retorted, "What is the IC? I've never heard about this company." Somebody knocked in the door. "Come in," Welsey shouted. A boy with a card on a silver tray materialized at the entrance. As a local custom demanded, the boy kneeled down on a scrawny knee in front of the foreigner. Bemish took the card. The boy said, "A gentleman would like to have a breakfast with you. The gentleman is waiting down in the foyer." "I am coming," Bemish said. The boy backed away and left. Bemish hurriedly pulled on pants and a jacket. Welsey took the card. "Kissur," he read, "wow, isn't he the Emperor's favorite who filched a Van Leyven's bomber plane and slaughtered the rebels next to the capital? Didn't he later get on LSD and gang up with anarchists on Earth? Where did you pick this drug addict up?" Bemish checked his bruise out in the mirror. "Drug addicts," Bemish said, "don't fight like this." X X X Terence Bemish descended. Slim and smiling Kissur sat on the car hood. He wore soft grey pants girdled by a wide belt embroidered with silver sharks and a grey jacket. A wide necklace made of jade plates set in gold glistened under the open jacket akin to a collar. The attire was similar enough to the contemporary fashion to look unobtrusive, except for the necklace and the finger rings. Bemish winced involuntarily and touched his cheekbone where Kissur's ring tore the skin off. "Hello," Kissur said, "general director! Never in my life have I met a general director who fights like this. Are you special?" "I am special," Terence Bemish agreed. Laughing, Kissur embraced him, seated him in the car and started the engine. "What have you seen in our capital?" Kissur asked. "Nothing." "Have you seen nothing at all?" "Well, I saw cards in the hotel hall," Bemish said, "and I also saw a warning there - don't eat fried river calamari on the market if the calamari are from the left river, where the leather processing plant "flows" to." "Got you," Kissur said, "let's go then." They drove over the river across a blue lacquered bridge, loaded with market stalls and people. Kissur stopped on the bridge in front of a wreath shop, bought three of them, put one on his neck, another on Bemish's and later left the third one in the temple of the Sky Swans. After that, Kissur drove Bemish around the city. The city, that Bemish hadn't seen yet, was both beautiful and ugly. Temple turrets and muraled precinct gates mixed with astonishing five storied shanty houses built from the stuff that Bemish wouldn't dare to build a cardboard box; potters on the floating market sold enticing jars painted with grasses and flowers and empty rainbow hued Coke bottles. Melon peels and colorful wraps floated down the canal - the remnants of everything that grew on Weia and came from the skies, everything that found a place in the mammoth belly of the Sky City but didn't find a place in the weak bowels of its sewage. They watched a puppet show at the market based on a new popular TV series demonstrating the mutual integration of the cultures; they fed holy mice and dropped by the Temple of Isia-ratouph, where stone gods dressed in long caftans and high suede boots nodded to visitors if they dropped coins (bought here) down a slot in the wall. Kissur showed the Earthman a wonderful town clock made in the very beginning of the sovereign Kassia's rule. There were twenty three thousand figurines next to the clock, a thousand for an every province, and they all represented officials, peasants and artisans. They spun in front of the dial displaying a blue mountain. Bemish asked why the mountain was blue and Kissur answered that was the mountain that stood above the sky and had four colors - blue, red, yellow and orange. The blue side of the mountain faces the Earth - that's why sky is blue. The orange side of the mountain faces the gods, hence the sky above the place where gods live is orange. This was a standard cultural program except for the fact the director of a modest company registered in the state of Delaware, USA, Federation of Nineteen was accompanied by one of the richest people in the Empire. Finally, Kissur stopped at a temple somewhere at the city outskirts. He, probably, stopped there because of a two thousand step long staircase leading to the temple. Kissur started running up the steps and Bemish desperately tried to keep up. He was out of breath and his heart was pounding in the chest, but the Earthman and the Weian got to the top of the colonnade side by side, looked at each other and laughed. "Like a pig race," Kissur said, gasping for breath, "Terence, have you seen a pig race?" "No." "We must go there. I threw away twenty thousand last week on this Red Nose bastard." It was dark and cool inside the temple. A bronze god in a brocade caftan and high suede boots sat amidst green and gold columns and his wife sat in the next hall. Kissur said that Weians didn't put much stock in bachelor gods. A god should be a good family man and an exemplary father, otherwise what can he expect from people? Bemish listened to the strange silence in the temple and