"Why the hell did you ask for the right of "trial and taxes?"
"It was my mistake."
"I swear by the god's balls!" Kissur cursed. "Why don't you ask the police minister for assistance?"
"I've asked him already. The government doesn't want to shoot its own citizens for a foreign company's profit. If it does it, it will have to shoot its own citizens to save its own ass tomorrow. Also, everybody knows that an official, who gives such an order, will find a bomb in his first Sunday soup even though Ashinik will assure that the bomb was planted by provocateurs."
"All right," Kissur said and he slammed the door and took off.
Kissur returned in six hours, after dark. Eight skyers with large load capacity landed at the spacefield and delivered about five hundred fighters with blackened teeth wearing soft ox leather Alom boots. The fighters were armed right up to their blackened teeth.
Two beetle-shaped amphibian tanks dropped out of the skyers' bellies; the tanks were equipped with unusually short guns and they stuck upwards at the rear resembling beetle's forewings folded at its back. The tanks were covered with a non-metallic dully gleaming skin. Astonished, Giles whispered into Bemish's ear that these were the latest generation BCC-29 tanks designed to be dropped off a plane with a parachute onto any surface no less than six minutes after a thermonuclear explosion.
Presenting his blackened teeth to flashing cameras, Kissur explained that he came here to help his friend Bemish out and that his people couldn't be taken for foreigners by any stretch of imagination and that only his friend Bemish's squeals stopped him from burning this zealot muck one meter deep into the ground.
He said that Bemish was a pansy, that the government was a flock of horny dumb goats and that Ashinik was a dog that he, Kissur, would hang right at that loading crane if they found one more bomb in the spaceport.
Kissur's people took over almost all spaceport security. A half of all regular spaceport security employees went to sleep. Frankly, they were mostly peaceful people who had never seen anything more dangerous than a drug trafficker trying to hide hundred grams of barnithole or good old LSD in his stomach; their familiarity with electric shockers was only theoretical.
The passengers arriving at the spaceport glanced with frightened admiration at the huge, almost two meter tall, wild looking men who seemingly napped at the terminals having folded their hands on stubby assault rifles. The ladies felt quite a specific curiosity towards these lads, comparing them with their civilized husbands who contemplated morning meetings even in bed.
The journalists waited breathlessly. It seemed absolutely certain that any careless action of the crowd besieging the spaceport would lead to the crowd's bloody demise.
It was five pm when Kissur entered Bemish's office; Ronald Trevis, the head of LSV bank, had just arrived from Earth and he sat in the room reclining in an armchair.
"Hello," Kissur said, "What are you doing here?"
"We are discussing the spaceport's future," Trevis replied.
"Oh, yes. These…eh stocks of yours plummeted."
"The spaceport's stocks," Trevis spoke, "belong to me, Bemish and Nan. We are discussing the future of bonds."
"What's wrong with those?"
"They cost twenty cents a dinar."
"So what?"
"It would not be a problem if they were regular bonds. They are, however, bonds with adjustable rate."
"What kind of beast is that?"
"It was my suggestion. The interest payments on the bonds are set up in such a way that a bond's value is hundred cents for a dinar," Bemish entered the conversation.
"I don't understand."
"The interest on the bonds is fourteen and a half percent," Bemish said. "It's quite a bit. I hoped that I would be able to lower it. The Assalah bonds cost hundred and three cents a dinar before the crisis. They cost twenty cents now."
"It's crazy. I never knew about these clever securities."
"Unlike you, Ashinik knew it perfectly well," Bemish said, "I walked him through our financial structure myself."
"Are you going to adjust yield?"
"No. There is not a single company that could handle it, even if it had a large cash flow. Our cash flow dropped by thirty percent this month."
"What are you going to do?"
"I offered new securities to the investors instead of this crap."
"What did they do?"
"They sent me to hell. Ronald just delivered their responses."
"I see. Is this company bankrupt?"
Bemish didn't answer.
"If we flatten all this shit into the ground, will your bonds cost more?"
"We should flatten this shit into the ground anyway," Trevis muttered, "even if it doesn't save the company."
Later, they reconstructed the events the following way. At 18:00, Kissur accompanied by Khanadar the Dried Date and by ten fighters walked into the main office where all the upper company management had already gathered; Trevis was also there with two aides. Bemish and Giles came in slightly later. They were both armed. Bemish took a note that Kissur was dressed very carefully — he wore a perfect white shirt, a proper black suit and an unassuming tie of correct width — the clothing item that Kissur loathed the most. On the other hand, a gun under Kissur's armpit was large enough that even a perfectly designed suit failed to conceal it. Giles slapped Kissur on the shoulder and said, "Damn it, Kissur! You are the man! Without you we would be in shit up to our necks!"
"This way we will be in blood up to our necks," Bemish spoke quietly.
Giles spun.
"Be silent, Terence, when other people have to do your laundry." And he turned back to Kissur.
"What are you going to do to the zealots?"
"What should I do to them to be accepted to the military academy?"
Giles was dumb-founded for a moment and then he answered, "Shoot them." Bemish swallowed. He was certain that Kissur would agree to this proposal. Doesn't he understand, however, that no public opinion would tolerate him in the academy after such a bloodbath?
Kissur laughed out, slapped, in his turn, Giles on his shoulder and declared, "Better late than never. You, Earthmen, get bold only when the stocks of your companies plummet! Listen, Dick, let's exchange!"
And Kissur pulled his 9mm Star out of the gun holder and handed it over to Giles handle first. The gun's barrel was in its original state while its handle was covered by beautiful engraving over attached silver plates.
Giles hesitated for a moment, pulled his gun out and handled it over to Kissur.
He took the gun, checked if it was loaded and declared loudly, "And now, monkeys, stick your faces in the floor and your asses in the air! You are under arrest!"
The fighters behind Kissur raised their assault rifles.
"Are you joking, Kissur?"
"It's not a joke, dog! Get down! Down!"
Giles was lost; he looked at the Star in his hands and pulled the trigger. The gun only clicked — it was not loaded.
Several employees started slowly rising out of the table with the hands up.
The next moment, Bemish whipped his gun out of the holder but, before he was able to pull the trigger, fighter kicked the gun out of his hand with his rifle's butt. Bemish turned and, with a dull thud, his fist collided with the fighter's solar plexus. The latter moaned and sagged to the floor.
Two Alom fighters rushed at Giles. The security service head dropped the useless gun and the guys started twisting his elbows back. Giles butted one of them with his head in the stomach and threw the other one over. The fighter dropped his rifle and Giles snatched the falling weapon. The next moment a rifle burst sounded — Kissur was firing. One after another, heavy bullets with zinc outer layer were making holes in the clothing and the body of the security service chief. Giles swayed. His face showed astonishment. He looked at his jacket stained with blood, muttered, "Why?" and crashed to the floor letting the gun go.