The six travelers continued south to Egotopia, the wholly owned private municipality of the Uber-Titan Tuskboar.
En route, Professor B explained that, on that fateful night in the desert, instant death had been averted by a sandy depression beneath the truck that rolled over onto him. Though his lower spine was crushed, heroic EMTs saved his life. After extensive rehabilitation, social services connected him with Leviathan AgroPlex, Inc., and the job opportunity at the fruit and vegetable stand where they had found him. Professor B expressed his undying gratitude for his rescue, his delight to meet new friends, and great joy to see both his beloved students Kandude and Cardoshia alive and well.
Arriving at the gates of Egotopia, the travelers were met by polite guards who asked for their ID and inquired of their business. After a quick phone call, the security captain took retinal scans of each visitor, issued picture ID cards, and made them sign non-disclosure agreements prohibiting them from ever revealing anything they saw, heard or experienced during the visit.
They were given an information packet that explained that Egotopia was an autonomous jurisdiction, and that within its boundaries no federal, state or local authorities applied. Scanning the packet quickly, Morton asked the captain how such extralegal status could be possible, but the captain simply raised his eyes skyward and smiled.
An escort vehicle led them through an expansive grid of modest, cookie-cutter homes. Working from the center out, assembly line style crews were erecting what appeared to be hundreds of homes. At one circular intersection there was a massive, casually roped off hole in the ground, but no indication of its purpose. There were no informational or “for sale” signs anywhere.
They arrived at a very small house with what appeared to be a fusion-powered titanium SWAT assault vehicle parked in the driveway. The escort walked directly up to the front entry, opened the door and waved the six travelers in.
There, in front of a giant white board covered with elaborate drawings, complicated formulas, and technical terminology, stood the Great Man. He did not acknowledge their entrance. However, two attractive assistants welcomed them and offered them seats at a large table.
Atop the table was a diorama of the planned municipality of Egotopia. It showed rows of houses, playgrounds, surveillance towers, company stores, and a large network of subsurface tunnels with tiny model cars zooming around at high speeds.
There were no pictures or items of personal significance in the small living room. When the assistants brought them drinks, Kandude could see there was nothing in the refrigerator except Diet Coke. He did notice several real estate flyers advertising multi-million-dollar mega mansions on the kitchen counter.
The Great Man finally turned from the white board and scanned his visitors, exhibiting no sign of recognition or interest. That is, until his eyes lit on Cardoshia, at which time his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared.
All save the Old Woman were a bit nonplussed by this rather gelid encounter. The Old Woman, surprised by nothing that men do, stepped forward, and said in a melodious voice, “I have brought you something of importance from the First Oil Baron of Ft. Worth, the Potentate of the Permian, the Sultan of Shale Oil, the Pharoah of Fracking.”
At this, the Great Tuskboar came to life. “Ah, a sense of humor!” said he. “I could use you in my Labor Relations Department, which at the moment has no staff since there is really nothing to do.”
He reached out and held open his hand, requiring the Old Woman to actually close the distance and hand him the ivory Chinese puzzle box. He put it in his pocket without thanking her.
Waving his hand across the diorama, the small living space, and the picture window toward the view of the neighborhood, he said, “You have entered the freest place in America. Here we have no regulations, no unions, no taxes, and no journalists.
“Here I am free,” he continued. “No material possessions, no rooms full of furniture, no labyrinthine mansion. Things are a burden to the soul, and I have renounced them. People who disagree with my transcendent genius are an impediment to sublime achievement, and I have renounced them. But I place exquisite value on the infinite variety of human expression. Indeed, free speech and expression of self are absolute rights which must never be trammeled, unless it is through a medium that I control or plan to control.”
The lovely personal assistants nodded affirmatively at these statements.
“At last! cried Professor B. “This is the best of all capitalistic worlds; a crucible of unfettered human potential; a wellspring of progress and prosperity, a paradise for Prometheus unbound!”
Philosopher Morton spoke up. “Mr. Tuskboar, are you saying that you have carved out an exempt enclave within the borders of the United States, in which you may do whatever you want, without regulation and accountability, and in which you are relieved of the tax obligations that any other American must pay to maintain governance, services, and civil order?”
The Great Tuskboar looked coldly at the little philosopher.
“I am not an ‘other American,’” he said. “It may be true that I have not yet fully cast off the yoke of unnecessary and wasteful regulation, which by definition infringes upon my freedom and curbs the limitless potential of my genius. But here within the boundaries of my own Egotopia I have negotiated exclusion from bureaucrats and their vexing harassment. I provide my own services and build what I want to the consummate specifications dictated by me alone. Egotopia neither pays nor levies taxes. Surrounding jurisdictions have nothing to complain about, for they grow fat on the transactions of the tens of thousands fortunate enough to work for me.”