perused the face of the god and the family man. "By the way, where did you learn to fight?" "My father taught me," Bemish said, "he was a well-known sportsman. I almost became one myself." The ex-first minister's eyebrows, furled in contempt were visible even in the temple dusk "Sportsman..." he drawled, "it's a shameful business to fight for plebeian delight. Why haven't you become a warrior? Terence Bemish was amazed. To say the truth, it has never occurred to him to join the army, not even in his wildest dreams. "The army," Bemish said, "is for losers." The ex-premier grinned. "Yes," he replied, "for an Earthman, anything that can't procure wealth is for losers. The Earthmen make money out of wars no longer; they make money out of money. "I didn't mean that," Bemish objected, "I want to be myself and not a trigger pulling machine. The army means the loss of freedom." "Crap," said Kissur, "the army is the only way to freedom. There is nobody between a warrior and god." "Maybe," Bemish agreed, "only our army hasn't fought for the last one hundred thirteen years." They left the hall, walked through a rock and flower garden and found themselves in another temple wing - enticing smells wafted from there and Bemish saw cars with diplomatic plate licenses through a twined lattice. Bemish thought the temple rented this house out but Kissur told him that an eatery had always been there. They walked down into the yard. A fountain babbled in the yard inconsolably and people sat at the tables under the swaying yellow tents. Kissur seated Bemish at a table, grabbed a passing waiter, plucked two wine jars from his basket and ordered food. "So," Kissur said, pouring spicy palm wine down the clay mugs, "you have never been to a war. What do you do then?" "I am in finance. The company that belongs to me will possibly be interested in buying some stuff here." "Are you rich?" "You don't have to be rich in order to acquire a company. You just have to have a reputation of a man who can triple the stock price of this company in a year and a financial company who can raise money for you." "Aha. Do you have one?" "Yes. My colleague Welsey represents it. It's LSV bank." "Are foreign banks allowed here?" "LSV is not a deposit bank. They are in investment business, "Bemish said, feeling slightly offended for the fifth largest investment bank in the Galaxy. Here, Kissur astounded Bemish. The ex-first minister of the Empire of the Great Light looked at Bemish and asked, "Oh, do banks engage in anything beyond usury?" Bemish was silent for a moment. Then he carefully inquired, "Kissur, do you know what a stock is?" "Hmm," the ex-minister said, "it's when you get a loan?" Bemish almost choked. "Am I not right?" "When they loan money and issue securities it is called bonds." "That's what I am saying. Isn't it the same thing?" "No," Bemish said, "When a company issues stocks, whoever buys a stock becomes a co-owner of the company and has a right to vote at a stock holder meeting. He also gets dividends and their size depends on the company's performance. On the other hand, when a company issues bonds, it means that it borrows money and whoever buys bonds will have guaranteed payments till the loan will be paid off, if the company does not go bankrupt, of course." "Oh, how interesting," Kissur said; he snapped his fingers and shouted, "Chief! Where is the jellyfish?" Bemish had never eaten marinated jellyfish before and he wasn't particularly curious about it; he sincerely wished that the place ran out of them. However, the jellyfish arrived, looking like a pile of broken plexiglass smothered in with red sauce, and Kissur continued, "What company are you aiming at?" "The company that received a concession for the Assalah spaceport construction. Since the sovereign owns 65% of the company's capital, accordingly to your laws he appointed the company director - Mr. Shavash." Kissur, having some vague recollection that Shavash owned twelve more companies like that including the Galaxy's second biggest (and rated one hundred eighteenth in efficiency) uranium mine, silently nodded. "Are you definitely buying it?" "It depends on a number of factors." "Such as?" "It depends on the current state of the construction, the state of the world stock market by the time of the IPO, the IPO volume and its prospects, - you see, LSV can act as an underwriter and get a profit selling securities but prices may go down after the IPO and then LSV will incur all the losses. It is also important what kind of securities it will be, stocks, bonds, or derivatives. "Bonds would be better," Kissur said. "Why?" "You said it yourself - if anybody buys stocks, he also buys the company. What if somebody buys the spaceport? All these ... trying to worm their way in here..." Bemish choked a bit, but it was probably caused by the unusual taste of jellyfish. "Tell me more about the company," Kissur demanded. The Assalah Company was founded four years ago for the construction and the industrial usage of a spaceport with a twenty five square mile landing area that could potentially be increased. 