The Sun hung high in the African sky. Trees covered in thick green leaves surrounded the empty field. Bamboo pipes ran from a tower that held a makeshift windmill. The windmill pumped thin streams of water to irrigate the landscape.
A small girl with two poofy pigtails guided a small blue cube that levitated above a table. Several other small blue cubes, each about the size of a grapefruit, bent wires around the makeshift tower using blue beams emanating from their sides. These were assisted by smaller green cubes and various tiny orange and yellow cubes that levitated alongside.
A makeshift radio crackled on the Wooden table nearby.
A young woman’s voice pushed through the static. “It’s been nearly three years since the replicator device was first introduced on Earth. The most popular story is that this device was given to a group of children by a dying alien. Though many people praise the introduction of the replicator devices there are those who raise concerns about the potential for the loss of jobs and economic opportunities for the very poor.”
The blue cube next to the girl reshaped copper wires and iron scraps into a small turbine, while the boy at the wooden table next to her’s used five green cubes to shape large pieces of plastic into sections of a funnel for a water tower.
“We have here today Dr. Robert Chapman to discuss the impact of the replicator devices on the poor.”
“Dr. Chapman,” She continued without pause. “Your work on this issue has been astounding. You’ve long been a bold critic of automation, bravely standing up to the destructive forces of private industry, and now your work is showing how the alien replicator devices are going to cause millions to starve. Explain to our viewers why that is.”
A breathless male voice came over the crackling airwaves. “Yes…” The voice began to fade out, but a boy of around eight years old ran from the blue and green cubes he was using to assemble wires and bamboo into a chicken coop in order to adjust the radio.
The shallow voice continued through the static whispers. “…this is why my work here represents some of the most important work in the history of economics and political science. As you can imagine, these devices are the ultimate form of automation. They will replace jobs and allow millionaires and billionaires to create more wealth with fewer people than ever before. This will result in a world with more inequality than ever before. Do we really want to live in a world where millionaires and billionaires control an unequal amount of wealth while the rest of us have to beg for scraps?”
The woman’s voice sounded worried. “Rumors about the origin of these devices say that only one was given to a group of human children by a dying alien, but within months, it was able to make a copy of itself. These two cubes were then able to easily make a third through coordinated procedures, and within a few years, the world is now home to tens of millions of these small devices.”
“Yes.” The man answered. “And if we don’t stop them, millions, if not billions of people will be out of work in a short time. This ultra-automation will allow the elite millionaire and billionaire class to control an unprecedented share of the pie of our wealth. Can we really afford to allow that kind of devastation and inequality?”
Two boys and a girl used several of the cubes to construct a small drone. The drone wasn’t anything super complex, but it had a small arm that could be used for collecting mangos and coconuts without having to climb the tall trees. The children planned on using a traditional basket to bring their fruit to the market and use the profits to purchase a bicycle.
The scene was almost familiar. African children had long had an art of bending metal wires into the shapes of trucks and airplanes to make toys. While children in Japan practiced folding paper into origami, children in many African nations practiced galimoto with metal wires. Now that they had blue replicator cubes, using them to construct drones and other objects was the natural progression of affairs.
“Jaaaacooob!” The little girl moaned.
The boy turned to his sister. “Yes Cassie?”
“When are we going to get mangos?”
Cassie was much smaller than most of the kids.
“As soon as we can get the drone to fly.”
Cassie looked skeptically at the small robot.
“Why can’t we just use the box to get the fruit?” She asked, leaning towards the glowing blue cube. To her mind, she had a point. The replicators could levitate, and with modifications, this cube could be used to collect fruit.
“I already told you,” He answered gently. “we need the replicators for building other things. We use them to build other machines to help us do our work.”
She frowned, not fully understanding the concept of economies of scale. “And then we can get mangos?”
“And then we can collect mangos and other fruit that we can sell in the market to make money.”
The logic of producing wealth that could be used to exchange value-for-value was still new to the small girl, but she nevertheless chose to be patient.
The voice of Dr. Chapman continued to crackle over the radio. “The greatest danger of this sort of technology is to the very poorest of the poor. By allowing this replicator technology to exist, it will potentially take jobs away from billions of people in Sub-Saharan Africa, Southeast Asia, Latin America, and those regions of the Middle East that have been most impacted by climate shifts. This raises the moral question of whether such a state of greedy Capitalism can be allowed, and what impact it will have on the human race.”
“Can we bring mangos to Ax?” The little girl asked, her eyes growing wide.
Max, as the boy’s name would have been said by his mother, was a child who was gifted, yet odd. He did not speak until he was nine, and had he been born in the West, he probably would have been diagnosed with a form of high-functioning Autism.
The radio continued crackling in the background as the children spoke. “Dr. Chapman, you’ve done a great deal of research into how people in the indigenous world are being impacted, not just by automation, but by Capitalism and modern industrialization in general. Can you tell us about some of these impacts?”
Jake smiled at his sister’s words. “Ax is busy with the horses today. He’s helping Marco and Tobias’s dad build a barn.”
Marco and Tobias were twins, the sons of two missionaries. Pastor Eli was originally from Honduras, and his wife Amanda was a blonde woman with stunning blue eyes who was born and raised not too far from Dallas Texas.
“Certainly!” Dr. Chapman’s somber voice came over the radio. “As modernization increases, many traditional practices are tragically beginning to disappear. Many of the beautiful clay pots traditionally used by women in their homes are being replaced by mass-produced industrialized glass containers, while traditional outdoor charcoal pits are often being abandoned in place of indoor gas and electric stoves, and other Western industrialized appliances such as air fryers and rice cookers. Washer-dryers are penetrating into homes as well, destroying many of the traditional community practices of women gathering together to wash clothes in the river as they sing traditional songs that their mothers and grandmothers sang for millennia.”
The blue laser lights from the small cube stopped, and LEDs from the drone began to flicker.
The drone’s four propellers began to whir, and the small robot lifted itself from the table, shifting the angle of each propeller in turn.
The little girl gasped. “It’s working! It’s working!” She yelled.
“Don’t get too excited.” Jake cautioned. “It will probably need a lot of adjustments before it is ready to collect fruit.”
The woman’s voice crackled over the radio. “And it’s not just these cultural practices that are at risk. You’ve mentioned how technology is negatively affecting the lives of these people in other ways as well.”
Dr. Chapman could almost be heard nodding as he sighed. “In Rwanda, fewer young people are entering into the traditional roles of their ancestors as more and more enter into computer programming, engineering, biotechnology, and other STEM fields. It’s a tragedy to see how the ecosystems of this small country are being impacted as cities encroach on ancient grasslands and countless small mammals, birds, and unique insects are being displaced.”
The blue replicator hovered to one side as the drone performed its diagnostic functions.
