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  "The pole," mentioned Shavash, "had leaden fists."

  "Are you waiting for somebody," asked Kissur, "did I come at a wrong time?"

  Shavash became slightly embarassed.

  "You are always welcome."

  Shavash gave orders; Kissur followed to the guest chambers. A servant rushed along in mincing steps carrying a basket with clean sheets. Shavash said to Kissur's back,

  "You will not drive again. Otherwise you will die sometime."

  "It's ok," replied Kissur, "if Gods like a man, he dies young."

  X X X

  Twenty minutes later, bowing servants walked Kissur down the roofed path to the Pavilion of White Creeks.

  There were two pavilions for receiving important guests in the Shavash's estate — the Pavilion of White Creeks and the Red Pavilion. Pavilion of White Creeks was decorated in the traditional style, the floors were covered with knee deep white rugs, flower spheres swang under the ceiling, incense flowed from golden braziers, silken scrolls rimmed with fur hang on the walls, while the corners (corners are indeed atrocious things, everything bad in a house comes from the corners) were hidden well from a random glance by long ivy plants rising all the way to the ceiling. Red Pavilion was designed by an Earthman.

  Shavash usually received Weians in the Pavilion of White Creeks and Earthmen in the Red Pavilion. They claimed that these places had magical properties — when Mr. Shavash received Weians in the Pavilion of White Creeks he discoursed one way, but when he received Earthmen in the Red Pavilion his speeches were very different. For instance, when questioned about the reasons for the Empire's poverty in the Pavilion of White Creeks, he complained about the greed of people from the skies who only try to buy as much Weia as possible for a keg of marinated onions. However when asked the same question in the Red Pavilion, he complained about laziness and selfishness of Weian officials. Since these different speeches belonged to the same person, you have to agree, that the magical properties of these buildings had to be involved.

  The servants brought trays of roasted goose and baskets of picked fruit and covered the table with vegetable and meat appetizers.The melon floating in a silver basin was delivered the last. Shavash seated Kissur as the guest of honor and broke off the top of clay wine jar. Kissur caught the top and glanced at the stamp.

  "Good wine," Kissur, "if this stamp is not counterfeited."

  "There are no fakes in my house," Shavash replied, "it was made in Inissa in the fifth year of sovereign Varnazd rein."

  "It was made when the empire was still the empire. It was made when I was not a minister yet, when I was a brigand in Kharain mountains and when my wife was your fiancee.

  Shavash smiled slightly and poured wine in the cups.

  "I would," Kissur spoke, "drink a wine that was bottled in the times of sovereign Irshahchan. When there were no merchants and bribers and when all these barbarians from the mountains or from the sky didn't wave their swords or their science in front of our people's faces.

  "I am afraid," Shavash replied, "that no wine that ancient exists. And even if it's around still, it has turned into vinegar."

  The friends intertwined their hands and drank wine.

  After that, Shavash started on a young bamboo shoot and a river calimari with a spicy Iniss sauce appetizers. Kissur, squinting, rolled a cup in his hands and looked at the man sitting across the table.

  Even among Weian officials that nobody would suspect to be excessively uncorrupted, Shavash had made himself quite a reputation. Shavash's servants took bribes, Shavash's assistants took bribes, Shavash's wife (by the way, Kissur's wife was her sister) took bribes; they took bribes with lands and stocks, with licenses and money, with options and thoroughbreds, with the newest financial tools and ancient paintings, took bribes from provincial and center worlds, took bribes from the Federation of Nineteen and the Republic of Gera — though the dictator of Gera didn't take bribes and didn't really give much. One official asked what kind of place a supermarket was; they told him that it was a place where one could by anything. "Oh, it's Mr. Shavash's house," the astonished official exclaimed. Kissur once, after some really offensive deal, grabbed Shavash by his shirt at the Emperor's soiree and asked what the current price was for a pound of motherland. "I love motherland and I charge a lot for it," Shavash leered. Mr. Shavash liked to state that if a man says that he doesn't like money, it means that money doesn't like him.

  Since the Earthmen came to the planet, seven years and four cabinets have passed. Every one of the cabinets fired all its predecessor's functionaries. Shavash was the only higher level official who worked for all the cabinets and survived. The first man he betrayed in order to survive was his teacher and lord, Nan, who had made him a big boss out of an street urchin thief. Thanks to such a long political life, Shavash was able to pull all the strings of power and influence in the country in spite of his relative youth — he was only two years older than Kissur.

  Shavash could help or hinder anything. Even the biggest country bumpkin Earthmen — who came to Weia to invest in a construction of some resort in the middle of untamed nature or in the development of a uranium mine that will sooner or later finish this untamed nature off — knew that they should introduce themselves to the first vice minister of finance and they should invest in Shavash first, and in a mine next.

  Kissur had just finished half of the goose, when a bowing servant slid in the room and handed Shavash a paper. "At the intersection of Spring Fires, the traces of a two car collision were found, the unglazed tile ditch cover was broken through, blood and fragments of headlights identical to the broken headlight of Kissur's car were present. The grey paint particles stuck to Kissur's car trunk match to the grey paint particles found at the collision place." That was the answer to the orders Shavash had given his secretary twenty minutes ago.

