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 garbage 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."