rotten tomato flew at the Earthman.
In just a moment, they were crossing the gleaming river over the lacquered pedestrian bridge covered with shops. Bemish was still upset. He didn't care about money, but he just couldn't figure out how a man who earned twenty coins for the performance tore apart a sum hundred times bigger. Bemish would have never done it himself.
'Is he mad, this illusionist?' Bemish asked.
'They use the performances to draw people in.'
'Who are they?'
'Well, you would call them an opposition, we would call them a sect.'
'There is a large difference between a sect and an opposition,' Bemish noted irritably. 'Why have I come to this planet?' a thought passed his mind, 'who claimed that the Federal Committee guys would be able to prove anything in the RCORP stocks story? I just bought them, that was it…'
'The difference, ' Kissur agreed, 'is ample. An opposition hangs out in a parliament and a sect hangs on the gallows. Don't worry about the money. They are great tricksters; he certainly didn't tear it apart and he is now buying vodka for the local trash with it, since the trash believes the shows but it believes them even better when watered with vodka.
He waited a moment and then added,
'There are things on Weia that you, the Earthmen, will not understand. You will never understand why this oldster calls your automobile a phantom and why they call you iron imps when they see your spaceships. You can take in account the copper in our mountains, but how will you take this oldster in account?'
'We can take him in account perfectly well,' Bemish objected drily.
'How so?'
'In the stock price. In your stock prices, Kissur, that cost cheaper than toilet paper. The name for this oldster is country risk.'
When Welsey returned to the hotel in the evening, angry and disheveled, the porter handed him over a note from Bemish. Bemish announced that Welsey shouldn't expect him in the evening since he flew to Blue Mountains for a fishing trip.
Bemish was out of town all week, while Welsey continued knocking on the state precincts' doors. It appeared to be absolutely impossible to get the simplest things done, to sign papers for a permission to transport necessary equipment to this damned planet with a discount tariff, or to gain access to the spacefield's stinking ruins. Stephen filled forms and refilled them, he paid the scribes and he paid the officials.
At the White Clouds street precinct, he said,
'I would be very grateful to you if you sign this form.'
'May I know the size of your gratitude?' the official replied immediately.
At the Fertile Valleys street precinct, he was told to fill all the forms in Weian. Welsey found a scribe and filled everything. The official leafed the papers through and said,
'It is not allowed to accept the papers from Earthmen that they didn't fill out themselves.'
'Be merciful!' Welsey said.
'Mercy is an honorable trait.' the official agreed pompously.
At the Autumn Leaves street precinct, Welsey banged his fist on the table and screamed,
'Aren't you afraind of prison?'
'In our world,' the official objected, 'fright follows tranquility, tranquility follows fright and only the sovereign's well-being is always serene.'
Then he asked Welsey for a ten thousand isheviks bribe.
In a week, Welsey cracked a bit. He was not an innocent maiden, and he had had to appear twice before the Securities Committee. Admittedly, the LSV bank was not only the fifth biggest but also the most notorious investment bank in the Galaxy. Welsey knew how to give bribes to influence an election's results and he had been telling dirty stories about Federation officials all his life. Verily, he had never ever heard a Federation official reply to, 'I am grateful to you,' by explicitily asking about the size of your gratitude.
On Friday evening, Welsey dropped by the central communication station and called the work number of Ronald T. Trevis — the head of LSV bank — the man that some people called the un-crowned king of the Galaxy finances and the others called the un-crowned bandit.
'How is it going?' a normal voice from a normal planet reached Welsey.
'It's not going,' Welsey replied, 'I have not obtained a single signature in a week. I've been twice in their central office — their secretaries know nothing and there is nobody around besides them.'
'And Bemish?'
'Terence Bemish is fishing in Blue Mountains,' Welsey said with a vengeance.
'Who wants bribes and how much do they want?'
'I don't know,' Welsey said, 'there is a man named Shavash, the finance vice-minister and a local Talleyrand, considered by some to be the hope of the evolving nation. My impression is that the hope of the nation received a huge bribe from IC so that not a single serious IC competitor could take place in the auction.'
'Do you think that your difficulties were caused by Mr. Shavash himself?'
'Yes.'
Then, something clicked in the receiver and the connection disappeared. Welsey was going back to the hotel down the evening streets when he
heard a siren coming from behind him. A police car made him pull over. A guard in a yellow coat — national police uniform — and with an assault rifle in his hands jumped out of the car and tore the driver's door out of the Welsey's 'environmental' car with a hydrogen tank looking like a swollen cucumber.
'Your papers!'
'What's are you doing?..' the Earthman started extending his driver's license out.
But the guard didn't even look at the celluloid rectangle. He bent over Welsey, grabbed the yellow briefcase lying on the passenger's seat and pulled it out of the car.
'How dare you?' Welsey clamored.
The guard elbowed the sky boor off.
'It is a personal order of the minister himself!'
Crappy tires screeched and the police car drove away.
Welsey sat in his cucumber on wheels and felt totally shocked. That was not a minor bribe anymore. That… There could be only one explanation — the connection with the Earth didn't break off accidentally. He was followed by the Shavash's agents. The conversation was tapped.
The consequences were catastrophic.
As mentioned before, he was not a virgin child and certain sums of money had transferred hands from him to the Empire officials. While he was not able to obtain even the most trivial information in some places, he obtained absolutely confidential information in other places — and some confidential materials lodged in his briefcase. The rough drafts of the IPO were also there, including various financial machination notes and even the approximate numbers of kickbacks.
This information would not hurt the Empire officials but, oh my God, what could it do to LSV bank! From the moment of Ronald's Trevis meteoric rise, LSV bank has joined the ranks of the most profitable but not the most ethical banks of the Galaxy. The financial establishment used any pretext to set 'these bandits' back; the managers of the companies, passing away under LSV-staged hostile takeovers, complained about wiretapping and employees being bribed; two of Travis clients' inner circle members were in prison — for insider trading and stock parking.
Actually, Terence Bemish, young and promising upstart supported by Trevis, got the hint that his presence at the civilized capital markets was not appreciated — that's why he went to Weia. In this country of de- nationalizing economy, there were many companies with poor management and no stock exchange rules.
And now, the Federation newspapers had a great opportunity to grind Terence Bemish, Ronald Trevis, and Welsey himself flat — all this caused by the Welsey's bumble. His future appeared to the young banker darker than night. Trevis had thrown people out for smaller blunders and a banker, fired by Trevis, could expect a cashier's job in a supermarket at best.
