"Why?"
"Because…" Bemish broke off. On the second day of their acquaintance, Kissur had asked him why he had never served in the army and Bemish remembered what he had said.
The colonel smiled as if he guessed what Bemish had answered then and said.
"The majority of fully fledged Federation citizens share your attitude towards the army, director. The army receives twenty times less budget financing than medicine.
"And you enlist Aloms in the army!"
"We enlist anybody who agrees to serve in the army."
Here Bemish turned around and noticed that two more people entered the living room attracted by the argument — the Earth envoy, Mr. Severin and the emergency committee head, Mr. Shavash.
"But three hundred credits is four times less than unemployment benefits!"
"The unemployment benefits are allotted to Federation citizens, not to Aloms. You know very well that they are doomed to much greater poverty in their mountains. For centuries they have been indoctrinated that war is the only occupation worthy of a man, that man should kill, that death is the way to glory. They are happy to join Federation forces. The ones who pass our admission committees take it as a pass to heaven. They know that they will obtain citizenship in ten years of service. By the way, having received it, they don't leave the service. They are as happy to hold weapons in their hands as others are to hold women or money… Where else will you find such warriors? If a Federation citizen is born in a middle class family, he graduates from a college and he makes money. If he is born in a garbage can, he receives unemployment benefits and gobbles up hallucinogens…"
"But three hundred credits!"
"How much can we pay them? The military budget is one half percent of the GDP!"
The envoy listened to their conversation in astonishment. Clearly, he also hadn't known who exactly guarded the borders of his great motherland. Probably, it was a delicate and not particularly popular subject. The military command was not in a hurry to announce that foreign barbarians made up eighty percent of the army, and that strong, healthy guys with excellent muscles and decent brains got paid three times less than hereditary unemployed saturated with drugs.
"So, your soldiers are happy, aren't they?" Bemish asked with certain irony.
"They are very happy, businessman! They grew up without commercials, human rights, credit cards and whores. They were taught that battle is the road to God! When their contracts run out and they become Federation citizens, they enlist again. They stay in the service!"
"Where else can they go to?" Bemish grinned, "Into an investment company? You don't teach them anything but to how to kill. They are aliens in the world of the Federation."
"They love the army! And they make twenty times more money here than they would make in their mountains!"
"I think that they love the army in their first year, colonel. They love the army when they come there out of a mountain hut where their fathers had two sheep and where ten people slept in one room on a mud floor. In the barracks they have their own bunk beds and they get good food and they see 3D TV first time in their lives. But half a year or a year passes and they watch TV and learn our language. They start understanding that the country that enlisted them into their army pays their soldiers four times less than it pays its unemployed. They start understanding that three hundred credits would be enough to buy a farm in the mountains but it would not be enough to afford a bottle of beer every evening in a bar half a kilometer away from the camp… And they start comparing their own bunk beds not with their clay huts but with the cottages that they pass as they ride to training. And they start thinking that it's not fair that brave and strong people sit in barracks for three hundred credits a year while drooling weaklings sit on boards of directors. Is it true?"
The colonel was silent.
"Do you know how the previous Weian dynasty fell?"
"Yes. Aloms conquered the Empire."
"Your soldiers misinformed you, colonel. The people of the Empire were rich and lazy. They didn't like fighting and the government enlisted mostly war-loving barbarians into the army. Aloms didn't conquer the Empire. They simply served in its army and they came to own the Empire when no other troops were left."
"How can you say so, Bemish?" the envoy was startled. "It's absolutely impossible. We are talking about a totally different time; they are just commandos, for God's sake!"
A moan — or maybe a squeal — sounded next to Bemish.. The Earthman turned around. Shavash — the emergency committee's chairman, the official who called Federation troops in to Assalah to destroy his enemies — covered his face with his hands and was slowly sliding down the door frame to the floor. Shredding cloth crackled — Shavash's jacket caught on a brass decoration on the door frame, the jacket ripped apart and the official fainted and fell all the way to the floor.
X X X
Bemish stepped across his partner in export-import cooperative, Assako, and walked outside. Stars sparkled in the garden and the engine of an armored troop carrier still roared just as rhythmically as it had roared an hour ago — something was wrong with it. The army still bustled in the dark. It was not evident anymore, however, what side the army was on. Half of these people were White Falcons' vassals. The vassal oath was not inferior in any way to a military one! And nobody could claim that White Falcons would send them to fight for three hundred credits while they were sitting idle and getting rich. White Falcons didn't consider war to be an occupation suitable only for people who couldn't make money on the Exchange. Whatever else happened, when an Alom army entered a battle, White Falcons would ride in front.
Somebody moved behind Bemish. The latter glanced aside and saw the colonel. Simultaneously, they started slowly walking down a path.
"On what side do you think, your soldiers will fight?" Bemish asked.
"I was going to ask you the same question," the colonel answered.
They walked silently for a while.
"I've heard a lot about Kissur," the colonel said.
"Have you heard about him from the soldiers?"
"Yes. I mean, from their songs. They don't always go nuts about our bands. They often sing their own songs."
"Do they sing about Kissur?"
