Mike Resnick: Shaka II

I expected him to smile, or chuckle, to do something, anything, to show me that he was joking, but his expression never changed.

“Are we to stride across the planet like gods?” I asked at last.

“Oh, yes,” he said with certainty. “That much is written in the Book of Fate.”

“I have never seen that,” I said.

“You have flawed vision,” he replied.

“Who wrote this passage that I have not seen?” I continued.

“I am writing it even as we speak.”

“Have you a place to stay?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “I had hoped to stay with my older brother.”

“And have you any money?”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out some coins. “Less than a rand.”

“No luggage?”

“I travel light.”

“So you are homeless, destitute, without a rand to your name, and with only the clothing on your back,” I said. “And you are going to bring us back the primacy we possessed when Shaka walked the land five centuries ago.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “Will you stand in my way?”

“No,” I said. “Why should I?”

He smiled. “You see? I have one acolyte already.”

“I am not an acolyte,” I said firmly. “I am an unhostile observer, nothing more.”

He shrugged. “Semantics.”

“So,” I said, “will you establish your kingdom here in my living room, and eventually conquer the dining room and kitchen?”

He stared at me, so silently and coldly that for a moment I thought he was going to get to his feet and attack me. Then he shrugged.

“You can join me now,” he said, “or you can join me later, when you have no choice in the matter. But do not ever make fun of me again.”

It was a simple statement, simply delivered, but for the first time in my adult life I was frightened.

“I apologize, Robert,” I said. “Seriously, what are your plans?”

“There is to be an election next month,” he said.

“You are mistaken,” I told him. “The President has another year and a half to serve.”

He stared at me again and I fell silent. “It is a minor office,” he said. “Clerk of Records in Natal. But I must start somewhere, and I need not think about the presidency for another year.”

I had thought I knew him, but I was amazed by the audacity of his ambition—not running for Clerk of Records, but planning on running for the presidency in a mere eighteen months. I was afraid if I commented on it, I would receive another hate-filled glare and sullen silence, so I decided to change the subject.

“Where have you been for the past decade?” I asked.

“In the world of the ibhunu,” he said. In the Zulu language, calling a white man ibhunu is like calling a black man nigger in English.

“There are very few white men left here,” I said. “Where did you go?”

“Europe,” he said. “Then America. Then further afield.”

“How much farther can you go than America?” I asked.

“Just as there is a world beyond South Africa, there is a solar system beyond the world, and a galaxy beyond the solar system.”

“You’ve been out there?” I asked, impressed.

“I spent four years in the American Space Fleet,” he replied.

“Did you see action against…against whatever they were, those things that attacked our colonies on Io and Ganymede?”

He nodded. “They had technology that was far superior to ours. Of course, we have it now.”

“How did you defeat them?” I asked. “I know that for a year all the news coming from the front was bad, and then one day it was over and we were victorious.”

“They were fools,” he said, a look of contempt on his face. “They sent a signal asking for more munitions. We tracked the signal and wiped out their home world. Their remaining ships surrendered.”

“Where was their home world?” I asked. “Most of the experts thought it must circle Centauri.”

“It was the sixth planet circling Wolf 359,” he answered.

I frowned. “That can’t be. Wolf is a Class M star. Nothing can live in orbit around a Class M star.”

“Nothing does now,” he said meaningfully. “You should not be so quick to believe European and American astronomers. What we killed would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. You should be grateful such things can’t evolve on a Class G star.”

“Did they give you nightmares?” I asked.

He looked almost amused. “I am not like you,” he said.

It wouldn’t be long before I learned just how unlike me he was.

When he was a child, he always found a way to get what he wanted. He never cried, never screamed, never threatened—but somehow things would always work out for him. His methods were subtle. The children who stood in his way never showed up cowed or beaten…but twice they never showed up again at all.

Robert told me that his opponent for the office he wanted was Hector ole Kunene, a nondescript little civil servant who was being given the job as payment for his loyalty to the party over the years. Both sides agreed that he deserved the office, and he was running unopposed.

“Will you run as an independent, then?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I have a party.”

“Oh?”

“The Zulu Party.”

I frowned. “There is no Zulu Party,” I said.

“There is now.”

“Shall I assume you are its only member?” I asked with a smile.

“You would be mistaken,” he said seriously. “You are also a member.”

“I am?” I said, surprised.

He nodded. “I must repay you for the generosity you have shown me tonight,” he said. “You will come to Ulundi with me and be my assistant.”

“I have a job and a home right here.”

“Leave them,” he said with a look of contempt. “Come with me and you shall be rewarded beyond your expectations.”

“I am happy where I am,” I said. “I love the children I teach, and Ulundi is a crowded, filthy, dangerous city.”

That amused smile again. “Do you think Ulundi is my destination? It is merely a brief stop along the way, nothing more.”

“Pretoria?” I asked, amazed at his raw ambition.

“Soon.”

“And beyond that?”

“We shall see.”

“Every twenty years or so someone envisions himself as the new Shaka,” I said. “Yet thirty-five million Zulus are still living in Natal Province, and we are still without power of any kind—military, political, or economic. Why should anyone believe you are the One we have been waiting for?”

“I do not claim to be anyone’s reincarnation,” he said. “And as a Zulu, you should know that his name was Tchaka, not Shaka, which is the Europeans’ corruption of it.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I persisted. “Why should we believe in you? What have you done thus far to inspire confidence?”

“I am just beginning,” he said.

“And have accomplished nothing.”

He reached into a pocket and tossed something to me. “Here is the nothing I have accomplished.”

They were medals. More to the point, they included three of the highest medals the American Space Fleet had to offer.

“This is very impressive,” I said. “I had no idea. We heard nothing of this here in Natal.”

“It was nothing,” he said. “I could fight or I could die. I chose not to die. But it will impress the voters, who have always been more concerned with bravery than accomplishment.”

“Winning these medals was a major accomplishment,” I corrected him. “A splendid one.”

“Well,” he said, “let us hope the public is as easily beguiled by them as you are.”

“These three,” I said, indicating the three medals for Outstanding Bravery. “What particular actions were they for?”