For what profiteth a man that he gain the whole world but
 loseeth his own soul? - the Bible

The Earth does not belong to Man.  Man belongs to the Earth - Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

    Nobel Laureate Ojukwu Mbabwe, PhD, astrophysics, PhD, chemistry, the discoverer of the Uhuru particle and inventor of the machine that utiized it to allow faster than light space travel, was the richest individual in human history.  He didn't look like either type. Scientists are supposed to be disheveled, distracted people.  Rich men wear thousand dollar Italian silk suits.  Not Mbabwe.

    He looked like an Olympic runner.   A long, lean man with the intense eyes of the athlete, he favored blue jeans, open white shirts and inexpensive sports jackets.  He had no body rings, no tattoos and no dashika.  Some American white people didn't like him because he wasn't white enough, and some American black people didn't like him because he wasn't black enough.
    He was happy with the situation because he didn't like them, either.  His only allegiance was to an unconscious quest.  All his life, though he did not know it, he had been looking for somethng clean.
   At the moment, he was looking at an entire world.  There was something about it that he couldn't quite get.   Something that disturbed him. 

  He continued studying the planet while sipping a rare and very expensive liqueur made from the fruit of a nearly extinct North African palm.  It was produced at a winery owned by friends of his on the Slave Coast. He had visited the facility only once.  Expecting an oasis on the verge of a sea of dunes he had instead found a large glass greenhouse situated in the industrial section of a metropolis that stretched as far as the eye could see. Virtually all the faces he saw there were black like his, but their bodies were clothed in garb he saw every day in New York.  The only image he found there of the Africa he had imagined was a giant ceramic mosaic in the foyer. 

    The scene of camels and lions, baobab trees and grassy plains brimming with wild herds was a duplicate of a tapestry that had hung in his grandmother's living room, and now had a place of honor in his office..  As a child he had loved that scene and had committed every element of it to memory. 
    The mural in Africa was identical in every respect.
    It did something to Mbabwe, seeing that scene done on cold tile in a land where there should have been wind and sun and the smells of life, but which reeked of window cleaner, floor polish, concrete and plastic, and rang with the sounds of traffic on paved streets and commercial aircraft passing overhead.  It was his first and last trip to the Land of Milk and Honey. From then on, he concentrated on other things

     Sitting now in the lavishly appointed owner's cabin of his space yacht, Saint Albert, he mentally ticked off the attributes of this newly discovered Draco Sector planet from orbit.  There was just one major continent.  The equator ran right through the middle of it, as was proper to his mind on a world canted 18 degrees to the plane of the ecliptic..  The rest of the planet was essentially a series of mostly submerged volcanoes whose tops jutted out of the sea   Island groups and archipeligos were everywhere.  There was one rather large island that reminded him of Greenland in the opposing hemisphere .  A little too small to call a continent even though geologists did.. It ran north and south from the northern mid-lattitudes.

     It was beautiful, this planet, though like his grandmother's tapestry wasn't good for anything but looking at.  Very little in the way of metals.  No petroleum deposits.  Out of the main commerce lanes.  It just hung there pretty.
   It was smaller than Earth.  Maybe 6X10 to the 26th grams.  The pole caps were about right.  The albedo was low.  Blue skies from now on. Mammals had not evolved there.  Just plants and fish. 
    A big, entrancing, useless piece of art.
    Wondering why as he did it, he turned to the Pythagorean ambassador and in his raspy voice said, "How much do you want for this extra planet of yours?"

    "We requre one million metric tonnes of the metal you call gold," said the Pythagorean ambassador.  For some reason, the ship's computerized translator turned the crustacean's mandible clicks into an upper-caste British accent.  It stunk of white superiority, and so irritated Mbabwe.
    Of course, the ambassador was a blue lobster, which diluted the effect somewhat.
    "I have something worth much more than that," said Mbabwe.  "I have the secret of faster-than-light travel. I am its inventor and hold the patents.  I will lease its use to you in trade for that unused world of yours."
    "Space travel is not an activity which appeals to us," said the ambassador.  "We are quite content with our home planet, except that it does not have large quantities of the metal.  The metal is important to our religious ceremonies "

