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  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 mo
re 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.