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."
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.
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.