  Shavash folded the paper sheet and put it in his pocket.

  "What," Kissur asked, "are they building at the Seven Clouds field?"

  The official pondered.

  "Garbage processing plant," he said.

  "Who? Another of their corporations?"

  "The company CB Trade. The owner of company is Kaminski. What's the problem?"

  "Nothing. I was just passing by and got curious."

  "So, have they built the plant?"

  "No," Kissur said, "they haven't built it yet. They built a big road to the garbage plant."

  Shavash reflectively touched the paper in his pocket. Kissur sucked on a goose breast bone, washed it down with another wine cup and said, "Garbage plant! Our ancestors swept garbage out of their houses only at a full moon. They used to call a charmer, so that a warlock would not be able to pick up trash and put a spell on them. Imagine what would happen in Earthmen's houses if they threw garbage out only once a month? All their wraps and cans would rise above the ceiling even thought their ceilings are very high! How can a people that generates so much garbage call itself civilized? How dare these people teach us to manufacture goods only to dispose of them afterwards?!

  Shavash didn't react to this tirade in any way. Kissur silently finished wine and his eyes became even more desperate.

  "Why," Kissur asked, "does the capital need a garbage processing plant?"

  "Probably," Shavash supposed, "to process garbage."

  "Crap," Kissur objected, "Earthmen don't need plants to process garbage. They produce garbage, as an excuse to build garbage processing plants. Why don't we ask the sovereign to ban this construction? Almost in the center of the capital!"

  Shavash pressed his thumb in the armchair and looked thoughtfully at Kissur. It looked like he was pondering something.

  "Don't be afraid," Shavash said suddenly, "Kaminski will not built his garbage plant."

  "How so?"

  "As you mentioned, this is almost downtown. The status of the land will be reconsidered; industrial construction will be prohibited; the business and industrial land committee will submit a complaint; the sovereign will sign it and the garba
ge plant construction will be cancelled."

  "But the foundation is already there."

  "Mr. Kaminski will receive a compensation for the foundation — two million."

  "And then?"

  "Then, Mr. Kaminski will built a new business center instead of a garbage plant on the business zoned land."

  "I am probably very stupid," Kissur remarked, "but I don't understand what's going on."

  "Lands of the Empire that are sold to foreign investors as a private property," Shavash patiently explained, "can be divided in four categories — agrarian, residential, industrial and business lands. Industrial zoned land costs twelve times less than business zoned one. If Mr. Kaminsky had bought the land for a business center, it would have been too expensive for him."

  "And what about the foundation?" Shavash spread his hands.

  "I am not an engineer, of course, and they don't allow outsiders to visit the construction. If however, I was an engineer and I was allowed there, I would probably notice that the foundation and the underground communications confirm to a business center specifications and not to a garbage processing facility specifications."

  Kissur's face froze.

  "So," he said, "that's what Kaminsky will get two million compensation for?"

  "Kaminsky," Shavash responded, "will not get the compensation. The compensation will be procured by a Weian official who affirms the complaint and transfer land from one zoning category into another."

  "Hold on, this deal must have passed through your prefecture!"

  "In this case, the contract did not pass via the prefecture. It passed through Mr. Khanida's department."

  "I see. You can't forgive Khamida that it was him and not you to receive the money."

  "This money wouldn't hurt me"

  Kissur stood up and started pacing in the pavilion.

  "Mutual profit," Shavash talked, "is the basis of cooperation. Kaminsky will save four hundred million; Khamida will receive two million. Weian officials cost cheap."

  "What if everything falls through? If the sovereign fires Khamida before he changes the land zoning?"

  "Well, Kaminsky gave Khamida only a little bit, less than seven hundred thousand. The rest Khamida will get only upon a successful completion of the deal and he will not get it from the Earthman — he will get it from the state. Khamida is not the one who invented it, it's a well known setup."

  "What other setups are there?" Kissur asked quickly.

  The official spread his hands smiling like a porcelain cat. He evidently didn't want to tell Kissur about all the different ways of selling his own country, even though he was much more nimble than Khanida in this business.

  "Kissur, you haven't seen my watch collection in a while. Let's go and look at it." Standing up unhurriedly, Shavash approached a fifth dynasty cabinet that stood in the living room. Shavash' s collection of Weian pocket watches was filling the sparkling malachite shelves in the cabinet. The collection had indeed improved. A tiny sand watch in a tumbler braided with gold knots was added. Also new were three mechanical pocket watches that just started to appear in the Empire before the catastrophe and were luxury and therefore art, with fanciful ornament and decorations, with mother-of-pearl hands made in the image of the eternity god, hence they had nothing to do with this flat crap that even women now worn on their wrists. Other new additions were present: a tiny watch embedded in a lid of a jade powder box — it didn't have a glass cover, it had a twined filigree lattice and a single hour hand languished behind it as if in prison cell; an oval watch strewn with pearls had two faces — one face for the minute and another for the hour hand — and a long chain with jade pendants that high officials used to wear personal seals. A seal was at the botton and the watch covered with tiny jewels at the top.