A robotic arm that extended from the back of the small drone like a scorpion tail and ended in a clawed robotic hand failed to respond when Jake tapped a small button.
“Hmm, looks like we’ll have to fix that.”
He casually unclicked the tailpiece and reactivated several of the small cubes.
The woman’s voice faded over the static. “Can you give us some examples of how Capitalism is impacting these traditional roles?”
Dr. Chapman quickly responded. “The jobs of traditional healers are being impacted as societal expectations force many Indigenous people around the world to seek out more modernized forms of medical treatment from university-trained doctors. This raises concerns about ancient knowledge that could be lost if we allow such modernization and Capitalism to continue to destroy these ancient cultures, which have just as much of a right to their truth as anyone else.”
“What is it?” Cassie asked.
Jake did not answer. He was so immersed into his task that he did not even hear the question.
He soon found that the lowest motor in the tail was not operating correctly.
“That’s okay.” He said. “We’ll have the replicators start making a new one while I try to adjust this one here.”
“So no mangos?” Cassie asked in disappointment.
The radio chatter continued. “In terms of Africa, you’ve mentioned how this is impacting the cost of living in three countries in-particular?”
“Yes, Kenya, Rwanda, and Senegal are among several other countries being called the ‘African Cheetahs’ but keep in mind what a cheetah does to its prey. There are many cities where a loaf of bread has gone down ten-fold in price, thanks to automation, putting many traditional bread makers out of business, while greedy capitalists have built skyscrapers from smart concrete which are taller than anything that ever existed in the world thirty years ago. As a result of these greedy Capitalist landlords, the average young person in Mombasa, one of the fastest growing cities in Kenya, can barely afford an apartment without roommates, along with a new car, and other expenses such as watchphones and bubble lattes are only exasperating the problem for a people who desperately need our help and whose culture is being forcefully ripped away!”
Jake reassured the girl. “Patience, sis. We’ve come this far. If nothing else, we’ll find another way for the drone to collect mangos.”
As he immersed himself in his task, he did not notice when three other boys, slightly older, joined them. Marco and Tobias each had an olive complexion with curly light brown hair, while Ax sported short dreadlocks and took in the world with wide, intense eyes, and carried an old book in his hand.
Ax was the oldest of the group, having turned 13 a few weeks back.
He looked at the arm that Jake was adjusting and reached for the small device.
Jake shook his head in surprise but allowed the other boy to do his thing.
The woman’s voice struggled through the static. “You’ve mentioned that the problems are especially dire in these cities, and that part of the reason the prices are becoming unaffordable is due to international gentrification?”
“Yes.” Dr. Chapman affirmed. “Many people from around the world are moving to these cities in droves, despite the many problems, especially greedy vulture businessmen looking to prey on the vulnerable. One of these is Jeremy Chan of Cyber Eagle Technologies who already has more than fourteen store locations in these vulnerable cities where he forces his customers to pay forty-three times the price on average for his smart sunglasses than what they could pay if they simply walked across the street to the average convenience store.”
Ax stared at the detached robotic arm, having set aside his tattered book with yellowed pages. The book had an old cover with something that looked like a blue centaur standing next to a humanoid covered in machine parts.
He then pulled out a few tools and screwdrivers without even saying a word. He removed the small motor and reached for one of the blue replicators. After obtaining a few pieces of scrap metal from various tables, things that had been salvaged from burned-out trucks and old refrigerators, he began building another small motor, only slightly larger than the first.
The children watched in fascination as the boy constructed the motor over the next twelve minutes.
Over the radio, the interview continued. “Tell us about the impact all of this is having on the environment, and the growing state of income inequality.”
“Where do I even begin?” The man’s voice asked casually. “I have to weep every time I hear about another rich billionaire purchasing large acres of land to preserve the habitat of the wild African megafauna for his own amusement. Not to mention the incredible amounts of money they are profiting by exploiting the microenvironments within these preserves to extract new pharmaceuticals, which they use to force millions of terminally ill patients around the world to pay thousands of dollars to use when they desperately need these life-saving treatments. For many, of whom, these drugs are their only chance at survival.”
“And some of these are on sacred lands, yes?”
“Correct, many of these are areas that were said to have sacred healing properties by the natives, yet which the businessmen purchased by offering exploitatively low prices compared to what might be historically offered for the same acreage of land in say London or San Francisco… And if you ask me, it raises a lot of questions about the morality of privately owned conservation efforts, and whether individuals or groups of individuals should even be allowed to own so much land in the first place.”
The man then added. “And if these greedy capitalists are allowed to continue to raise their prices on these apartments, many of the people will be on the streets, while these buildings will be empty. In many of these nations, millionaires and billionaires are sprouting up like weeds, especially in certain areas, but the rate of median household income for the average working family is not rising nearly as fast as the rates of income for those who become super wealthy.”
“Which means that some are taking more profit than others?” The interviewer remarked.
“Which means the elites are taking huuugge amounts of profit more than the average worker.” Dr. Chapman explained in affirmation.
Cassie whispered to her brother. “What are they saying?” She asked, pointing to the radio.
“The white man is saying that rich people have more money than regular people.”
She looked at him, perplexed as to why the white man was saying something so obvious in such confusing words, but then simply replied, “Oh.”
Ax continued tinkering with the drone’s tail as the children watched in silence, each barely letting out a breath.
A woman walked by and looked at the children’s project, before regarding the odd-looking book on the table. “I don’t know why you children waste time on these silly stories.”
“Stories let us imagine ways to see the world differently.” Tobias responded.
She rolled her eyes. “You spend your time building things for the crops. What do you need such stories for?”
“They let us imagine ways to build a better world.” Marco answered.
The woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You children and my daughter. Have you finished your Calculus Maths yet?”
Ax then ran a few tests, before inserting the new motor into the scorpion-tail arm.
Tobias looked sheepish. “No Auntie, we brought the sheets, so that we can work on them with the other kids this afternoon.”
The woman was not literally his aunt, having families from completely different continents and ethnic backgrounds.
The radio chatter continued. “Dr. Chapman, can you please explain the tragedy of the growing tech sphere in Rwanda?”
“Yes, as I’ve explained, many traditional practices are being destroyed by the invasion of modern technology into the lives of traditional indigenous cultures. This includes dangerous ideas that are being spread on the Internet, such as the questioning of established scientific ideas and those who advocate for alternative forms of government, and it shows the need for an established body of experts at the UN to determine what is and what is not safe to share online, especially over social media.”