15 square miles of peasant communal land was appropriated for the construction. The company issued six hundred forty million stocks with a nominal price of one hundred isheviks each. The state kept 65% of the stocks and the management received five percent. The community peasants got about seven percent. Instead of getting cash for the appropriated lands, these people obtained a partnership in the future construction. Fifteen percent of stocks was sold via the over-the-counter market. The construction was going along rapidly; the stocks were pretty high up and their price reached three thousand isheviks or eighteen Galactic dinars on the stock exchange. Then the director embezzled too much and a scandal burst; it became apparent that only one third of planned construction had been accomplished, the market crashed, almost all of upper managers were arrested, the workers scurried away picking up everything that the managers hadn't stolen yet; the construction halted on its own volition and never started up again. Shavash was appointed the head of the company, though I think that he had originally been on the Board of Directors. "That's simple," Kissur said, "if Shavash was on the Board to begin with, it means that he quarreled with his colleagues and had them imprisoned." "I don't know," Bemish said, "you see, this kind of stuff would not be included in IPO prospects. Shavash tried to set up an international IPO and he got in touch with "Merrill Roberto Darnhem." He almost pulled it off but the investors refused to undersign the issue in the end." "Why?" "Because," Bemish gleefully explained, "a rebellion or something the government considered a rebellion happened in Chakhar that month, and a certain Kissur led his tanks among other things through the production facilities of a soft beverage joint corporation, squashing under his tracks a manager named Rodger Gernis. After this little trip, the securities of six Weian companies that had passed the international certification plunged down and bruised themselves and nobody wanted to talk about a new IPO. Didn't you know about it?" Kissur twirled his head thoughtfully. "I've heard something about it," he said, "but I don't see anything wrong if your sharks don't eat our carp." "Your carp won't get smarter if nobody swallows it." Kissur raised his head and looked thoughtfully at Bemish. His jaws moved powerfully, crunching the jellyfish like it was not a jellyfish but at least a lamb bone. "That's well said, financier, " Kissur mentioned, "it's frank, at least. Do you own a construction company?" "More or less." "What kind of construction?" "It makes automated doors for monorail subway cars." Kissur pondered. He was evidently trying to figure out the relationship between the automated doors and the Assalah spacefield and he just could not fathom it. "Have you inherited it from your father?" Kissur asked. "No, I bought it a year ago." "Why?" "To use it as a tool to acquire a bigger company." This statement was more frank and even scandalous compared to the previous one about the carp. It would make the Galactic Reserve bureaucrat twitch but Kissur clearly didn't care. Kissur poured Bemish palm wine and they drank a mug and then another one. "What's so special about you, director?" Kissur asked suddenly. Bemish was silent for a moment. He wouldn't mind having Kissur as an ally. He realized that Kissur detested everything to do with Earthmen and their money and he couldn't predict the Kissur's reaction to his next statement. "Most general directors," Bemish delivered , "slowly climb up the corporate ladder, play golf with their equals and charge their own companies for the their cats' space travels. They won't let me play golf with them. They call me and my likes corporate raiders. We don't play by the rules. We buy companies and fire ineffective management. We buy companies with other people's money and pay off loans by selling half of what we bought." Kissur sipped wine. He didn't care a fig that the Securities and Stocks Committee was now discussing the legal issues of corporate raiders' actions yet again, and that Terence Bemish's name was often being mentioned in not the most favorable way. "So," Kissur said, "the Assalah spacefield. It's in Chakhar, at the border with the capital region... They grow great grapes in Assalah... Isn't one hole in the sky enough for Chakhar?" "No," Bemish said, "one hole in the sky appears not to be enough. It was also supposed to be a temporary hole built in a swamp. The Chakhar capital becomes as inaccessible in the rainy season, as a marsh village during a flood. The landing blocks grow wet mildew and the spaceships hang out there in space and charge so much for the delays, that cost as much as ten spacefields or one palace. " "How horrible!" Kissur exclaimed. "Didn't you know that?" "I am not a shopkeeper," the ex-first minister of the Empire was offended, "everybody, interested in this, starts giving bribes or making money sooner or later." He was silent for a moment and then added, "so did you come