  Kissur suddenly grabbed Shavash by his right hand — a homely watch with a simple platinum face was there and twenty six hours of Weian time were marked with Earthern numerals.

  "Yes," Shavash said thickly, "there are no more Weian numerals. Our time has been severed. Let my hand go now or you will break it again."

  Grinning Kissur released Shavash's hand, turned to the shelf and picked up an onion shaped watch with a crystal top. Agitation briefly ran over Shavash's face — he loved this onion more than any of his concubines and Kissur knew that. Kissur squeezed the onion in his fist and waved it in front of Shavash's face.

  "So," Kissur asked, "what other ways are there? How many of your monthly salaries did this onion cost?"

  Shavash suddenly twisted like a cat protecting its kittens.

  "Put it back now," he hissed.

  Nobody knows how Kissur woud have answered if a brass gong had not banged at the hall entrance and an incoming servant announced,

  "Mr. Bemish begs forgiveness for being late."

  "Let him in," Shavash cried desperately.

  Kissur's lips twitched; he put the onion back in place and for a second longer looked at the numerals in the hands of the eternity god twisted around the dial.

  Isn't it strange? A while ago this fashion for watches was started by this scoundrel, minister Nan, who later appeared to be a barbarian from the stars, — Kissur couldn't stand this fashion — how could it be that a watch hand commanded a Man like an owner his slave. And now his heart hurt when he saw the Weian numerals and a Weian device.

  When Kissur turned around, the official was already standing at the entrance and bowing ceremoniously to the Earthman.

  "Please," Shavash said, "let me introduce you to each other. Terence Bemish, the general director of ADO company and Mr. Kissur, an Emperor's personal friend…."

  The Earthman and Kissur looked at each other.

  Kissur's eyes popped out; it was the same man he had a fight with only two hours ago. Great Wei! Kissur thought the Earthman had died and the guy even managed to change his shirt!

  "We have met already," the Earthman reported in an even voice and added, "Mr. Kissur, I was just going to hand you over a letter." He stepped closer to Kissur and put a white envelope in his hand. Kissur felt a wad of crimpled money under the plastic paper.

  Kissur guffawed and slapped Bemish on the shoulder. Bemish bit his lips for a second, pondering if he should punch the guy in the face, but Kissur was laughing so merrily that Bemish couldn't help but join him.

  Shavash batted his eyelids apprehensively. The official had to solve several problems quickly and the most pressing one was where to receive the guests and what language to use. It was a very important question due to this strange quality of Shavash's soul; as we have discussed, a conversation in a different language seemingly transferred it to a different world. We have mentioned, that when somebody asked Shavash in

  Interenglish about the reasons for pauperism in the Empire, Shavash denounced passionately unbearable state expenses and the state budget that half of the country's banks made fortunes on. However, when somebody asked him the same question in Weian, he castigated the gluttony of the people from the stars who were buying the country for a wine jar. Hence, Shavash avoided speaking Interenglish next to a Weian and speaking Weian next to a person from the stars. His brain got muddled otherwise.

  Shavash carefully pulled a window curtain away and looked outside. A taxi stood far outside, behind the white wall. Oh, the Earthman flew in yesterday and rented a car — a grey Daiquiri. Hmm, to change a car is more difficult than to change a shirt.

  "Well, gentlemen," Shavash said, still undecided about the hall, "the night is divine, why should we sit inside eight walls, let's go into the garden."

  "I apologize," Kissur bowed, " but I need to go."

  "What…" Shavash started.

  "Gentlemen," Kissur said, "I'll only get in your way. Two respectable people are going to discuss an important business. It's not a place for a vagrant like me. You are not going to waste your time on small things like a garbage plant, are you?"

  THE SECOND CHAPTER

  Where the sad history of the Assalah spacefield is told while the ex
-first minister of Empire finds himself a new friend

  Next morning Terence Bemish sat in his room on the seventh floor of the local Hilton hotel nudging the back of his head and feeling annoyed. His head hurt as hell. A large peony-shaped bruise swelled on his cheekbone.

  Somebody knocked in the door — Stephen C. Welsey, an employee of one of the largest investment banks in the Galaxy and Terence's colleague on this stupid trip, walked in.

  "Wow," Welsey said, looking curiously at the peony bruise, "is it a local mafia?"

  "Ah, a guy shattered my car's headlamps."

  "And then?" Welsey asked with an undisguised curiosity knowing that a while ago the sixteen year old future corporate raider Terence Bemish got to the semi-finals of a youth kickboxing Galaxy championship.

  "To be honest," Bemish said, "I was a complete pig. These jerks charged me three times more for the rent than this tin can really costs. I grabbed the guy by his shirt and called him a Weian monkey or something like that. He punched me in the face."

  "Thank God, you were smart enough to hold back."

  "To the contrary," Bemish said bitterly, "I punched him back."

  Welsey's raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

  "To summarize," Bemish explained, "he drove away and left me sitting with my butt inside the crashed windshield."

  "What about Shavash?"

  "I changed my clothing 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."