                                          II

    "I am sorry, Mr. Mbabwe," said the president of the United States, "but, Fort Knox is not yours to use.  It belongs to the people."
    "I put you in office, you greasy little wop," Mbabwe said calmly.  "I control the economy of this country, and so the world.  All the commerce in this solar system, and all the trade we have with twenty XT systems is completely dependent on technology I invented.  And, don't threaten me with your Justice Department.  You don't dare come after me.  I own all three major networks, Hollywood, fifty of the largest metropolitan newspapers, six of the top news magazines, the Senate and the House. There aren't ten people in the Congress who don't owe me for their power. I want that gold."

     "I am terribly sorry, sir," said the president of the United States, "but I will not do it. It's too much.  Too much.   I will veto any move made in Congress to help you, and if my veto is overturned, will as Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces declare martial law and close down them, and you."
   "You haven't got the guts," said Mbabwe.
   "I will find the guts," said the president of the United States.
    His voice was trembling.  He wasn't sure, thought Mbabwe.  But, then, neither was Mbabwe.  He was black, and the United States was a racist nation.   Whites were doublecrossing rats at heart.  They might side with this wop.  It had cost him a billion dollars to buy enough of them to fix the monopoly statutes, but that was yesterday's money to the honkies.

    "You won't have a second term you traitorous little bastard," he said viciously, reaching for the switch on the video phone and closing it with an angry swipe of his hand.

                                             III

    "You can't buy that much gold on the open market, boss," said his chief financial officer, Merrill Lynch.  He was an economist.  A brilliant number cruncher.  But, like all honkies, he didn't have a soul.  Mbabwe had picked up the man in a corporate merger years before. He had been the CEO of a giant investment company.   It pleased Mbabwe to have a white multi-millionaire for a servant.  The odd thing about Merrill Lynch was that he didn't act like a servant.  Though Mbabwe owned every corporation in Merrill's portfolio, and could with a single phone call reduce the honkie's family to living in an Appalachian trailer park, he still spoke to Mbabwe as though they were almost equals.  Ironically, that was why his family hadn't been driven into bankruptcy.  There is no joy in gratuitously crushing a man who doesn't take it personally.

    "You are saying that it's like Sisyphus."
    "That's right, boss, but in this case the rock doesn't just seem to get heavier the farther up the hill you push it.  It actually does get heavier."
    "Like relativity," mused Mbabwe.
     "That's your field, not mine, boss.  I'm just telling you that once it gets rolling toward your goal, the price will shoot up like a rocket.  Eventually it will reach a point where it will take all the money on Earth to buy the last ounce you need.  You may be able to buy and sell ten Gates-Rockefeller cartels, but you do not have all the money on Earth.  Just most of it."
    "Supply and demand."

    "That's right, boss.  The more you buy, the higher the price will go and the less money you'll have.  Not only that, but you will transfer your cash to the people who hold the dwindling supply.  There must come a time when the two forces balance in a case like this."
    "Just like relativity," said Mbabwe.  He caught himself as he was about to ask the honkie for alternative possibilities.  "You are dismissed."
    Merrill nodded, but didn't turn to leave.
   "Well?" said Mbabwe.
    "Why do you want it, boss?  Is it because of that?"
    He pointed at the tapestry.
    "Get the hell out of here," growled Mbabwe.

    He watched Merrill leave. He was a hard man to hate.  So damned honest and loyal.  Mbabwe didn't like the fact that he liked Merrill.  He began regathering his hate.  Honkies were frail humans.  Fragile in strong sunlight.  They lacked physical grace.  Bony, awkward things, or giant soft balls of lard.  How in hell had a weak race like them come to dominate the Earth?
    In the middle of this reflection, Mbabwe glanced at the tapestry, and suddenly laughed out loud.  The reason for white success had just become clear to him.  They knew the secret to getting the right answers.  It was what they taught him when he was studying to become a physicist.
    Ask the right questions.