to Shavash about this ... hole in the sky? How much did he ask?" Bemish grinned savagely. "I am not in the habit of giving anything to the management of the companies acquired by me accept for a kick in the butt. Assalah will be sold on an investment auction. I will win this auction and that's it." Kissur's blue eyes bored in the Earthman sitting in from of him. "Something is funky here, "Kissur thought. "Either the Earthman is afraid to confess about the bribe or Shavash is going to get foxy on him. One of them is lying to me and I'll rub an onion in his eyes. X X X Bemish drove away in an unknown direction. Stephen Welsey shaved, took a shower, ate breakfast, prepared related papers, visited an official named Ishmik, who was connected to the state archive, where the financial documentation of the Assalah company's previous stage was stored accordingly to the Empire laws. Next to the gates covered with silver curls and golden feathers, two guards squatted and shelled earth nuts. "Is it Mr. Ishmik's house?" Welsey asked in Interenglish, slowing down and sticking his head out of the car. "Yep," one guard answered. Welsey got out of the car and barely stepped on a white sand path. "Where are the gifts?" the guard said. "What gifts?" Welsey was astonished. "Gifts so that we announced you to Mr. Ishmik." Welsey got back in the car, turned around and left. Five minutes passed by. The guards still sat shelling the earth nuts and looked thoughtfully at the empty road. "Nissan 254, " one of the guards said, "last model." "Such ignorance," the other said, "how can you visit a high official's house without gifts. Such an uncultured man!" Welsey's next visit was to the land rights precinct. He needed to find out the exact status of the peasant and state lands acquired for the Assalah landing strips. The IPO documentation that he studied on Earth, mentioned a long term lease with a right to buy out, and Welsey needed to find out whether or not the acquisition had already happened. A plump official rumpled the papers in his hands for a while and even pretended to read English while holding the document upside down. "Why isn't the paper signed?" he proclaimed suddenly, returning Welsey the sheet. "But this is the first page!" Welsey said, "The signature is on the second page." The official knitted his brows. "What if the first page is a fake?" "Are you going to force me fly back to Earth to get the signature, " Welsey asked irritably, "why don't you pay for a ticket then?" The official realized how ignorant the man was and did his best to get rid of him. In the third precinct, Welsey barely stepped in the office, where a young official with smart penetrating eyes stood to meet him, when the door opened quietly again and a Tserrina consulate courier darted in, holding a large basket in his hands. The official looked desperately at Welsey and the latter uttered, "I'll wait outside, " and stepped out. In a moment, Welsey heard in Interenglish, "Please accept this trifle from me and turn a benevolent face towards me." Welsey rushed out. X X X After the pub, Kissur dragged Bemish home. Bemish didn't find Kissur's mansion to be entirely immured in the past - a closed circuit camera roved its eye and the powerful neon lamps hung among the marble columns flanking, customarily, the path to the main building. However, Bemish made out an altar in the garden and a lamb, slashed wide open, lay on it. Evidently, Kissur brought Bemish home for dinner and their food at the pub was just the appetizing hors d'oervres. Bemish hiccuped. Kissur warned Bemish away from the women's quarters and went away vociferously instructing the proper preparation of pheasants. The Earthman was left in one of the halls with windows facing the garden and walls draped with archaic silks. A weapons collection was arranged on the wall - an encrusted with mother-of-pearl and gold poleax, a simple battle-axe, swords, one arrow-head covered in blood. When Kissur returned, Bemish inquired about the strange collection theme. "These are the weapons I was not killed with," Kissure answered. He moved to the wall and picked a heavy spear with a blue pinecone at the end. "In a two day trip from your Assalah, the mountains begin and I was cut off in the mountain woods with maybe a thousand people, and Kharan - that was the scoundrel's name - had about fifteen thousand. But while Kharan dawdled on the plains, I ordered the trees along the road to be axed part way. When they finally entered the forest, the trees started falling on their heads and we butchered the ones who were still alive. Still, it wasn't such an easy feat and I was almost killed with this spear." Kissur was silent for a moment. "It's silly to kill somebody with it now, isn't it? A laser would be way more reliable." Kissur pivoted and threw the spear. It flew through the open window and implanted itself in a decorated gazebo pole. Bemish walked out to look - the spear had completely run through the pole. The pole was more than ten inch thick. Bemish wrenched the spear out and returned to the room. Having