'Shavash doesn't believe his motherland is worth much,' Bemish muttered.
'It's even cheaper than you think. Since we found out that if we openly start building the military base, the Weian people and the sovereign may have issues with it. They may say for instance that we are clandestinely occupying the country. Or that we are making Weia a pawn in a big game — if the war with Gera starts, Weia will be attacked first as the closest to Gera Federation military base. If however Weia was in charge of the spaceport construction, all these issues would not arise.'
'And did you,' Bemish uttered through his teeth, 'decide to save money?'
'It's not the question of saving money. As you acutely remarked, the state unlike private companies doesn't really care about savings. But you know perfectly well that while the President has minority in the Assembly, we will never obtain funding for one more military base — that's one problem. All the peace lovers, free ones and the ones on Gera payroll, will raise their hands with banners to the sky and take it to the streets to get on the evening news — that's the second problem. The base is twice more important if it's kept under wraps — that's the third problem.'
Bemish was silent. Somehow the whole thing seemed especially disgusting. Yes, everybody around traded in the sovereign's name, but, in the end, it was the private agents and companies that gave bribes on Weia. But, for a bribe and such a huge bribe to be given by the Federation of Nineteen… Has it happened because parliament wouldn't approve of this project?
'Out of this money,' Giles said, 'one half has already been paid and quite a number of classified documents are in Shavash's hands. If Shavash doesn't get the second half, to squeeze some profit he will find a way to sell the papers to Gera. It won't hurt Shavash — such deeds are considered to be valiant on Weia — but what a scandal will burst in the Federation.'
Bemish could easily imagine this, jumbo titles everywhere.
'Bribes instead of bread!', 'A little bit of war', 'We are controlled by the Intelligence Service.'
'Shavash,' Bemish said, 'will not get what he deserves, because he is an Empire official, and you will get everything you deserve because you are democracy officials. If you have to build a base, you should be able to explain it to the people. If you can't explain it to the people, than you are lying about the construction being necessary. If the President considers that he can't make certain things public but he has to do them, he should change his occupation immediately. Why didn't you raise the question about the base in public?'
'Because everybody thinks the way you do,' Giles shrugged his shoulders.
'Because nobody looks beyond his personal profit and, once the government endeavors to do something about the common good, they all get nervous about raising the taxes! Because thanks to the idiots like you, Gera, while lagging great distance behind us economically, has already surpassed us militarily.'
'Get out.'
'Not before we shake hands on it,' the spy said, lying in the armchair.
The next moment, Bemish jerked him out of the armchair with one hand and socked him on the jaw with all his heart. The punch was strong enough for the Federation agent to flip over the armchair and to the floor. He however somersaulted over his head, bounced softly in a fighting stance and hissed.
'You are Geran slut.'
Thence Giles attempted to land a right hand punch on Bemish's temple. He shouldn't have done it. The bungling spy's hand was blocked and twisted and Giles squeaked piteously and dropped on his knees facing away from Bemish. He couldn't move — his hand would break.
'Your training isn't any good,' Bemish commented, 'if a financier can wipe your mug!'
'I will wipe your mug; I will jail you for illegal parking for five years… Ouch…'
At this moment, Kissur showed up on the terrace — behind their yells, Bemish and Giles didn't even hear the rustle that the car made entering the gate. Bemish freed the spy's wrist. Giles hissed something through his teeth, picked the folder off the table, locked it in his black case and said.
'I am sorry, but I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow noon as agreed, Mr. Bemish.'
'Did I get in your way?' Kissur inquired, looking over the recent discussion participants with curiosity.
'Not at all,' Giles said, 'sorry, I am in hurry. I will not take your time, Mr. Kissur.'
He fixed the collar torn by Bemish and disappeared. The next moment, a flyer whistled taking off in the backyard.
Bemish was chewing on his lips and tapping on a twined rail pole. 'Where have I seen his mug?' Kissur said. 'Oh, yes, he was also at the sovereign's. This is the jerk that bribed Shavash so that nobody except his company could get the spaceport concession. IC. Yes, IC Company. What did he want?'
Bemish paused.
'He let me know that the contract will be sabotaged. You know, the workers will go on a strike, the officials will support the workers…'
'You don't have to tell me,' Kissur said. 'I know how it happens. I was the first minister myself. What are you gonna do now?'
At this point, an idea came to Bemish's mind, simple and evident like a soft beverage commercial. 'I'll leave. I'll drop it all and leave. If somebody has to be a bastard, at least, it won't be me. Let it be the day of farewell.'
'Let's go riding,' Bemish said. They trotted for a while down yellow roads amidst blue fields and they tied the horses afterwards and had a bare knuckle fistfight and swam in a pond, round and green like a bottle bottom.
Bemish rode back, tired and reticent, looking at the road, with the palm trees planted along it, and a fair spread beneath the white wall of a capital suburb. The day was hot, the clouds boiled away, the sun bubbled like an egg yolk on a frying pan. Kissur kept glancing at his friend. Somebody really upset the Earthman. They had let him know that they would foul the contract up. Well, construction is different from a duel. You can go to a duel uncaring whether you win or die. You can't work on construction, understanding that you will not obtain any profit. He will leave. It's too bad. Kissur suddenly realized that he became attached to this man. He lied much less than the local officials and he had some honesty inside in spite of his occupation that didn't encourage honor.
'What was this parking thing that Giles was going to jail you for?' Kissur asked suddenly.
'It's not here. It's on Earth,' Bemish replied mechanically.
'No way!' Kissur was astonished. 'Where did you park your auto to get five years in prison? Did you drive on the Federation Assembly roof?'
Bemish wanted to explain that it wasn't about parking but Kissur continued.
'What kind of laws are you guys making? They fine their citizens for spitting on the streets and allow Gera more than we allow our bandits! Though we, I have to admit, allow our bandits a lot.'
'What has Gera got to do with this?' Bemish exclaimed in anger.
'Well, while you feed the homeless and make laws that protect green parrot species from getting extinct, they finance military programs and they will conquer you in five years! Even a donkey would get that, so I can.'
'They won't conquer us,' Bemish objected, 'we are more powerful.'
'You are not more powerful,' Kissur said, 'you are richer. The history has it that the rich, but lacking in spirit, countries get conquered by the poor and warlike countries. See, wealth makes a country stuffed and lazy like a fat ram while poverty makes it sinewy and greedy like a wolf.'
'In this case, Gera will conquer you first — you are weaker.'
'Why would they conquer us? Nobody needs us even free of charge. Wolves feed on sheep, not on northern moss.'
Bemish puffed up and kept silence. It was nonsense. Barbarians have indeed gobbled empires up because their citizens were lazier than the barbarians while barbarian weapons were not any worse. While Gera — damn it, Gera's weapons may be the same… Still, the analogy is stupid. History doesn't gallop in a circle anymore. It's funny that the Federation Intelligence thinks along the same lines as an educated barbarian…
They parted by midnight and Kissur returned to his palace. He sat in a hall for a long while and, then, he called a servant to arrange a sacrificial basket and walked to a small room, adjoining his bedroom, where an Arfarra memorial altar stood. In front of the altar, a candle burned fixed atop a tortoise shield and a fresh pine branch floated in a silver water bowl. Kissur kneeled in front of the altar and sipped a bit from the bowl.
'Arfarra,' he said quietly, 'what should I do? My gods are silent. They have been silent for seven years. You