Dr. Chapman paused for a moment to take a breath. “What we’re seeing now is the exacerbation of these problems by Rwanda’s Silicon Valley, which has already far surpassed its counterpart in The Republic of California. This was built, I might add, on land where traditional dances were held for tens of thousands of years. In many homes, not just in Rwanda, but across all of the Indigenous world, computers from this tech sphere are being used to educate children. This is not bad in and of itself, but many of these children are now being influenced to pursue technology-based careers such as computer programming, rather than the more traditional roles that have existed for countless millennia. I heard the story of one man in Central Asia whose career was in carving traditional flutes from rare stalks of bamboo, but now one of his kids wants to become a doctor, while another wants to be a scientist in the area of agricultural genetic engineering, and another wants to design and build robots to automate water treatment facilities and nuclear power plants, and she wants to send these robots to help construct Mars colonies.”
Dr. Chapman let his words sink in. “The tragic loss of the way of life for countless billions of Indigenous people due to the imposition of modern technology is something I really struggle with, and something we should really be considering. Traditional cooking, pottery, bread-making, spiritual medicine techniques, and ancient farming practices are being abandoned. And I have no doubt that the threat of these alien replicators is only going to make the problem worse.”
Ax set aside a small screwdriver. After clicking the arm into the back of the drone, several LEDs lit up on both the arm and the main body, it then extended and retracted like a scorpion’s tail, and moved side to side, as the clawed fingers opened and closed.
“Is it working!!???” Cassie cried.
“Looks like it.” Jake answered. “Now we just need to see if it can collect mangos.”
The woman watched the tiny robot, understanding its potential.
The voices over the radio continued. “But the worst tragedy is this. The businessmen in these countries are making so much money and spending it on things like The Permafrost Project, which seeks to resurrect extinct animals such as the wooly mammoth and the Siberian unicorn, when they could have given this money to the leaders of fellow African nations that are starving, despite their struggling governments’ commitment to social justice, economic equity, and progressive social structures designed to help the poor.”
Ax walked the small machine over to a tree, and holding a small tablet sent the drone to collect a mango.
The tablet device allowed the children to send instructions as operators, but the drone was mostly autonomous. It could figure out which mangos were ripe and how to best collect and return them to its master.
The underlying technology in the drone was not too far off from what humans had developed previously, but the replicator cubes had allowed a number of notable advancements and had made the production of such a device a lot easier, using materials that were readily available.
“Imagine how many mangos we could collect with this.” Marco said.
Tobias responded. “When Ax and Jake finish working out the bugs in this one, we could build an army of these bots to tend and harvest as many trees as we can grow.”
“Cassie, can you go get your basket?” Jake asked.
The little girl ran up the dirt road toward a large, traditional clay house.
The voice of the interviewer began to come in more clearly. “I guess that brings us back to the original question. The destructiveness of jobs being taken away by these replicators, entire industries being threatened to be upended, and the possibility of entire cities constructed with no one who can afford to live in them, while entire forest habitats and tribal lands are cleared away. What do we do with that? How do we approach these problems that are arising on a global scale?”
Dr. Chapman’s voice came with a heavy tone. “It’s going to take all of the world governments working together like never before. We are already seeing earthquakes around the globe causing more devastation than ever before, despite our commitments to mitigate climate disasters. Amazingly, these efforts are still being resisted despite clearing the universities of professors and researchers who were giving sanctions to the denier camps. I believe in free speech as much as anyone, but not dangerous speech or that which might cause deep harm to one’s identity or that which might cause people to question established facts that have been proven by science. And just like climate shifts, these replicators represent incredibly dangerous social and economic shifts, which promise to only help the billionaire elites.”
His voice became heavier. “Just imagine entire warehouses filled with tens of thousands of these devices, constructing space planes, watchphones, and microwave ovens, but it’s not just that. I’m talking about replicators creating more advanced robots that could replace human jobs in factories. Machines building machines that build machines. Replicators building humanoid robots that construct drones that automate farms. Entire resort colonies could be built on Mars creating a set of apartheid worlds where the very elite are separated from the rest of us. This could then lead to floating cities above the clouds of Venus that serve as terraforming factories to unnaturally transform the planet into a tropical destination for the ultra-wealthy elite.”
After a brief pause, the interviewer finally answered. “That could be a lot of power in the hands of a few.”
Dr. Chapman answered in agreement. “This is why I am urging world governments to create a council run by a handful of the world’s greatest experts to mitigate the impact of these replicators, and, if necessary, to use them for the things which they see fit, for the sake of their fellow human citizens, rather than to allow this power to be controlled exclusively by the hands of a few.”
A few minutes later Cassie emerged, bolting from the wooden door, with the basket strapped to her shoulders like a backpack, but then she stopped.
“JAAACOB!!!” She screeched at the sight of the Jeep that was making its ways up the path.
The woman turned her hardened eyes down the road.
“Rachel!” She said turning to one of the teenage girls at a bench. “It’s the colonizers! You know what to do!”
Rachel nodded and ran towards the trees as the warm breeze passed through her braids with gold beads that trailed behind.
The white Jeep boasting the letters “UN” barely stopped in front of the woman who held her place on the dirt road.
Two men in white uniforms and red dapper hats stepped out of either side of the Jeep, each with African features.
The woman’s stone features stared them down.
“General Visser sends his minions.” She stated.
General Visser was the United Nations representative in charge of the region.
“Mercy, it is good to see you!” The man who stepped out of the driver’s seat answered.
“You know that we are here to help. Why do you treat us so poorly?” The subordinate man added.
“I’m leaping for joy.” The woman responded, her stone features unmoved.
A man in blue jeans and a black t-shirt ran down the road behind her.
“Mercy!” He yelled, his broad castled chest lifting and falling as his body pressed its limits to reach her.
He stood in front of her, and she stepped back.
“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” The man asked, his voice filled with both fear and accommodation as his chest rose and fell.
“John! You honor us with your presence.”
The man hesitated afraid for his wife and his children. “The honor is all mine.”
“You understand that we are only here to help.” The second man in the white uniform offered. “We really both want the same thing. We want everyone to prosper, all of our people, not just our former colonizers, or the ultra-rich.”
The children knew to run and had long since hidden themselves, but no one had turned off the makeshift radio. It continued to crackle, unnoticed in the background. “To give you an idea of how dangerous and how widespread these replicators are, a man was recently arrested just outside of Rochester by Canadian Peacekeepers and the New York-New Jersey National Guard. He had in his possession a green replicator cube. Now, these are smaller and less powerful than the blue full replicators, which can self-replicate. However, they are nonetheless very dangerous. Officials released a report that he was using this cube to construct clay pipes from local deposits, which he was using to build illegal algae farms from which he intended to make a felony profit. In particular, he is said to have had plans to build a converter to use algae lipids to create biodiesel, circumventing the government-imposed rations during the state of emergency.”
The woman’s voice was hesitant, clearly concerned. “And this would have…” She began.
Dr. Chapman continued the thought. “And this would have subverted the government by taking the means of production and putting it into private hands, profiteering off of the need of others during a time of severe economic and social crisis in that part of the world.”