eaten, Kissur hauled his new friend across the river, where the Lower City shined and melted in the afternoon sunlight, thousand year old dwellings of artisans, shopkeepers, and thieves, filled with crooked back alleys making them impassable for cars and blocked by gates that the local denizens used to defend themselves against bandits and, occasionally, officials. A market thundered deafeningly next to the river; it smelled of fried fish and fresh blood; an old woman with a face like a dried fig was quickly and deftly plucking a cock; passing by a cabbage cart while unloading, Bemish noticed a small rocket launcher under the cabbage. Slightly further, people crowded around a movable stage where a show was taking place. "Let's go, Kissur suddenly yanked the Earthman, "you have to see this." Kissur and Bemish squeezed in closer. A dignified oldster in a waving red dress manufactured two human figurines with an incredible nimbleness - one out of clay and another out of white rock - put them on the stage, covered them with a decrepit rag. He passed his hands, took the rag off - and where the clay figurines had been - two youths jumped up. The youths started to dance in front of the audience, and soon a lively conversation between them and the oldster issued forth. Intrigued Bemish asked Kissur what the play was about. "The show is based on an old myth," Kissur said. You see, when god was making the world, he made two people - one out of clay, another out of rock. Both of them knew as much as the gods knew but the clay man was simple and guileless while the iron man was envious and crafty. The gods took heed and thought, "People walk among us and they probably know as much as we do. We could get in trouble." They called the iron man in and asked, "What do you know?" Since the iron man was crafty and secretive, he answered, just in case, that he was no smarter than the carp had in his basket. The gods dismissed him and called the clay man in. They asked him, what he knows. "Everything," the guileless clay man replied. The gods pondered and took half of his knowledge away. After Kissur had explained the meaning of the play to him, Bemish started to follow what was happening on the stage. Soon it became evident to him, that nothing good came out of the man who lied to the gods and knew as much as they did. This man cooked up a lot of schemes, stole stars from the sky, made an iron horse plow fields for him and was caught when he took a god's image and fornicated with his wife. After that, the god in the red dress chased after the iron man with a bundle of whips; the iron man squealed and flipped over into an open hatch. The audience guffawed. The show came to an end and the god in the red dress started to walk among the people with a plate. Bemish enjoyed this folk show much more than the morning TV play. "Did I get it right that the iron man died?" Bemish queried. "No. He dropped underground and he had children and grandchildren there. Since then, the iron people live underground and they are responsible for all the calamities above ground. They cajole the mountain spirits to start earthquakes and generals to rebel. Accordingly to the legend, at the end of the world, the iron men will crawl out from underground in the flesh, or more precisely, in the iron; will take the land away from the people, the sacrifices away from the gods and will generally misbehave." "Will there be the second act?" Bemish asked. He wanted to see how the iron men cajoled generals to rebel. "Inevitably," Kissur grinned. Then, the god stopped in front of them with the tray full of jingling coins; Kissur, grinning widely, put two large pink bills with a crane picture on the tray. "Braggart," Bemish thought irritably. He didn't want to appear miserly, and he looked in the wallet. He didn't find any large Weian banknotes there but he had about hundred dinars in the passport just in case - the Earthman had been warned that ATM machines didn't readily present themselves. Bemish extracted two notes and put them on the tray. The god in a ragged dressing gown took the gray interplanetary money with rainbow water signs along the edge, waved them in the air, merrily announced something to the crowd - and tore them apart. Bemish stupidly took it for trick. "What did he say," he asked Kissur. "That he doesn't take iron men's money," Kissur replied. The crowd parted quickly and menacingly and Kissur quickly dragged Bemish out - several gibes and a rotten tomato flew at the Earthman. In just a moment, they were crossing the gleaming river over the lacquered pedestrian bridge covered with shops. Bemish was still upset. He didn't care about money, but he just couldn't figure out how a man who earned twenty coins for the performance tore apart a sum hundred times bigger. Bemish would have never done it himself. "Is he mad, this illusionist?" Bemish asked. "They use the performances to draw people in." "Who are they?" "Well, you would call them an opposition, we would call them a sect." "There is a large difference between a sect and an opposition," Bemish