Shaka II

9.

The historical Shaka had a witch doctor whose counsel he trusted. My brother had an astrologer. His name was William James Hlatshwayo, and he had earned his Master of Science degree from the University of California. I preferred to think of it as a Master of Pseudoscience degree, but Tchaka conferred with him daily and waited patiently, not while he rolled the bones, but rather while he read the stars and cast his horoscopes.

I don’t know where my brother found him, or when. All I know is that one day he showed up, and from that day forth he had more influence on Tchaka than any other man alive.

I argued against him. I pointed out that Tchaka had won the Presidency without an umthagkathi—a word I uttered with contempt, for it is the Zulu word for witch doctor—and had annexed three countries without him, and had become king without him, so why listen to him now?

“Because up to this point, my brother,” Tchaka answered me, “I have been only a caterpillar. A successful one, to be sure, but a caterpillar. Soon, though, I shall break out of my chrysalis and spread my wings. There will be no limit to the heights to which I can soar.”

“But—” I began, but he held up a hand for silence.

“Even the butterfly has predators, and the higher he flies, the less they are known to him. If William can warn me of some enemies of which I am not aware, then I would be a fool not to make use of him.”

“And if he is a fraud?”

“Then I am in no greater danger than I was before.”

“You would be better off with a true umthagkathi,” I said, “for this man’s science is no science at all.”

“You know nothing about it,” said Tchaka placidly.

“I know this,” I said. “The science of astrology is based on the calendar, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And it is three thousand years old?”

“Older,” said Tchaka.

“There you have it,” I said.

“There I have what?” he asked irritably.

“Astrology is based on the calendar, and it uses the calendar, is that correct?”

“You know that.”

“Then explain this,” I said triumphantly. “The science was created more than three thousand years ago, yet Julius Caesar and Augustus Caesar lived less than twenty-five hundred years ago. The months of July and August are named for them, and did not exist when astrology was created, so how true a science can it be?”

“Doubtless the names were substituted for other names,” he replied. “That has nothing to do with science, only with nomenclature.”

“Astrology has nothing to do with science,” I persisted. “If you let yourself be guided by him long enough, eventually your umthagkathi will get us all killed.”

“I am Tchaka,” he said, as if the words were identical to “I cannot die.”

“Fine,” I said. “You are immortal. Your army is not, and your government is not. What good is your immortality if all around you have died because some arrant fraud tells you to do something because the moon is here or Mars is there?”

He was silent for a long moment, and finally he spoke. “I have listened patiently to you, my brother. I have heard your words and considered them.” His expression hardened. “And I have rejected them. We will not speak of this again, and you will never call him an umthagkathi in my presence. Is that understood?”

I looked into his eyes, which were the doorway to his soul, and as usual there was no softness, no give whatsoever.

“It is understood,” I replied.

“Good,” he said. “Because great deeds lie ahead of us. Great deeds.” He paused. “Tomorrow I will meet with a representative from America.”

“A new ambassador?” I suggested. It was common knowledge that most of the countries of the world had withdrawn their ambassadors and closed their embassies after Tchaka’s speech, but that had been a few months earlier and it was time for them to rethink their positions, as Western governments always did.

“No, a businessman,” said Tchaka.

“Well, at least America has lifted the ban on its citizens visiting us.”

“No, it hasn’t,” said Tchaka in amused tones. “But I have something they want, so they are assiduously looking the other way, and will someday claim that they had no knowledge of this visit or its outcome.”

“And what is the nature of this visit?” I asked.

“Two weeks ago I sold a fifty-year lease on the two largest diamond pipes in Botswana to the Chinese,” he began. “I then leased all the other diamond concessions to England and Brazil.”

“You sold the entire wealth of a nation?” I said, startled. “Why?”

“Leased, not sold,” he corrected me. “And the reason I did is because I needed the money for tomorrow’s dealings with our American visitor.”

“Whatever he’s selling, it must be very expensive, if it’s worth a half-century supply of diamonds from the most diamond-rich country in the world,” I said.

“Oh, it is,” he replied with a smile. “Very expensive. Plundering Botswana’s riches for only a quarter or a third of a century would not have been sufficient.”

I just stared at him, wondering what could possibly cost as much as he seemed willing to pay.

“Well,” he said, clearly enjoying my confusion, “aren’t you going to ask?”

“What are you buying from the American?” I said.

He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a shining model of the latest starfaring military ship, much advanced over the type he’d served on less than a decade ago.

“You’ve bought a starship?” I asked incredulously.

He chuckled in amusement. “For plundering an entire country for half a century? I am a better bargainer than that, my brother.” He paused. “The American is here today, but Hlatshwayo tells me the stars are not yet in the proper alignment. Tomorrow I will meet with him and finalize the purchase of an entire fleet of starships,” he concluded proudly.

“And what of Botswana?” I asked.

“It has been here for a thousand centuries or more,” he replied. “It has lived its life. It is the past.” He pointed a forefinger toward the ceiling, and beyond that, the sky. “The future is out there - a million worlds for the taking.”

“And if someone objects to your just going out and taking them?” I asked.

“That is their choice,” he said with no show of concern. “Mine has already been made.”

At that instant I didn’t know who I felt sorrier for—Botswana or the galaxy.