The Free City

by Marius Pitigoi

  The Free City

  Marius Pitigoi

  Published by Marius Pitigoi at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2016 by Marius Pitigoi

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover designed by Creative Branch (http://www.creativebranch.ro/)

  Edited by Eloquent Edits, llc (http://www.eloquentedits.com/)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About Marius Pitigoi

  Prologue

  Both Dylan and Lydia were senators. Come to think of it, the title of senator was a rather honorary one, since anyone could obtain it if they wanted to and if they had been well off enough to be able to pay the fees related to it. Now, in 2177, it was no longer possible for representatives to be designated to make decisions on one’s behalf. The former democracy had functioned until the twenty-first century because no other technical methods to replace it existed back then. Organizing a referendum required investing in many resources, human as well as material. With the latest development in the field of information technology, the vote was just a click away. There was no need for intermediaries anymore. Any regulation was now a referendum.

  The main topic brought to the public opinion was Garry King’s proposal to establish a new special area in New Hope—the city where there were no laws—exclusively dedicated to those who went there willingly. The electorate was divided into two parties: the conservative one, who opposed the proposal; and the progressive one, who supported it. Dylan was part of the latter. He had met Lydia about ten weeks ago, and, since she was undecided, he had been trying to persuade her to come over to his side. Dylan produced a small portable device that could also have been used as a 3-D projector. The image of a tall man, wearing an elegant suit, walking up and down in a room that belonged to the government came into sight. It was the kind of directed and recorded discourse that served as means of propaganda.

  Maybe few of you still remember how it all began. Let’s not forget that more than fifty years ago there were many who had their doubts about the project. Among them were some who saw punishment as the best solution to a crime. It was believed that punishment was the means through which an offender paid his debts to society. Without the fear of punishment, what deterrent does one have not to harm others? The answer has been with us since the time of Antiquity, and put in use by the Roman emperor Augustus against Ovid. It’s the exile. Society at large doesn’t care if the one who stole is sentenced to five years in prison, if the one who raped to seven years, or if the one who committed a murder is sentenced to twenty-five years or even to life. What is important for society is that certain crimes do not happen again, and if they do, the ones who make harm must not be able to repeat them. It is assumed that everyone is innocent until proven otherwise. But once anyone is proven to be an offender, he must prove he has changed before he is accepted by society again. That can take time—more or less—depending on the individual. For someone who stole $100 it could take one to twenty-five years. The same stands for a murderer. The duration of the reintegration varies from person to person.

  All this time the individual must live. And live as normally as possible. He is still a human being. He still has rights. If he were imprisoned, would he rehabilitate faster? No. Imprisonment was, in fact, a punishment in the past. It was also a way to ensure that during his rehabilitation he would not commit other crimes. It was a kind of exile, except that it took place in a hostile environment—an environment in which most of his human rights were ignored. Very well, some would say, let him be secluded, in order to have time to think about his deeds. I wonder if the human brain indeed responds this way. If we stay somewhere, isolated, would we automatically turn into a better person? Or, in fact, by isolating him in a prison, do we actually want to punish him for what he did? If the answer is negative and we don’t want to punish, but rather rehabilitate, then why keep him isolated and not send him somewhere where he would be relatively free, but far from civilization? And when he is truly rehabilitated, he will be able to return to the city he had to leave.

  Okay, but why a city without laws?

  First of all, it shouldn’t be an ordinary place. If so, anyone who commits a crime would believe that the worst that could happen would to be sent away. The fear of consequences is one of the most important outcomes stopping us from turning into beasts. Now, what happens if these people commit a crime in the city they were sent away to? Where should they go now? The answer is that they will not be sent anywhere. They will remain there. Does that mean that a cold-blooded killer will do whatever he pleases, as long as nobody takes any action against him? We must make a distinction. Those who commit murders are usually psychopaths, people who suffer from psychiatric disorders. Their place would not be in prison but in a hospital. They should not be discharged until they are cured. That school of thought shall remain the same from now on.

  On the other hand, in this special area, there must be a balance between the weakest and the strongest, between men and women. We should find a way to prevent brutal force from weighing in so much. This balance can be achieved if everyone is allowed to carry a gun—a pistol. It shouldn’t be a lethal gun, but one that scares off an aggressor. A Taser that paralyzes one for a few minutes—so that a potential victim could get away, if necessary. If that simple Taser managed to balance the aggressor of forces, what would happen if more people organized and attacked him? This is exactly where the authorities would intervene. Don’t forget that we are at the end of the twenty-second century. The monitoring of streets or other public places is very common nowadays. Surveillance cameras are placed everywhere, if…

  “This is so boring! Why does he feel the need to remind us of all that? We already know this. Why is he avoiding the subject?”

  “This is the typical style of politicians. The more they talk, the more interesting they think they are.”

  “Don’t you find it suspicious that he who is already the governor of New Hope would pitch this kind of law?”

  “No, on the contrary. He knows the situation there best.”

  “He didn’t manage to convince me.”

  “Wait, just let him finish. He’ll get to the important part.”

  “I, for one, prefer downright people. People who speak their minds.”

  “So you were saying you like downright people? Then how about you kiss me?”