noted irritably. "Why have I come to this planet?," a thought passed his mind, "who claimed that the Federal Committee guys would be able to prove anything in the RCORP stocks story? I just bought them, that was it..." "The difference, " Kissur agreed , "is ample. An opposition hangs out in a parliament and a sect hangs on the gallows. Don't worry about the money. They are great tricksters; he certainly didn't tear it apart and he is now buying vodka for the local trash with it, since the trash believes the shows but it believes them even better when watered with vodka. He waited a moment and then added, "There are things on Weia that you, the Earthmen, will not understand. You will never understand why this oldster calls your automobile a phantom and why they call you iron imps when they see your spaceships. You can take in account the copper in our mountains, but how will you take this oldster in account?" "We can take him in account perfectly well," Bemish objected drily. "How so?" "In the stock price. In your stock prices, Kissur, that cost cheaper than toilet paper. The name for this oldster is country risk." X X X When Welsey returned to the hotel in the evening, angry and disheveled, the porter handed him over a note from Bemish. Bemish announced that Welsey shouldn't expect him in the evening since he flew to Blue Mountains for a fishing trip. Bemish was out of town all week, while Welsey continued knocking on the state precincts' doors. It appeared to be absolutely impossible to get the simplest things done, to sign papers for a permission to transport necessary equipment to this damned planet with a discount tariff, or to gain access to the spacefield's stinking ruins. Stephen filled forms and refilled them, he paid the scribes and he paid the officials. At the White Clouds street precinct, he said, "I would be very grateful to you if you sign this form." "May I know the size of your gratitude?" the official replied immediately. At the Fertile Valleys street precinct, he was told to fill all the forms in Weian. Welsey found a scribe and filled everything. The official leafed the papers through and said, "It is not allowed to accept the papers from Earthmen that they didn't fill out themselves." "Be merciful!" Welsey said. "Mercy is an honorable trait." the official agreed pompously. At the Autumn Leaves street precinct, Welsey banged his fist on the table and screamed, "Aren't you afraind of prison?" "In our world," the official objected, "fright follows tranquility, tranquility follows fright and only the sovereign's well-being is always serene." Then he asked Welsey for a ten thousand isheviks bribe. In a week, Welsey cracked a bit. He was not an innocent maiden, and he had had to appear twice before the Securities Committee. Admittedly, the LSV bank was not only the fifth biggest but also the most notorious investment bank in the Galaxy. Welsey knew how to give bribes to influence an election's results and he had been telling dirty stories about Federation officials all his life. Verily, he had never ever heard a Federation official reply to, "I am grateful to you," by explicitily asking about the size of your gratitude. On Friday evening, Welsey dropped by the central communication station and called the work number of Ronald T. Trevis - the head of LSV bank - the man that some people called the un-crowned king of the Galaxy finances and the others called the un-crowned bandit. "How is it going?" a normal voice from a normal planet reached Welsey. "It's not going," Welsey replied, "I have not obtained a single signature in a week. I've been twice in their central office - their secretaries know nothing and there is nobody around besides them." "And Bemish?" "Terence Bemish is fishing in Blue Mountains," Welsey said with a vengeance. "Who wants bribes and how much do they want?" "I don't know," Welsey said, "there is a man named Shavash, the finance vice-minister and a local Talleyrand, considered by some to be the hope of the evolving nation. My impression is that the hope of the nation received a huge bribe from IC so that not a single serious IC competitor could take place in the auction." "Do you think that your difficulties were caused by Mr. Shavash himself?" "Yes." Then, something clicked in the receiver and the connection disappeared. Welsey was going back to the hotel down the evening streets when he heard a siren coming from behind him. A police car made him pull over. A guard in a yellow coat - national police uniform - and with an assault rifle in his hands jumped out of the car and tore the driver's door out of the Welsey's "environmental" car with a hydrogen tank looking like a swollen cucumber. "Your papers!" "What's are you doing?.." the Earthman started extending his driver's license out. But the guard didn't even look at the celluloid rectangle. He bent over Welsey, grabbed the yellow briefcase lying on the passenger's seat and pulled it out of the car. "How dare you?" Welsey clamored. The guard elbowed the sky boor off. "It is a personal order of the minister