"They sing about Kissur, about his father, grandfather, great grandfather, and so on — all the way to the original clan founder who, if I am not mistaken, married a forest mermaid."
"You are mistaken. He didn't marry her, he raped her. And that caused some friction between him and a variety of forest and other outdoor fairies."
"Oh, yes, that's right. They sang something along these lines. By the way, these are the songs by their other idol, Khanadar."
"This villa is a gift of Kissur's," Bemish said.
Here the garden path finished and they found themselves next to a pond. A small altar to Buzhva stood on the lawn in front of the pond and behind it rhododendrons were blooming. Bemish noticed some food out of a trooper's ration lying in the cup on the altar. If Aloms ate next to a god, they always shared their food.
Seven or eight soldiers sat on the ground under the blooming rhododendrons passing along a white plastic flask with local wine. Bemish silently sat next to the soldiers and the colonel sat next to him.
"Is it true that they don't allow you to speak Alom?" Bemish asked a soldier suddenly.
He leaped up startled.
"No… Why not…" He muttered in his native tongue.
The colonel lay on the ground and closed his eyes.
The soldier looked embarrassed; he stood up quickly and hurriedly disappeared behind the bushes.
"This is the first man who talked to me in Alom," Bemish said.
"He didn't know the Earthmen's language," the colonel spoke quietly.
It took a bit for the colonel's words to soak into Bemish's mind.
"He didn't know the Earthmen's language… Are you trying to say that it was not your soldier but rather a scout of Kissur's?"
"Be silent
, Mr. Bemish. I am not going to make speeches for you tonight."
The soldiers around the fire sat in silence as if they didn't hear the conversation. The soldier that the spy had sat next to, handed the flask to Bemish.
"Drink with us," he said in English.
X X X
Bemish didn't fall asleep till four am, he watched the camp's inhabitants escaping it like rats running away from a sinking ship. He saw a helicopter with the Federation envoy lifting — the latter suddenly decided to visit the capital. A couple of officials left afterwards. Then the counter-intelligence officers left. Strangely, Shavash was the last one to sneak away to the capital. Three officials, whose names decorated the list of the functionaries to be hanged, left with him. Now, only Federal troops were left.
What's the deal, if you think about it? Why should it matter where a soldier was born? In the end, all of them swore the oath of allegiance to the Federation while only slightly more than one third of them were Kissur's vassals.
The sentries stood guard perfectly but Bemish heard more and more of Alom spoken around the tents. They switched back to English at his appearance, however.
Bemish returned to the bedroom about four. Not taking his clothes off, he crashed down on the bed and almost immediately fell asleep.
It was light, by the time Bemish woke up, wind out of the window blew a gauze curtain inside and the sun beat and hopped on a marble table's surface.
Bemish turned around still feeling groggy — something was lacking in his attire. What was it, jacket or, excuse me, underwear? Bemish turned around again, feeling the empty gun holder flatten under him. Everything was there except for the gun.
Bemish jumped off the bed and ran to the entrance door. The door opened wide and Bemish was relieved to see a commando wearing a Federation uniform behind it. The commando, placed his feet wider apart, shifted his hands on his assault rifle to a more comfortable position and declared,
"Sorry, Mr. Bemish. You are not allowed to leave."
"Who says so?"
"I do," a voice came from behind.
Bemish turned around.
Kissur stood next to the door leading into the inner halls. Two or three paratroopers lingered behind him.
Bemish silently, without thinking jumped at Kissur. This time he was even less lucky. Kissur locked his leg and Bemish tried twisting in the air. At this moment, the commando standing behind him connected his rifle's butt to Bemish's head. The latter barely heard Kissur screaming at the soldier, then, the walls and floor around him turned into thousands of fiery butterflies and flew at him. Bemish fainted.
He regained his senses much later — he sat in a military helicopter that had, probably, just taken off the villa's roof. Bemish's hands were handcuffed to a stand behind the pilot's chair and commandos guarded him on both sides. Bemish thought that he was unlikely to escape but here the helicopter jerked in the air. Bemish dropped his head on an Alom's shoulder and fainted again.
Next time, he recovered in the spaceport — in his own office, well known to him. His wrists were still handcuffed and somebody thoughtfully deposited him on a black leather sofa located behind his own working table. Having turned his head slightly, he could barely make out the tall back of his own armchair — the armchair that Ashinik had boorishly sat in two days ago. However, nobody was present in the armchair now. Kissur adroitly operated Bemish's own computer sitting slightly to the side, where a department's head would usually be.
"Well," Kissur said, "Who was right, you or me? I didn't loose a fight with the special forces' paratroopers, did I?"
"You knew," Bemish articulated. His tongue resisted him and lolled in his mouth like a swollen sausage.
"You knew how many Aloms served in Federal troops."
"Naturally I did."
"You are an idiot, Kissur. You took over one division and you think that you won the fight with Federation."
"Oh, are you going to send me more troops? Thank you, it's very kind of Earthmen."
"Cretin! How many of you, Aloms, are in the army — twenty or thirty thousand? Do you think that ten thousand — even if they are very well trained cutthroats — can win a fight with the Federation of twenty billion? With all our equipment? They will just press a button and eliminate you."