The interviewer clarified. “So, he was allegedly growing algae to make diesel. Which he would then sell for an illegal profit.”
Dr. Chapman then added, “Allegedly! This would have allowed him to create several barrels of diesel per day which could have been used in any diesel engine. And just imagine the profit he would have made if allowed to practice such destructive capitalism openly in the free market, especially if his ugly steel factories were combined with a waste treatment facility.”
“How would that have changed things?” The interviewer asked.
“It would have allowed him to use sewage waste to grow algae to create biodiesel. And this would have lead to unfathomable profits for private individuals with their own selfish motives. Not to mention the direct competition with public interest areas of production.”
The first man from the UN, the one who had stepped outside of the driver’s side, folded his arms while the other leaned against the hood of the Jeep.
John eyed each of the men, not daring to take his eyes off them to look at his family unless he risked drawing attention away from himself.
“That is good to hear gentlemen. As you can see, I am doing what I can to build a small island from which to grow wealth that I can use to bring our people out of poverty, and into prosperity.”
The other two men regarded him, ignoring their surroundings. Neither were smiling.
The second of the two began. “You are constructing this farm, and growing maize, yes-”
“Not just maize,” John answered. “But mangos, squash, potatoes, onions, herbs, hibiscus, mandrake, and tons of other food products. We hope to expand to goats, chickens, and ostriches soon. I have plans to bring indigenous African products to the world, making our region a hub of culture and African cuisine. It might not seem like much now, but-”
The first man snapped at John. “And why should you be allowed to make yourself rich at the expense of the rest of us? At the expense of the rest of Africa? You grow maize, yes, and what’s to stop you from selling it at exorbitant prices forcing the poorest men, women, and children to buy from you lest they starve?”
John looked shocked. “Gentlemen, there are already laws preventing such high prices. And I would never dream of forcing anyone to buy my products, especially if they feel the prices to be unfair. But with the new infrastructures and technologies we are developing here, including the pipes and drones, I have no doubt we will have an abundance of crops that we can sell far below the normal market prices.”
The first man’s face began to scrunch in disgust. “So, you would sell your crops for ultra cheap predatory prices, driving the poorest farmers out of business?”
The crackling dimmed as the Western voices faded and grew distant. Yet Dr. Chapman’s voice still came through. “A recent university graduate in The Sovereign States of Hawaii is set to make billions, possibly even tens or hundreds of billions in profits from the replicator-driven development of a new form of biogel, an ice-white almost blue material that could be used in artificial hearts and other organs. The question is whether such technology will even be in reach of the poorest people in the world. Yet the Hawaiians, Koreans, and Japanese have shown little to no resolve in combating such disruptive and ultimately destructive capitalism, even when it creates inequitable playing fields such as this, only further dividing the rich from the poor.”
The second man stepped in, his demeanor one of someone trying to be helpful. “John, I understand that you want to be rich and buy nice things for yourself and your family, but you have to consider the broader picture. UN scientists tell us that this dry season is set to be the worst on record. By producing too much maize during a shortage, it might unfairly prevent others from producing enough crops to feed their families during the harsh times to come. We have to consider what’s best for all of Africa, not just your family.”
John tilted his head. “How would growing crops here prevent anyone else from doing the same? You’ve said that we are set to endure a harsh dry season. Would it not then be good to produce as many crops as possible, especially if we are expecting a shortage? And if I sell my products for lower prices, then would this not simply free our people to invest in businesses and production elsewhere? In what way-”
The second man cut him off this time. “But you can see how becoming rich yourself, you take away from everyone else, making the poorest among us even more poor. You can see how taking money for your family means less money for other families. You can see how by producing too many crops during a shortage you place yourself to take the larger share of our pie, while everyone else must necessarily have less.”
John paused. “No, my good sir. I don’t see this as correct. I do not see how by one man becoming rich, others become poor.”
The second man shook his head in surprise. “How can you not see what is right in front of you?”
The voice of the interviewer on the radio paused and then asked the question that she seemed afraid to ask. “The replicators… How will their presence impact our world?”
“The real question” Dr. Chapman asked, “is how are they already impacting our world?”
He continued without pausing. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of the Appalachian tragedy from a few months back. A few men deep in the mountains were arrested after being discovered with three orange replicator cubes. Now the orange cubes are not as sophisticated or as powerful as the blue or even the green, but they are nonetheless incredibly dangerous to our society and way of life. These men were using these cubes to construct a hydroponics facility where they were illegally growing unregulated potatoes which they were already selling for a heavy profit on the black market in Brazil, profiteering off of the world’s food shortage in what can only be called illegal price gouging. Starving families were forced to purchase these illegally grown crops for prices far above those approved by world governments. Sometimes by ten or even twenty percent profit margins in places with the severest famines! But it gets worse…”
Dr. Chapman could be heard growing closer as he leaned in over the radio. “They had also constructed an illegal, literally underground machine shop, with a fabrication farm complete with CNC instruments, 3D printers capable of processing concrete and metal, and various other fabrication devices.”
The interviewer seemed surprised. “All of this constructed from three orange replicator cubes?”
Dr. Chapman’s voice wavered. “And by other means, yes, but no doubt the bulk of this operation would not have been possible without the orange replicators to assist in the process. Authorities even found casings designed to be used with a small unregulated, unauthorized thorium reactor. A device that could have powered several small factories and multiple homes. And imagine the destruction that could have been caused by the detonation of such a small device. But that’s not the most dangerous part.”
His voice grew with a tone of warning. “They were using Rwandan-style tablets which they had replicated to subvert the education-system by teaching their children alternative ideas about government. Not to mention comprehensive science and advanced mathematics beyond that which has been approved as being age-appropriate by government psychologists and intellectual and education experts. And these included ideas which leaders in the Education Affairs Department have not deemed to be academically sound. I’m sure you can see how dangerous it can be for millions of uneducated and intellectually-backwards parents to decide how our children are to be educated and what kind of ideas should be allowed to be taught. I am terrified by the thought, the question of who these people think they are to make such decisions for society.”
Dr. Chapmen took a deep breath. “Three of these misguided individuals lost their lives when the Peacekeepers discovered their operation. …Just imagine the fear these authorities describe at the thought of what private individuals with private means of production could produce, and the terror that creates for those responsible for a stable society.”
Standing with the yellow dust road beneath his leather shoes, John looked at each of the men and answered. “We are constantly told that one man’s success means another man’s downfall. This thesis is backed by a lot of rhetoric, but where is the evidence? We brought these ideas in from the West. From Europe and their universities. That is where we Africans have gone wrong. One tall forest does not prevent another from growing. By growing our wealth here, we empower ourselves, and we create opportunities for our fellow man. I use the money I earn to pay for water pipes, enabling the man who manufactured them. I purchase solar panels and windmills, empowering those who produce them — even if their practices are not always how I would have them. I pay the school fees for my children, enabling them to grow up with knowledge so that they can produce more, and as a side-effect, it also pays the bills of the teachers, janitors and headmasters at their schools.”
