Carrying the metal case, William didn't bother with theatrics and opened it directly. Suddenly, two slender, one-meter-tall robots appeared before billions of viewers worldwide.
"Haha, how about that?" William grinned, introducing the robots. "I told you all before that I was working on robotics and had made considerable progress. Now you see I wasn't lying!"
As William proudly displayed the robots, audiences everywhere were both thrilled and uneasy. Many were excited, while others began to feel anxious—even fearful.
Two months ago, when William mentioned the possibility of mass-producing robots, various TV programs had invited experts and everyday people to discuss the potential impacts. The general consensus was that robots replacing human labor was an unstoppable trend, especially in labor-intensive and hazardous industries.
Many understood that widespread automation would likely lead to mass unemployment. At that moment, millions of viewers watched with growing concern as William tapped a few buttons on his armored left arm. A holographic screen appeared mid-air.
"Connecting to the experimental robots," he announced.
"Connection established, Mr. Devonshire," replied the system.
Moments later, holographic images of the two robots appeared on the screen. William tapped a few more controls, and the robots' eyes glowed with a soft blue light. Their bodies lit up with blue circuitry as they powered on.
"System initialization complete," a synthesized voice announced. The robots sat up from the case, stood on the ground, and scanned their surroundings before locking onto William.
"Awaiting your orders, Mr. William Devonshire," they said in unison.
"Excellent!" William chuckled, walking in a circle around the robots. He gave them simple commands to walk, jump, and lift objects. Then, holding the livestream drone, he asked the audience, "So, what do you think of these little guys?"
Responses flooded in immediately. There were compliments, admiration, and envy, but also a fair share of complaints and angry rants from those worried about losing their jobs.
Feigning exasperation, William covered his ears and listened as Sunday relayed the audience's reactions. His face darkened for a moment before he sighed and said, "Relax, everyone. Who am I? I'm William Devonshire. I don't need to take your jobs.
These robots are for my personal use. I have no interest in labor-intensive industries or in negotiating employment policies with different countries. Making money by catering to the wealthy is easier and more straightforward."
Pausing for effect, he added, "There are plenty of people willing to pay millions just for a trip to space. Imagine if I started a space travel company and charged ten million dollars per trip to Mars. Do you think anyone would sign up?"
Hearing this, many viewers felt reassured. William's promise not to compete with regular workers for their livelihoods earned him a surge of goodwill. After all, media outlets had previously reported stories about wealthy individuals spending millions on space tourism.
But just as some began to see hope in the idea, William suddenly shook his head and said, "No, never mind."
He pointed to his advanced spacesuit. "You see this Mark IV spacesuit I'm wearing? Each one costs over a hundred million dollars to make. If I wanted to outfit ten people, that's over a billion-dollar investment."
Even as he explained, William had to suppress a grin. He knew that Sunday could manufacture the suit for just a few million dollars. If sold on the market, however, it would easily fetch over a billion from any nation desperate to reverse-engineer it.
Starting a space tourism business was tempting, but William was reminded of a significant problem: the gold in this canyon was a staged discovery.
If ordinary people came and noticed inconsistencies, the whole scheme could unravel. Deciding it wasn't worth the risk, he continued, "To break even, I'd need to host at least 200 tourists over several years. That involves too much legal red tape, insurance, and taxes. It's just not worth the hassle. I'd rather focus on other projects that can make even more money."
His dismissal of what others saw as a golden opportunity caused widespread frustration.
People across the world silently cursed him. "A business that could earn billions in pure profit within a few years—and he's brushing it off because it's 'too much trouble'?!"
At that moment, countless viewers found themselves fantasizing. "If only I were related to William Devonshire… Just think! If I were his brother or sister, I could inherit this entire business!"
Unfortunately, such dreams remained just that—dreams. However, one young man who did have a legitimate connection to William was currently on the verge of being driven insane by his persistent aunt.
Chen Qin Feng was fifteen years old and frustrated beyond words. His aunt had been nagging him endlessly about why he hadn't gone to London yet.
"I should just leave town for a while… Maybe go traveling and escape all this," he thought irritably.
Watching the livestream on his computer, Qin Feng sighed in frustration. His half-brother, whom he had only met virtually once over two years ago, hadn't contacted him since. While his life had improved in certain ways—thanks to occasional training sessions arranged by someone named "Brother Jack"—William himself seemed uninterested in keeping in touch.
The thought made Qin Feng feel even more discontented. Ignoring his aunt's protests, he slammed his laptop shut.
Meanwhile, back on Mars, William was blissfully unaware that his distant relative was currently cursing his name. Even if he knew, he wouldn't have cared much. Beyond ensuring Qin Feng's safety, William had no interest in dealing with family drama.
Commanding the two small robots to haul the gold-sifting equipment out of the ship, William stepped outside to see Nissa lounging on a bed of golden sand. She flashed a peace sign as Selina snapped photos of her using her suit's camera.
The scene stirred jealousy and resentment among viewers. For them, this was pure agony—a vision of untouchable luxury.
Realizing how provocative the scene might appear, William quickly shifted the drone's camera away from Nissa. Though he didn't mind her antics, he knew that lingering on this moment would spark a media frenzy. Tomorrow's headlines would likely feature photos of Nissa reclining on a "Martian gold mine," with commentators eagerly criticizing their excesses.
He placed the gold-extraction machine about ten meters from the ship and powered it on. The device roared to life with a deafening hum, generating a powerful suction that began pulling in the iron-rich sand and separating it from the golden particles beneath.
As the ground was cleared, the unmistakable gleam of gold appeared, and the world's attention was immediately transfixed once more.
(End of Chapter)
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