"How?" Kissur asked him, "Are you going to drop a nuclear bomb on us? Or is it going to be a meson one?"
Bemish bit his lip. It was true. To use standard shock troops against Kissur would be either dangerous — if there were Aloms among them- or simply useless. The troops would meet with at least equally trained Federation paratroopers. To use nuclear weapons against a tiny bit of barbarians on a backwards planet would demonstrate Federation's incredible military weakness. It went without saying, that such actions would violate all official and unofficial human rights regulations.
"You are free," Kissur said. "You can go to the capital. Tell them, that our conditions changed. We demand Federation representatives to come to Assalah — we would like to discuss the future relationship between Weia and the Federation. The Federation president or the first minister should come with the delegation."
Bemish suddenly imagined old Yadan conducting talks with the demons' president and this idea was so comical that he couldn't smother laughter.
"I would like to ask you one thing, Kissur," Bemish spoke unexpectedly.
"Everything that you ask for is yours," the Alom replied.
"Don't kill Shavash… He… In the end, you got your commandos thanks to him!"
A strange, almost laughing expression came over Kissur's face.
"He has already killed the little scoundrel…" Bemish thought. "He killed or disabled him with his own hands…"
At this moment, however, something moved on his side. Shavash entered the office and sat to the right of Kissur, in the director's armchair.
"I took it upon myself to overhear your conversation at the door," the official spoke, smiling. "Your request touched me, Terence. But as you see, Kissur was not going to kill me, to begin with."
"You? What are you doing in this office?"
Shavash, laughing, placed his hand on Kissur's shoulder.
"Why shouldn't I be in this office? You see, it's my armchair… Haven't you forgotten that I was the Assalah Company director? Do you think that could I request this state appointment back due to the company's bankruptcy?"
"Do you think, Terence," Kissur inquired, "that Shavash didn't know how many Aloms serve in your army? But even he had to sweat quite a bit, to get them called in! I've never thought that there could be a country that was so set against sending its troops anywhere!"
Bemish lowered his head. He could see already the scale of the swindling operation. Oh, my God! That's why such a careful official for the first time in his life insisted so decisively on taking an unpopular action. To think that the other Weians agreed to it to compromise Shavash! Still, something smelled fishy here…
"So," Bemish said, "was the quarrel between you and Kissur completely faked?
"I am sorry, Terence, I am so sorry. It was a complete and utter fake."
"But Yadan, you and Yadan, you and Ashinik — it's not possible, Shavash! The fanatics hate you."
Kissur left the room, smiling; he was probably going to give some orders. The official silently beckoned Bemish with his finger and the latter crawled off the sofa, fighting the pain. Shavash approached a window and pulled the blinds up. Bemish stretched his head over Shavash's shoulder and looked out of the window.
Out of the director's office windows, a beautiful view opened up at the landing field strewn with the black bodies of fighter helicopters and commandos in spotty camouflage. But the construction's director attention was pulled towards something else. They had used railroad tracks to pull a huge cargo crane RV-37 into the middle of the field. The crane was generally used to correct the positioning of rockets and to load containers heavier than 700 tons. This time, the crane's load was much smaller than the maximum allowed weight. The
crane's jib pointed to the sky and twelve… no, thirteen bodies were swinging under it and Bemish recognized his ex-deputy — young Ashinik — hanging to the side. Two squeaking yellow vultures were already circling the crane…
"The zealots and rebels," Shavash said coolly, "disturbed the Empire, babbled too much and addled people's minds. It was not possible to catch them all at once — they hid, showed up only separately and threatened to avenge the deaths of their comrades. Now we gathered all of the zealots in one place and destroyed this filth once and forever. Now, when we are not bothered by the crazy gangs, we can negotiate with the Federation as a real state. The simple people that believed zealots will believe Kissur. The officials terrified by zealots will trust me."
Shavash turned away from the window. The setting sun was burning and melting in the small official's eyes, his half-opened lips were twisted in a smile…
"Why?" Bemish asked suddenly. "Why do you hate us, Shavash? I don't mean myself, I mean the Federation."
The official's face contorted.
"Why? Can't you figure it out, Terence? I hate you because you are so clean; I hate your sparkling cars, your gleaming wraps, your advertisement boards. I hate you because when you arrive at the dirtiest town, you build a hotel for yourself without dirt and poverty. A poor people hate a rich one, haven't you known that?"
"I didn't know that you were poor," Bemish muttered. "I thought that you stole enough from your own people."
Shavash laughed.
"I was not always rich — have you forgotten that? Do you know how I became literate? I stood next to announcement boards and compared the herald's words with letters. My father was the poorest shaman in the village; I stole on the streets and drank out of mud pools. I was lucky — I met Nan and instead of ending up in a gang, I ended up in the White Buzhva Lycee. Not that it would make any difference to an Earthman… When I was an official seven years ago, I had been waiting for my arrest, torture and exile every day. Have you ever expected being arrested, Terence? Even if you were arrested for DWI, I don't think that you would be thrown in an earth pit."
"I don't argue that," Bemish agreed. "The earth pits are a strong point of your civilization."
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