John leaned in. “The school fees also help those children who cannot afford their fees.”
He continued. “As for the poorest man, I give alms through my church and various charities, but I will not share those details here, lest my left hand learns what my right hand is doing. But more importantly, I hire men to help me plant and harvest my crops and build my house. They then use their money to build more for themselves in their own lives. The wealth in our community, nation, or continent is not a fixed value. It is not a single pie from which we each divide a slice. Our wealth is what we are able to create. And like a forest, the wealth spreads and grows over barren lands, if it is not held back.”
He let that sink in for half a second. “To borrow the Western phrase, we grow wealthy not by limiting how much pie each man is allowed to have, but by producing more ‘pie.’”
The first man responded. “Such imperialist delusions have destroyed our continent. The colonizers came with their guns, and demanded that we sell them our brothers, and sisters, and our children. They imposed Capitalism — a system of every man for himself! Yet we Africans have fought to rebuild our continent together — a world where every person can prosper. A world where we are no longer slaves to the ultra-elite.”
Voices continued to crackle over the radio. “It breaks my heart to think of West Australia, and of Ibrahima Wanjiru, grandson of the woman who has been called the ‘Mother of African Capitalism.’ Ibrahima Wanjiru is known for selling casava and other crops around the world at predatory prices far lower than those in publicly-owned grocery markets, sometimes at forty-percent of the standardized price, threatening the jobs of public employees with his destructive, privately owned and greedy competition, while his actions threaten to create a private monopoly. All of this while exploiting Aboriginal employees by forcing them to work with modern technology.”
“Modern technology?” The interview asked.
“Yes, things like laptops and drones are used to automate the harvesting process, contrary to ancient traditional methods, along with dangerous equipment and chemicals such as tractors and diesel. But that is not the worst part, Wanjiru recently announced the acquisition of a green replicator cube, which he paid a substantial sum for. He claims that after analyzing scans of the cube, his research and development team has been able to create a new supercoiled carbon-based compound that can regulate heat-exchange more efficiently than any technology we’ve had before. They say they could produce low-cost, low-energy air conditioners — air conditioners which could create a monopoly among billions of people around the world who could not afford to purchase from their competitors. Not to mention the potential this material has to effortlessly melt the snow from roads in Winter.”
Dr. Chapman let his words hang in the air. “What we have to ask ourselves is whether it is really moral to allow a man to make those kinds of profits. How can they be allowed to make so much money, while the rest of us have to labor by the sweat of our brow lest we starve?”
John leaned in. “I have no use for a world where every man is slave to his neighbor, where each man is a slave to the greater good, the collective, or some government official. Whatever it was when our men sold their fellow Africans to the whites and long before and after to the merchant caravans, it was not a free market. Whatever the sins of the West or of Africans in the past, such a system was not the result of free markets and individual rights, and whatever rhetoric you conjure does not make it so.”
The second of the two men furrowed his eyebrows. “John, be reasonable. What right do you have to subject everyone else to your extreme views? At the end of the day, we really want the same thing, an Africa, and a world where everyone is taken care of, where all their needs are met, education is free, and no one has more than another. We want a world where inequality has been eliminated, and no one is starving due to Capitalist greed.”
John looked at the other two men. “A lion was never meant to live in a cage, and a man was never meant to be a slave to the powers that be.”
The second man again answered. “And would you have us be like the Americans? The people who allowed robber barons, the Rockefellers and billionaires of the West to take all of the wealth for themselves? The men who drove America into collapse! Is that the sort of Capitalism that you want for your fellow Africans?”
The interviewer’s voice was hesitant over the radio. “You mentioned revolutions in technology due to these replicators. Can you elaborate?”
Dr. Chapman was quick to answer. “New small computer processors are being created, along with new motors, which will revolutionize robotics and threaten to destroy hundreds of millions of jobs around the world. Not to mention disruptions in agriculture and energy. With such technology in the hands of private interests, the very rich, it threatens the ability of world governments to regulate and run society, and to make sure everyone is safe and taken care of.”
“And where will all of this go?” The interviewer asked.
No one noticed as Mercy watched the trees through the reflection in the Jeep window.
John locked eyes with the two men. “Rockefeller lead teams of scientists and engineers who made energy cheap and affordable, which raised billions of people out of poverty. Cheap, effective fossil fuels made the difference between a world where men scraped in the dirt for their daily bread, and a world where machines lifted the burden of man’s labor. With the help of machines, one man could produce more wealth than his distant grandfather from a hundred years before. By doing this he saved not just human beings, but he helped to end the whaling industry in the West. Likewise, Ford made his fortune not by stealing from Africans or by forcing men to work in his factories against their will. Nor was it by selling his products at exorbitant prices, but by efficiently creating automobiles at a scale that had never before existed in the history of the world.”
John let his words sink in. “This is where we’ve gone wrong gentlemen. One man creating wealth does not prevent another man from creating as well. The Americans collapsed not because of Capitalism and the free market creation of wealth, but because their politicians outlawed the creation of wealth…”
He leaned in. “With the consent of their people.”
He watched each of the men. “The only way to lift a poor people out of poverty is not by redividing maize, mangos, wheat, and houses. Dividing zero by nothing is still nothing. But by allowing individuals to create as much wealth as God will grant them with their own minds and hands, which they are then free to trade with one another as they see fit.”
The first man looked at John with contempt, bringing his nose within an inch of John’s. “You talk about God, and yet reject your obligation to your fellow man. You say you want to create businesses that will help your fellow Africans, but you are doing all of this to gain for yourself and your family. It’s all built on your selfishness your so-called rational egoism, and the Capitalism that destroyed America.”
John shook his head. “I would have our country be like the Republic of California or Texas who maintained their ideals while America collapsed. More to the point, I would have our nation be like Kenya or Senegal, which are becoming some of the wealthiest places on Earth. Kenya, not just because of the tens of billions they gather in as a capital of the Space Industry, but also because of their commitment to science and technological advancements in the free market. Or Senegal, with their billions in advancing the medical industry. After the Senegalese partnered with pharmaceutical companies in Unified Korea to study traditional medicines, their applications have cut death rates from cancer in half all around the world.”
John eyed both men. “Who became poorer when Ford brought the automobile to the average man? Who was stolen from when Senegal brought new medicines to the whole world? The tribes they work with have received very large sums for their knowledge. Who has starved because of the machines that Kenyans have sent to Mars and the asteroid belt?”
