On Mars' Olympus Mons, William was processing the rubies when he heard Sunday's report about some Americans plotting against him out of fear of his spacecraft's capabilities. Feeling smug, he reflected on how his efforts to stir tensions between the Americans and England were finally bearing fruit.
But then Sunday relayed Lena and Abby's idea about turning gold into coins, leaving William momentarily stunned. He hadn't considered that option before.
As he mulled it over, he quickly realized it was an excellent idea.
Centuries later, as long as gold remained a precious metal, regardless of societal changes or how history judged him, his legacy as a grand duke would endure through those coins.
This thought made William feel that even if the coins ended up gathering dust in his castle basement, it would be no different than gold bars sitting idly in a vault.
After all, once survival is secured, the essence of life boils down to fame and fortune. And before death, many desire to leave a mark on the world.
That's why ancient emperors placed so much importance on their legacies. Some even went as far as choosing infamy over obscurity, striving to leave their mark, no matter the cost.
Fortunately, unlike in Asia, where only emperors had the privilege of putting their era names on currency, Europe allowed nobility more leeway.
As a hereditary grand duke, William had every right to mint coins bearing his likeness. While public circulation might be out of the question, using them as commemorative coins or as a store of value was entirely feasible.
Even if the coins were used in private transactions, as long as they weren't counterfeit and the other party accepted them, no one would object.
At this point, the value of this gold went beyond money. Even England's King Philip would likely pay double the price for a ton of Martian gold just to mint his own coins.
No monarch could resist leaving their imprint on history.
Smiling at the live broadcast feed, William said, "After some thought, I realized the World Children's Fund is not a commercial institution. If gold prices were to drop, it might cause unnecessary trouble for the organization.
"So, someone from the fund must be watching the broadcast, right?"
For an organization keeping tabs on someone who had just pledged ten tons of gold, not watching William's every move would have been unthinkable.
As speculation grew that William might switch to a cash donation, he continued, "I'll give you two options: I can donate $200 million in cash, or you can take ten tons of Martian gold."
William asked this because if the gold turned out to be worth less than $200 million, people would praise his generosity. But if he proceeded to mint coins with the gold, their value could far exceed $200 million. In that case, even if he donated the gold, critics would accuse him of taking advantage of the fund.
Fortunately, while there were plenty of clever people, as William pointed out, the fund was not a commercial organization.
Even if some staff understood the potential value of Martian gold products, creating and selling such items would conflict with their nonprofit mission, ultimately causing more harm than good.
The reputational damage alone could hinder their work in the long run.
And with William, a donor who had already contributed nearly £700 million, emphasizing the nonprofit nature of the organization, they had to tread carefully.
Weighing the pros and cons, the fund's leadership quickly reached a consensus: if they couldn't profit from the gold themselves, they might as well support William's intentions, hoping to secure his continued goodwill and future donations.
The fund promptly held a press conference to thank William for his generosity and to clarify that, as a nonprofit organization, they couldn't profit from the first batch of Martian gold brought back to Earth. Therefore, they would only accept cash donations.
Among the attending journalists, some astutely asked how the gold could be used for profit.
However, no one from the fund directly answered such questions.
Firstly, they had no insight into William's plans. Secondly, speculation often sparks more public interest than explicit statements. National discussions were a rare and valuable form of free publicity.
Back on Olympus Mons, William, still searching for rubies, heard Sunday's report about the fund's press conference and paused, smirking. Clearly, the world wasn't short on sharp minds.
He didn't immediately respond, pretending to be unaware, and continued searching. He wanted to give Earth's media more time to spread the news and amplify its reach.
After nearly an hour, he grew bored of ruby hunting. Though he outwardly appeared to continue searching, his true focus shifted to finding suitable volcanic rock for storing ash.
Mars was, after all, entirely his domain. Having already found a nest of rubies to serve as a publicity stunt, he had little patience to keep searching.
Too much of a good thing diminishes its value.
Besides, he had plenty of time to spend on Mars.
Descending about two kilometers from the summit to the edge of a cliff, William spotted a cluster of volcanic rocks. Smiling at the live broadcast feed, he said, "Looks like my luck has run out today.
"Let's make use of these volcanic rocks to craft forty pots for growing potatoes, so the ash doesn't create a mess inside the spacecraft."
He then used the laser on his armor to cut forty small rectangular pots, each about the size of a carry-on suitcase, from the volcanic rocks. The process took a considerable amount of time.
"Alright, now that the containers are ready, the next step is to find geothermal soil for planting. Fortunately, volcanic ash is ideal for plant growth, sparing me the trouble of using human waste as fertilizer. Otherwise, I might never muster the courage to eat those potatoes later."
Viewers with farming experience immediately understood what "human waste" referred to.
Though they couldn't see William handling his "personal contributions," the thought itself would have been hilariously revolting, likely dominating headlines with grotesque titles.
After transporting all the pots back to the spacecraft, William piloted it to a geothermal area midway up Olympus Mons. There, he began shoveling soft volcanic ash into the pots and ferrying them back to the ship.
Several hours later, while continuing his task and chatting with viewers, William estimated that the past five or six hours had been enough time for Earth's media to thoroughly discuss the gold.
When Sunday reported that many TV guests had already suggested minting coins and that numerous viewers had expressed interest in collecting them, William sped up, quickly filling the last few pots.
Returning to the spacecraft, he cleaned the dust off his armor in the decontamination chamber, entered the cockpit, and opened communications with the London Space Center.
He then listened as they relayed the fund's decision.
Feigning surprise, he smiled at the live broadcast feed and said, "Does this count as good karma coming back to me?"
"Good karma, my foot," muttered several journalists, rolling their eyes. This statement might fool children, but no one else.
Everyone knew that if William hadn't already planned to mint coins, he wouldn't have been so eager to offer cash instead.
As for the fund's refusal to accept gold, what could anyone do about that?
In the end, the fund would still be praised in the papers for having principled management.
(End of Chapter)
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