“As for the supposed authorities, such as the U.S. government, who still impose unjust taxes and regulations on me, I say this: I may live in this country, but I am not of this country. The great producers, the rightful trustees of the planet’s riches, are citizens of a different empire, one without geographic boundaries or obsolete cultural loyalties. In this large and variegated world, there exist many regimes that are not California, and which are happy to enjoy the tenancy of my many parts.”
“Regarding the U.S. government’s efforts to take what is rightfully mine through the exercise of abusive tax authority, thereby essentially stealing my many gifts from future generations – I’m working on that with my good friend Tantor von Pyubengrabbler. Stop the steal!” He smirked, pleased with his own wit.
Kandude asked, “you said you have banished unions here in Egotopia, sir. Are your employees happy and well, and do they share your remarkable freedoms?”
“They are the most fortunate workers on the planet, young man,” said the Great Tuskboar. “Perhaps you could be one of them if you are significantly above average in intelligence, capable of absolute loyalty and obedience, willing to work in extremis every moment for 100+ hours a week, forswear any concerns about workplace hazards and viral illnesses, and have an infinite capacity for criticism and abuse.”
“You see,” continued the Great Tuskboar, “I am the first cause of opportunities to work on the most meaningful and exciting projects in the world. I am the Creator. I provide vision and exactitude. I procreate raison d’etre each and every day. In return, all that I ask is that my people dedicate every fiber of their being to the achievement of my goals at any cost. These are my ideas, my projects, my factories and my properties. Without me, there is nothing. I have no time for whiners, slackers, unionists, dissidents, leftists, immigrants who don’t qualify for an O-1A visa and won’t sign a highly restrictive employment contract with me, and the millions of people who cast fraudulent votes for Marxists and liberal sympathizers. If one doesn’t want to do The Great Work, one may go elsewhere and be damned.”
Cardoshia, who invariably avoided politics, analytical dialogue, and conflict, timidly spoke up. “Mr. Tuskboar, you are clearly the most brilliant industrialist in the history of the planet. My father, a devotee of Ayn Rand and formerly a billionaire, always spoke highly of you.”
Kellon Tuskboar, who until now gave soliloquy without concern for the reactions or thoughts of his audience, suddenly paid close attention to the very demure, very mindful Cardoshia, whose person contained many charms.
“Would you not, dear sir, get more productivity, imagination, and loyalty from your employees if you treated them with dignity and respect, rather than as tools of production?” she inquired.
The Great Tuskboar reddened and swelled like giant puff adder. “When a prime mover, an apex capitalist, a superior man, sends a spaceship to Uranus, does he trouble his head with whether the mice on board are at their ease or not? You question my omnipotence? You challenge my infallibility?”
The Great Tuskboar bared his teeth, shook his head, and made a guttural grunting sound. “I am a free speech absolutist!” he snorted. “You, like anybody else on the planet, can say anything you want, a right I will defend with my wealth, my power, and my life. Except when you say something I don’t like when you are in my private municipality, on my monopolistic and arbitrary communication platforms, or within reach of my global surveillance systems. Or when in any of my continuously monitored fusion-powered SWAT vehicles, or in the offices of corporations that I own, or in countries that I have purchased anywhere on the planet.”
The Great Tuskboar was now almost gasping with anger in fearsome contrast to his earlier wry and insouciant demeanor. He glowered at Cardoshia.
“I am ordering all of your personal devices disabled and their data assimilated, you luscious but treacherous harpy, as well as those of your companions. This order is being implemented instantly even as I utter the words, because most of the electronic instruments on the planet are actually my own private Alexas, only way smarter and attuned to my every command 24/7. I am putting you all on my personal blacklist, which I will merge with my good friend Tantor von Pyubengrabbler’s blacklist in due time.”
He pointed at the group of friends, his eyes snapping. “Off with you! And be grateful that my good friend Tantor and I have not quite yet forged the perfect and beautiful order of tomorrow, in which foolish and inferior subversives will swiftly get the fates they deserve. As for you, impertinent but bodacious mademoiselle, I will give you a child and will protect your friends with my life, should you ever, repentant and inflamed with desire, come to recognize me for who I am.”
The six friends were swiftly escorted out of Egotopia. At loose ends, they made their way to the interstate and stopped at the Flying Q for refreshment and consultation.
CHAPTER XXV. A CRITICAL DECISION POINT AND DIVERGENT EXCURSIONS