The two men were silent, and John continued. “And if you were worried about money, it is only paper. Our governments print too much as it is, even though the paper itself has no value. Wealth comes not from big numbers on green or red parchment but from the farms, factories, and laboratories that create new things for human beings. So no, gentlemen, I do not see how one man growing food causes another man to go hungry. The opposite is true. As one man grows a forest, it helps others to grow all around him and gives him the power to trade with others, value-for-value.”
“Sir…” The voice of a young man crackled in the distance over the radio.
The voice continued after a pause. “Thorium reactors don’t detonate.”
“What was that?” The interviewer asked.
“Thorium reactors. They don’t just explode. I am majoring in Physics in college, and we studied the various types of nuclear reactors. I did a paper on thorium reactors just last semester. I also looked up the median pay rates for factory workers in Ibrahima Wanjiru’s companies in West Australia. It’s sixty-five percent higher than the median income for factory workers in West Australia and more than twice as high as their counterparts in East Australia.”
The first man from the UN eyed John, the contorted knots in his features winding more tightly by the moment. “And who were these pharmaceutical companies to make billions from ancient knowledge while so many indigenous people around the world continue to starve?”
John’s heart sank. “Those tribes they partnered with were paid very well. They made arrangements with these companies which they saw as fair and profitable. They are now able to build the kinds of homes they want and send their children to the schools they see fit. They are living with more wealth than those in America used to have.”
The first man’s eyes narrowed. “And yet these companies steal from them by making billions from their ancient knowledge.”
His accusation hung in the air like smoke from a bomb.
The second man watched John with compassion. “We sympathize with your desire to create a business, and that can be allowed and is good…up to a point. But we can’t allow such extremist views to drive Africa into poverty. Such extremist Capitalism does not work. Extreme systems have led to so much destruction, like the Capitalism of the colonizers who bought and sold human beings for profit.”
John looked at him. “You equate the prosperity of free markets with the chains of slave markets and blame the former for the failures of the later. You claim that freedom has failed, as if it were a proven fact when it is a baseless assumption. You have said nothing.”
The second man nodded. “I am sorry you feel that way, my friend. No matter what we do, some people will be disappointed. We can have different opinions and still be friends. But the decision has been made. Perhaps in a few years, you can build something like this as the rest of Africa gradually rises out of poverty and when the economy can accommodate such a business. But right now, we cannot allow a man to create too much and become too rich.”
The interviewers disembodied voice rose from the copper wires. “Dr. Chapman, how do you respond to these points?”
Dr. Chapman’s voice crackled in the distance. “This really misses the point.”
His voice was clear and gentle. “Yes, those employees who are exploited in West Australia might be making a little more, however this is in a society that refuses to provide for the needs of their citizens. People are forced to work, and if they are unable or choose to pursue other options, they are left to fend for themselves without public assistance. There is no guarantee for their basic needs such as food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, basic internet and watchphone access.”
Dr. Chapman took a breath. “What we are tragically seeing in West Australia, is a society where everyone is in it for themselves. It’s a society that works for the very rich, but the poor are left to fend for themselves. They are forced to either work, or starve. It’s a society that favors the individual and their so-called rights over the needs of the collective.”
“And what of the thorium reactor?” The interviewer asked in reminder.
Mercy still stood, not far behind John, seemingly having disappeared by her silence. An older woman had joined her, wearing traditional robes with blue and green embroidery and a matching headwrap, along with brown sandals, not out of poverty but by choice, and a deep brown carved wooden walking stick.
“I am sorry as well.” Mercy replied.
“I am glad that you understand Mercy. I hope-” The second man began, turning toward her.
Mercy cut him off. “I understand just fine. The question is, do you? The women of our village have long faced the brutalization of other tribes, colonizers… imperialists. They’ve been raped, faced miscarriage for lack of food, and have had to bury their children far too many times. And now they face the brutalization of colonizers and imperialists in their latest form.”
Her eyes scanned to the trees all around the clearing.
The two men looked to the trees and caught the brief glint of silver from one of the branches.
No one in the clearing could see the various hiding places of the women, much less the children.
Cassie sat in her tree branch, unafraid, her poofy pigtails bouncing as she turned her head towards her deep pink glowing replicator cube. It was around the size of a golf ball, and ready to perform its task. The alien programming followed a sort of Asimov protocol, where it would not directly harm a human being, however, given the instructions to recycle old components, a parked Jeep with no one in it was fair game.
Jake watched the men as well, with eyes like swords pointed directly at their uniforms and the arms at their sides.
Marco, Ax, and Tobias each hid in an underground shed, the door disguised with groundcover and uninviting debris. It was unlikely anyone would ever step foot on the overhead door.
Ax actively programmed a small fleet of drones, while the other two boys bent wires, directing purple, green, and red replicator cubes. They had hoped to have completed something like this before the men ever showed up, but now they intended to make every instant count.
The second man tried to be diplomatic. “We can go. Perhaps this is something we can discuss another day.”
“You can go.” Mercy answered. “But you will have to leave my Jeep behind.”
She held out her hand.
“Mercy! What are you doing!?” John asked.
Dr. Chapman’s voice continued to crackle over the radio. “Regardless of your opinion on the technology itself, the capability of private individuals or private corporations to produce so much wealth on their own, by owning the means of production, means that-”
“But sir,” The young man answered. “This is not based on my opinion. These thorium reactors aren’t prone to spontaneous detonation any more than a concrete block would be-”
“I understand that you feel very strongly about your opinions on this technology, and think you know what you’ve read from right-wing… publications, but I suggest that you are still young in your career, and you don’t know everything. But even if the odds of something going wrong are low, the type of power this puts in the hands of private interests means that the power to create is being taken from the hands of the people. And to what kind of world does that lead?”
The first man did not move, while the second slowly reached into the Jeep, and retrieved the keys from the steering wheel.
He handed them to Mercy, and she gently received them as he raised his hands.
“The nearest UN site is over twenty miles away.” The first man said, his anger low.
Mercy thought for a moment. “Yes it is.”
“You expect us to walk that far!”
Mercy shrugged. “It’s not that far. My sisters and I often walked that far to go to the market when we were small.”
John’s eyes grew wide. “Remember we are to honor the governing authorities.”
Mercy nodded in agreement. “I am an elected member of the council, and it is not just my role but my authority and my moral responsibility to ensure that our laws are followed.”
John watched her, and she answered. “The governing authority in our nation is our national constitution and our system of local tribal councils which answer to the people. The UN and these other foreign colonizers are not a part of our system and have never received any governing authority from the people. They are merely criminal thugs. The same type of men that God put government in place to protect the people from. Them claiming to have authority that they do not have does not change that, it only makes them insurrectionists.”
The old woman remained silent behind her.
John’s words were gentle. “I understand Mercy, but remember also the words of our Savior. ‘He who lives by the sword dies by the sword.’”
“God’s Word also says that there is a time for peace and a time for war and that it is the role of governing authorities to use the sword to protect the people.”