                                            IV

     "I want to know what his next move is," said the president of the United States.
     Merrill Lynch sat comfortably in the chair that had been made by a cousin of Abraham Lincoln's.  He had been in the Oval Office many times.  Long before this fellow took power, an uncle of Merrill's had lived in the White House.  Merrill had played tennis with the man on the grounds, though being nine years old had only won because his uncle was a gentle and kind sort.
    "I work for him," he answered simply. "It's his private business."
    "You're a citizen of this nation, first, Merrill."
    That, he had to admit, was the truth.  He wrestled with it a bit longer, then said, "I'll tell you what I can.  Bear in mind that unless there's some immediate national security issue here, I will tell him of this meeting.  What do you want to know?"

    "Why does he want that planet?"
    "I asked him the same question.  He wouldn't tell me.  I think he wants to go home."
    "Don't be cryptic with me, Merrill.  He was born in the Bronx."
    "Not home here, Mr. President.  Africa.  Or what Africa once was.  I've seen the photos.  That world is Earth without Europe and America.  It's what might have been.  He wants to import animals and plants.  African stuff for the big continent.  Buffalo and wolves and such - bears, salmon and pine trees, maybe -- to the small northern continent."
    "And, then do what?"
    Merrill shrugged. 

    "Set up shop?  Run his businesses from there?"
    "A corporate headquarters? Maybe, Mr. President, but I don't think so.  It's more than that.  More than some kind of resort or theme park to him, too.  It's almost like a - work of art."
    "A work of art."  It wasn't a question. The man was clearly trying to envision a planetary-sized work of art.  Merrill had had some difficulty with that concept, himself.  Movement out the window caught his attention.  A child walked by holding a tennis racquet.
    "All I know for sure is that he wants that planet as much as he's ever wanted anything.  I'm not sure even he understands why."
    "But, you have a hunch, don't you?  I can see it in your face."
    "Perhaps," said Merrill. "But, I'm not dumb enough to stake my future on a guess that might mislead the president of the United States.  I don't like the odds.  He wants it.  That's as far as I'll go."

    The president stared at him for a short while, obviously waiting for the explanation.  When he realized Merril had said as much as he was going to, he punched a button on a desk phone.  A voice said, "Yes sir?"
    "Get the cabinet heads over here, now.  And, I want the Chief Justice, the Speaker and Majority Leader."
   "Yes, sir."
   When he looked at Merrill, he was, inexplicably, grinning.
  "Thank you for the guts and a second term, Mr. Lynch," said the president. "That will be all.  Tell your boss I may have a deal for him."

                                           V

    The two men, one white and one black stood on the shore of the lake.  Off to the west, the marge stretched across a grassy plain to some low hills, beyond which in the far distance was a great mountain.  Its lower flanks were covered with trees, but above the treeline it wore a mantle of snow.  Pure, white snow.
    The black man began removing his clothes.  Soon, all were gone except a pair of khaki shorts.  His black skin became shiny in the heat of the day.
    "Was it worth it?" asked the white man.  "The largest, most powerful corporate entity on Earth for this?"

     A lion rumbled in the tall grass off to the south somewhere.  Not long before it had lived in a cage.  The black man pointed at the mountain.  "There were sixteen snow leopards left on Earth," he said.  "I put six of them up there.  One day I will climb up and see how they are doing."
    There was laughter nearby.  The last of the New Africa colonists were disembarking from the ship.
    "How many came?" asked the white man.
    "Fourteen thousand, in all," said the black man.  "Four thousand of them Polynesians.  Isn't that marvelous?"
    "And you?" said the white man. "What about you?"

    "Goodby, my friend," said the black man.  "You saw it before I did.  My anger was in the way.  Here are my last instructions before I set you free.  If the Indians want the northern continent, give it to them.  Now, go and tame your universe."
    Then, without once looking back. he walked briskly off, toward the low hills.  In a short while he reached the plains grass and began to run with long strides.  Above him was a kind of eagle that the white man had never before seen.  The black man ran until he was out of sight, and only the eagle above him in the blue sky was visible, still soaring toward the same horizon..  The white man walked back to the spaceship and entered it.  The ship took off and once above the atmosphere engaged the miraculous star drive invented by the soul far below who now ran joyously with the sun and the eagle. 
 

(C) 2002 Larry Leonard