himself!" Crappy tires screeched and the police car drove away. Welsey sat in his cucumber on wheels and felt totally shocked. That was not a minor bribe anymore. That... There could be only one explanation - the connection with the Earth didn't break off accidentally. He was followed by the Shavash's agents. The conversation was tapped. The consequences were catastrophic. As mentioned before, he was not a virgin child and certain sums of money had transferred hands from him to the Empire officials. While he was not able to obtain even the most trivial information in some places, he obtained absolutely confidential information in other places - and some confidential materials lodged in his briefcase. The rough drafts of the IPO were also there, including various financial machination notes and even the approximate numbers of kickbacks. This information would not hurt the Empire officials but, oh my God, what could it do to LSV bank! From the moment of Ronald's Trevis meteoric rise, LSV bank has joined the ranks of the most profitable but not the most ethical banks of the Galaxy. The financial establishment used any pretext to set "these bandits" back; the managers of the companies, passing away under LSV-staged hostile takeovers, complained about wiretapping and employees being bribed; two of Travis clients' inner circle members were in prison - for insider trading and stock parking. Actually, Terence Bemish, young and promising upstart supported by Trevis, got the hint that his presence at the civilized capital markets was not appreciated - that's why he went to Weia. In this country of de-nationalizing economy, there were many companies with poor management and no stock exchange rules. And now, the Federation newspapers had a great opportunity to grind Terence Bemish, Ronald Trevis, and Welsey himself flat - all this caused by the Welsey's bumble. His future appeared to the young banker darker than night. Trevis had thrown people out for smaller blunders and a banker, fired by Trevis, could expect a cashier's job in a supermarket at best. Welsey drove slowly to the nearest police precinct, pushed a frightened guard away and walked to the supervisor's office. "My name is Stephen Welsey," he said, "I represent a financial company LSV and I flew in here from Sydney to consult our client taking part in an investment auction. I have just been stopped by a police car with a plate number 34-29-57. The guards confiscated my papers and escaped. This is probably a misapprehension. I hope to receive the documents back within three hours, otherwise I will act with no holds barred. A young police official squinted frightened at the Earthman, ran in a next room and chattered away on a computer keyboard. "Number 34-29-57," he finally said, "That's wrong. There is no car with this license plate number registered in the police department. In fact, there is no car registered with this license plate number at all. X X X Three hours later, Welsey came back to hotel feeling atrocious. If he needed a final proof that there was no law in this country, he got it. He washed the lip cut by the sharp policeman's (or fake policeman's) fist, opened the case and started to throw his belongings in randomly. He called the spaceport, found out that the next Earth flight would be in eleven hours and reserved a ticket. The case was packed in fifteen minutes. Welsey looked at his watch - he had ten more hours before the flight's departure. The trip to the spaceport would take two hours. Welsey shrugged his shoulders, walked to the draped window, pulled the curtain away, and looked from the fifth floor down at the street. Thank God, he will leave this planet in ten more hours! The country of scoundrels! Bribers! Malingerers! Oh my God, why did he give a five thousand bribe to this bug-eyed guy from the eighth precinct? Now, if Shavash arrests Welsey, he would force the guy to claim that the bribe was hundred thousand and the official promised... Ouch! The square in front of the hotel was brightly lit. A delicate eight-columned temple stood slightly lower and across it. The garden beds were arranged in front of the temple, and the spotlights hidden among the flowers beamed right at the temple, illuminating marble columns and turnip roof curls from below, scattering in a faraway fountain in the middle of the temple yard, challenging large ripe stars. "Such beauty!", Welsey thought suddenly. Right then, a car appeared at the square's far end. It drove over a flower bed edge, flattened a spotlight, swerved to the opposite lane and stopped down there at the hotel entrance. Pulling in, it crashed into a truck standing in front of it, but not too badly, no deeper than five inches. Welsey's eyes popped out. The car door opened and Bemish landed outside. Two valets rushed to him from the glass entrance. Bemish stepped left, then right. Thence he lifted his head and, swaying, started to contemplate the lighted entrance. He sighed and sat on the curb. Even from the fifth floor, it was evident that he was boozed up to the hilt. Welsey shrugged his sho