She stepped forward, glancing at the first man’s face, before locking eyes with the second. “Sadly, these men have chosen to live by the sword, and threaten our people, when they had no moral or legal authority to do so.”
“Please ma’am.” Pleaded the second man. “We will leave you alone. This has all just been a misunderstanding.”
Her eyes did not flinch from his. “I had hoped we could come to an understanding, but my husband was abundantly clear. And yet you ignored his words. You did not have to testify against yourselves, and yet you have, in front of countless witnesses.”
Her breath was heavy, and her head held high in authority. “The decision has been made.”
The second man trembled at the sound of his own words being repeated back to him.
“You may go back to your commanding officers and bring the message that they are no longer to threaten our tribes or our people in any way.”
The second man began to breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you Mercy. You have shown great kind-”
As he turned, she cut off his words. “Leave the uniforms behind. You will not be allowed to wear subversive clothing in this land implying that you have an authority which you do not have.”
The old woman’s eyes watched the faces of each of these men, still remaining silent.
The first man answered. “I will not! You cannot possibly-”
“The women in the trees.” Mercy reminded him. “Their children have often had to go without clothes many times for many generations.”
She continued. “You talk about helping the poorest of the poor. We have been one of the poorest regions in Africa for nearly a century and one of the poorest people on Earth. Yet when we begin to rise, you try to keep us from standing.”
“You can’t-” The first man began to interrupt.
She turned her head, cutting him off, as a judge pronouncing a sentence. “I can’t? What can’t I do? How dare you say I can’t! The women here have buried their children because of poverty, disease, and lack of clean water for generations, but we are not poor because nature determined it to be so, we are poor because despots like you have held the barrel to our heads for far too long, telling us if and when we can grow our own food on our own land. It has been a choice between starvation and execution for exercising our God-given rights in the moral path that humans have been given to follow on this Earth.”
She looked from the first man to the second, and then back again. “You bring us the colonialist theories about how one man growing food will cause another man to starve. But such superstition has no place in reality nor in the history of African culture. Even our worst superstitions never entertained such foolish sorcery.”
“I WILL NOT-” The first man began to respond, as a thundercrack broke through the air and the ground exploded a meter from where he stood.
Minute dust plumes rose above the red earth where the projectile had struck.
“The replicators have given us power to exercise the rights that the Americans once recognized. The question is whether the means will be loud as you just saw, or with more traditional, and silent measures… some have even used this technology to fashion new yet distinctly African devices which launch thin rods of metal, and which none of these women will hesitate to demonstrate for your convenience.”
Her eyes scanned the canopies. “The women in these trees have had to bury many children, gentlemen. I can promise you none of them will shed any tears if they have to carry you out as well.”
She eyed the second man as a Cheetah staring down a poacher. “Some have no tears left to shed.”
The second man, shaking, reached for the buttons on his shirt.
“Slow.” She warned him before his eyes looked to her in horror.
She took a breath and reassured him. “It is for our safety, not for your shame. The women here have all seen a man before. You will not shock them.”
The second man complied, and the first began to do so as well.
Their shirts, hats, and pants were left on the hood of the car.
Her eyes darted to their remaining shorts and back again. The faces of the men contorted in horror, with the first man still filled with rage.
She turned to the old woman.
Wise, wrinkled eyes caught their glances before she finally spoke, turning her gaze back to Mercy. “Even as a girl, I had to endure less dignity than this. The Western colonizers and worthless men from our tribe and others left my body with no modesty or shame left to be had.”
“Mercy.” John offered.
She turned to him. “Husband. I will honor you in all things within our home and our family. But in these matters, I am the elected servant of the people, standing in a role that many women have served for many thousands of years before me.”
John nodded in understanding. “May we offer these men at least some of the rags that the foreigners sent when we were children?”
Mercy tilted her head up and blinked.
The old woman watched the situation.
John knew that he had the attention of all who were present, seen and unseen. “We are not like them. As you said, this is not to shame them, but we cannot allow them to bear the robes of foreign invaders. Such rags are barely more than fig leaves.”
Mercy turned to the old woman but spoke in a level tone for all to hear. “Which is more dignity than what these men would have allowed us to keep.”
“Show me the rags.”
John brought a few tattered articles of Western clothing. She handed each of the men a pair of loose-fitting basketball shorts.
“You would have us go back in this?” The first man asked in anger, clenching his fist by his side.
Mercy was silent for a moment.
The old woman spoke. “You will spend a few hours with your feet against the hot dirt. I have spent a lifetime.”
She watched, not as if there was no more to be said but waiting so as not to waste words on these men.
She then spoke as if addressing a crowd. “After the white men left, I watched as the tyrants who helped them sent thugs to beat my mother in the marketplace for nothing more than selling her garments at the prices she chose. And whose rights was she violating by selling her own clothes which she had sewn with her own hands for her own price? Some were murdered for less. Foreigners with big hearts and no brains saw our poverty and sent even more aid to these worthless men. Bleeding hearts only aided the tyrants, siding with our persecutors, and taking part in our abuse. As if the foreigners saw us as nothing more than animals who needed a jungle preserve.”
She then paused for half a moment. “But we cannot blame the foreigners for all of our plight. We made the decisions often to keep such men in power. Men whom our chiefs would have once punished in front of the whole village. Men and women are not animals who live on instinct. The Creator did not give us claws and speed like the cheetah, or size and strength like the elephant. He gave us each a mind and hands with which to work.”
The old woman spread out her palms for all to see and then placed the tips of her deep wrinkled fingers on either side of the wrap that adorned her head.
She regarded the two men as some afterthought. “Do not worry. If you did not have the rags, the foreigners would have only seen you as two of the bush people.”
She then nodded. “I have been a mother many times. I tried to use my own body to protect my children from the heat and from the cold, from rain and from dry. When I tried to feed my children by working with my own hands, I heard great fancy speeches about equality from fat men with soft hands who nearly took my life. Yet I never saw these men who proclaimed… who demanded the virtue of being one with nature scraping in the dirt beside me.”
She regarded them, refusing to waste her tears. “So no, gentlemen. You came here as thugs and murderers and nothing more — to take the lives of men, women, and children in the village, but we will not help you to pretend that you have authority which you do not have, before men or before God.”
She then added. “We will work with our own hands, grow our own food, and bless our fellow man with our own products. And if you cannot compete with us as honest men, because others choose not to trade with you at your prices, then I suggest you begin to rise up earlier and apply yourselves to different kinds of work.”
Her words hung in the air. The sentence had been pronounced. The people and their elected representatives had ruled against the subversive criminals.
John’s words came next. “You may leave the remaining portion of your uniform with me.”
His voice was kind, offering an act of mercy to these men who deserved nothing… who deserved justice.
