have counted for something.
I purchased a large tract of land in New Mexico, miles to a side, had the land quickly surveyed, and ordered plans drawn up at once. Designs were debated, considered and rejected. A revolutionary waste reclamation system was developed solely for the project, and a previously unexplored energy source perfected and quickly applied to the needs of the city. Construction began just two years after the project’s inception, and continued day and night for two more years. I rested little until the city was complete, and expected the same dedication from each of those in my employ, from the highest-paid functionary to the menial laborer. All who could not meet my expectations were politely dismissed and immediately replaced.
By the time the work was done and the finishing touches completed, I’d bled dry the money my family had for so many generations hoarded. With barely enough left to support myself, I threw wide the gates of the city and settled back to watch.
I was the first inhabitant of what I’d come to call Haven. Many others joined me. Everyone who’d had any part in the city’s construction was invited first. Some resisted, sure they’d be unable to afford to live in such a paradise. The bright gleaming skyline, the carefully manicured parks, the wide, clean avenues. They thought it a playground for the rich, an exclusive retreat for those able to afford unattainable luxury.
When I announced that anyone that wished to could live in the city for free, that I expected no payment, no rent, the graceful townhouses began to fill. When I announced that no citizen would be forced to work, that they’d be fed and clothed regardless and could work only if they wished, the neat apartments in the shining towers became homes.
Soon, the city was alive, peopled by the homeless and hungry, individuals unable to work, families without food for their children. I welcomed them all. I had no screening process, no careful selection. Any and all could live in my city, as long as they did no harm to anyone else there.
At first petty theft was a problem, more out of habit than anything else. When the citizens realized that their every need was provided for, though, crime became virtually unknown.
Food was reconstituted from waste, water purified by huge processing plants. Energy in abundance was ours from the completely efficient and clean breeder reactors at the city’s perimeter. People saw work as a diversion, not a burden, filling every needed position, and the arts thrived as citizens started making full use of their abundant free time.
As the unofficial mayor of the city, I surveyed the growing prosperity from my penthouse suite in the center of the downtown area with a sense of pride. I myself found relaxation tending a garden daily in the city’s main park, marveling at the blisters and scratches on my fair hands. I made a friend of as many citizens as I could, and busied myself every week with the preparations for the parties I held in my home on Saturdays.
It was at one of these gatherings that I met Raymond. An artist with a master’s degree in fine arts, Raymond had spent the last ten years of his life on the street, subsisting entirely on charity and pity. Moving from one town to the next, he slept on rude cots at the Salvation Army, and ate hand-outs or scraps or not at all. Raymond had been one of the first to move into Haven, and was one of the most benefited by its existence. The works he’d produced since settling there were magnificent, staggering, and improved with each successive attempt.
We became fast friends in the months that followed, and rare was the day that passed in which we did not sit long hours discussing religion, politics, and the arts. Raymond introduced me to life, to real life, something I had before known only as an acquaintance.
It was fitting, then, that he was by my side when first I heard the news.
A secretary in charge of communication with the outside
I purchased a large tract of land in New Mexico, miles to a side, had the land quickly surveyed, and ordered plans drawn up at once. Designs were debated, considered and rejected. A revolutionary waste reclamation system was developed solely for the project, and a previously unexplored energy source perfected and quickly applied to the needs of the city. Construction began just two years after the project’s inception, and continued day and night for two more years. I rested little until the city was complete, and expected the same dedication from each of those in my employ, from the highest-paid functionary to the menial laborer. All who could not meet my expectations were politely dismissed and immediately replaced.
By the time the work was done and the finishing touches completed, I’d bled dry the money my family had for so many generations hoarded. With barely enough left to support myself, I threw wide the gates of the city and settled back to watch.
I was the first inhabitant of what I’d come to call Haven. Many others joined me. Everyone who’d had any part in the city’s construction was invited first. Some resisted, sure they’d be unable to afford to live in such a paradise. The bright gleaming skyline, the carefully manicured parks, the wide, clean avenues. They thought it a playground for the rich, an exclusive retreat for those able to afford unattainable luxury.
When I announced that anyone that wished to could live in the city for free, that I expected no payment, no rent, the graceful townhouses began to fill. When I announced that no citizen would be forced to work, that they’d be fed and clothed regardless and could work only if they wished, the neat apartments in the shining towers became homes.
Soon, the city was alive, peopled by the homeless and hungry, individuals unable to work, families without food for their children. I welcomed them all. I had no screening process, no careful selection. Any and all could live in my city, as long as they did no harm to anyone else there.
At first petty theft was a problem, more out of habit than anything else. When the citizens realized that their every need was provided for, though, crime became virtually unknown.
Food was reconstituted from waste, water purified by huge processing plants. Energy in abundance was ours from the completely efficient and clean breeder reactors at the city’s perimeter. People saw work as a diversion, not a burden, filling every needed position, and the arts thrived as citizens started making full use of their abundant free time.
As the unofficial mayor of the city, I surveyed the growing prosperity from my penthouse suite in the center of the downtown area with a sense of pride. I myself found relaxation tending a garden daily in the city’s main park, marveling at the blisters and scratches on my fair hands. I made a friend of as many citizens as I could, and busied myself every week with the preparations for the parties I held in my home on Saturdays.
It was at one of these gatherings that I met Raymond. An artist with a master’s degree in fine arts, Raymond had spent the last ten years of his life on the street, subsisting entirely on charity and pity. Moving from one town to the next, he slept on rude cots at the Salvation Army, and ate hand-outs or scraps or not at all. Raymond had been one of the first to move into Haven, and was one of the most benefited by its existence. The works he’d produced since settling there were magnificent, staggering, and improved with each successive attempt.
We became fast friends in the months that followed, and rare was the day that passed in which we did not sit long hours discussing religion, politics, and the arts. Raymond introduced me to life, to real life, something I had before known only as an acquaintance.
It was fitting, then, that he was by my side when first I heard the news.
A secretary in charge of communication with the outside
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