"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."
"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,