The second man’s eyes began to dart to the trees, but Mercy leaped forward, eyes inches from him. “Who gave you permission to look at my village? You will leave this place unharmed. But do not even turn back. Do not even look at this place as you flee. And if you are ever in their presence, do not even look at my children.”
Her breath was warm. “Or they will be the last thing you ever see before I and the women here grant your warm farewell as we send you off on your journey to Hell.”
The men understood, and turning, each quickly dawned the rag shorts they were given, leaving the last piece of their uniform behind, before walking slowly away towards the dry, brown grass.
The old woman’s kind voice was at the edge of earshot when she advised. “Remember gentlemen to bring your water jug to the river, this way you can let the dirt and worms settle to the bottom as you wash your rags.”
The men did not turn around, remembering their warning.
John turned to his wife, the councilwoman. “Was it necessary to send them away with nothing?”
Mercy met his gaze. “This is the role that I was elected to hold. Our elders of the past knew that there would be times when the men would be away and saw that there were roles and times when women would need to govern the affairs within the community. We have never been a large people unlike so many of the other tribes.”
“Was there no way to convince them? To show them they were mistaken in their opinions?”
“They knew what they were doing or were morally responsible to know. But if they were in error, they could have considered reason which you tried to show them. As for their opinions on right and wrong, they chose to blind themselves to the obvious, building complex walls within their own minds. They chose not to see… They chose not to see the morality of their actions or their consequences… Now let them agree-to-disagree with the hyenas and the lions. Perhaps they can be ‘one with nature,’ as the Americans like to say, and perhaps the beasts will take pity on them. It is the dry season after all, and food is scarce. Perhaps they can share a meal together, as one unified collective.”
She paused for a moment, peering into the distance, and then added. “There will be many beasts out as soon as the Sun goes down to aid them on the journey, especially on the path I see they’ve chosen to follow.”
“And what path will you follow?” Her husband asked, his voice low in its tone.
Dr. Chapman’s metallic words echoed over the makeshift speakers. “I remember this past summer sitting by the marble firepit with my wife on the porch at our small Tuscan villa. We drank merlot from our favorite local vineyard. The weather was beautiful, and we could smell the salt on the breeze as we watched the Sun set over the Mediterranean. Yet my heart sank at the sight of bonfires along the shoreline, like ten thousand candles flickering in the growing night. I thought of humanity encroaching on the native habitats that once spread across the Earth. And I thought of nature tainted by man’s touch.
The type of world that these replicator cubes will bring within my lifetime is one in which we can no longer look up to a virgin moon. Imagine ten thousand twinkling candles in the shadow of the crescent, as our cities begin to infest the lunar surface. Imagine forty or even thirty years from now, no longer being able to look through a telescope at a Mars untouched by human hands, but one instead where the Red Planet has been transformed into a tainted monstrosity of blue oceans and green forests lining the edge of an ever-shrinking red desert.”
Dr. Chapman’s voice hung in the air. “Do we really have a right to such things? Do we really have the right to exercise such power? This is why such power should be in the hands of well-recognized experts, appointed by elected officials. Can we really risk a world where this kind of power is in the hands of a few? In the hands of the selfish and the greedy?”
Mercy glanced towards the trees. “Rachel, bring me one of the cubes.”
The teenage girl soon emerged from the bushes, carrying one of the glowing blue replicators.
She let it go, and it floated towards Mercy, hovering above her shoulder, briefly taking in John and the old woman. Mercy assessed the bamboo pipes, the makeshift windmill, and the stations where children had left their industrious projects.
She then answered her husband’s question. “I will consider a field and plant a vineyard. With the profits from my wine, grown in the red harsh African clay, I will craft robes and dresses for my household from the finest Egyptian cotton, with colors and patterns reflecting the sky, the forest, the lilies, and the Sunset. I will compliment these with accessories from Louis Vuitton, Versace, and Dior, and will sell my lines to the exclusive clients of Rolex and Chanel. Then I will bring saffron into my home and sell my grandmother’s cuisine in the highest markets of Singapore.”
She leaned towards him. “And when my two-year term as Councilwoman in the tribe is over, I will remain with my family, not seeking re-election… If that is what my husband desires.”
Her eyes looked to him, surrendering to his authority, without apologizing for exercising her role in previous moments.
His gaze met her deep brown eyes, the color of dark chocolate, and he wrapped a strong left hand around the edge of her waist, while holding her upper back with his right arm.
His breath rasped her ear as he spoke. “Many women have served on the council, yet you have embodied the grace of the ancient queens. Together we will lead our people to embrace our glory once again.”
Thank you for reading my story today. I felt inspired to write this story partly as a nod to the Animorphs series. Fans of that franchise will notice the nod to the Escafil Device in the blue cube, the dying alien, and the names of several characters. That said, this is not exactly fan-fiction, because this is a distinct world, with distinct characters and a very different premise. My characters bend metal wires, rather than turning into animals, and face down oppressive regimes, rather than alien invaders.
Despite being very different people, albeit with the same names, I want to thank the author K.A. Applegate and her coauthors for writing characters that continue to inspire me with their strength of character and their ideals in the face of evil. A scene with Jake, the leader of the Animorphs, facing down Visser 3 has recently helped me after a job where I had to deal with an abusive supervisor. If Jake can be brave in the face of evil, then I can too.
This is also meant as a nod to The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer, a story about a real-life teenage boy in Africa who built a windmill and saved his family’s farm. I was also inspired by the story Galimoto, which was read to me as a small kid. And of course, this is a nod to Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, The Heart of A Cheetah by Magatte Wade, and the many many lessons I have learned from For The New Christian Intellectual.
If you enjoyed this piece, please check out my other content on GSMuse.com and sign up for my free email newsletter! While I try to keep most of my content free for everyone, if you liked my story today and you want to see more, then be sure to check out my books and short stories available for a reasonable premium on Amazon.com
I would also like to ask for help for a friend today who is very worthy of help. I first met Valerie in-person at a Worship In The Park event in Rochester, New York. She was both surprised by and later teased at my knowledge of a handful of Swahili phrases. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about various topics, including the reality of African cultures and how misunderstood this region of the world is by most Americans.
Eventually, Valerie’s multi-year role as an au pair (nanny) came to an end, and she returned home to Kenya, where she opened her own business. Sadly, Valerie has recently received news of the need for a medical procedure that will cost just under $3,000.
I do not believe that our focus with charity should be “for the sake of others” simply because they are other. Rather, I believe that when we choose to help another person, it should be out of joy in the extension of our own values. With that said, Valerie is a young woman who is bringing a lot of joy and value to this world, and is not someone who would usually ask for help. If you are willing to extend a hand to a friend-of-a-friend, you can donate through her M-Changa page, an organization similar to GoFundMe, and invest in the life of one real-life woman who is making the world a better place.