  Lydia smiled. “I thought you’d never ask!”

  Even if Garry King’s discourse in the background was no longer of interest to the pair, he continued on:

  The death penalty. Why had it been abolished everywhere in the world? The question was what would society gain from killing a murderer? They get rid of him, would be the answer. The murderer would never be able to do any harm to anybody again. Moreover, the victim’s descendants would be content. It would also serve
as an example for those who’d be likely to do such deeds. But this very reasoning—killing for a purpose—has been used by terrorists against us. If people could kill because they thought it was the right thing to do—well, they could claim that the gods themselves asked them to commit a murder. How could one possibly argue against such reasoning? By saying that gods don’t exist? They do for those who believe. Then what? How could we fight terrorism when our “advanced” society itself encourages murder?

  In order to discourage any kind of violence, society needs to understand that there’s no reason AT ALL for which one should knowingly condemn anybody to a death sentence. He may continue to believe in his gods, but here, on earth, he will not find anyone to kill for a cause, no matter what the cause.

  But what about the murderers? Society must somehow be protected from them. It’s conceivable that he who committed a murder will do it again. Yes, the murderers must be isolated. In New Hope.

  In the end, a large majority was polled and the proposal became a law. A new section destined exclusively for the rich started to be built in New Hope. The architects fenced it with an artificial lake and named it “The Island of the Rich.” It was the ideal place for those with substantial financial resources. The parties were countless. Since it was part of New Hope, it had no laws. Of course, minors were not allowed.

  Lydia thought it would be very dangerous to live in an area so close to convicted criminals, but sill voted ”yes” on the referendum.

  Chapter 1

  Dylan Smith had been good at math in school, which was probably why he liked the Rebound game. Its beauty lay in the fact that it had a compensation system, so that whoever received the best cards at the beginning of the game lost on points. He thought he could apply the probability theory. He also thought that understanding some mathematic formulas would offer him a significant advantage over the rest of the players. Especially against Tyler Hall, who didn’t even go to college.

  Tyler Hall was the kind of guy who was always seeking to have fun, who didn’t expect too much from life, and was always helped by parents or relatives. “Seize the day,” he said sometimes when Dylan had to refuse a game of Rebound because of his job or because of his postgraduate studies. “What’s the point of graduating from college if after that you still have to sit for exams?” Once or twice, Dylan had tried to explain to him that college opens up other perspectives, that even a salary can reflect your education degree. Since Tyler Hall needn’t have to pay for either rent or food, this kind of argument cut no ice with him. He even seemed to derive some kind of abnormal pleasure watching others struggle for things he had for the whistling. ”Of course, if you don’t have stuff, you have to make an effort to get them,” he used to tell Dylan while looking down on him. ”But if I have stuff, what should I do? Deny what is mine?”

  Dylan had never envied him for this and least of all had never held any grudge against him. They knew each other ever since they were kids, so he tended to think of Tyler as a friend, although, when he talked to Lydia about him, he always did it in a glacial manner. “If you think he’s a loser, why are you friends with him?” she would ask.

  “We’re not such good friends. He’s rather a tool of mine. I use him to practice the game of Rebound.”

  That evening, Dylan came home after a run of bad luck. He had lost the last six or seven rounds. Tyler was, of course, exulted. “Come on, don’t be angry. Next time, I’ll let you win, I promise,” he told him while grinning. “I wonder if I’m really the best at this game. If I have the time, I am going to write a handbook about Rebound and I’ll give it to you for free. I know you’re badly off. Maybe this way you’ll also learn a thing or two.”

  It had to end. It simply wasn’t logical to lose so many times. Dylan dug his feet on this too much. He had been thinking all day long on a strategy that would not fail. He managed to leave work early. He asked Tyler Hall to come to his place at seven o’clock. Since Tyler wasn’t exactly busy, he agreed immediately. He knew Lydia wouldn’t be thrilled that Tyler Hall was coming over, but Dylan promised her he’d make up for it at the first opportunity.

  Since Lydia noticed Dylan was so anxious, she left him alone. She was going to watch a documentary or read something. Maybe she would come around to cast a look at them, but she thought she’d better just hang around in another room.

  Dylan had bought a bottle of wine for atmosphere. Everything had been set. This run of bad luck was going to end. At first, he kept his calm. He was watching everything soberly, planning his next move, but he always landed on the unlikeliest bit. It could happen this once, twice, but on and on? Did Tyler cheat? No, that couldn’t be the case. That was why he asked him to come to his place. Dylan had bought a new deck of cards and had given up on the device that dealt them automatically so that he could deal them himself. Still, he lost round after round and Tyler Hall was plainly expressing his satisfaction. He was like a peacock displaying his unfolded tail.

  “Let me know if you want me to ease it down.” As he heard Lydia going about in a closet in the next room, Tyler Hall shouted, “Girl, take care of Dylan. He may be a little upset after this round.”

  Dylan's frustration went from bad to worse. Above all, he couldn’t understand how it was possible that he kept losing. All his theories went up in smoke. After a very long row of defeats, he should have enjoyed a very long row of wins—except Tyler Hall wasn’t in the mood to play anymore. He’d gotten bored winning so many rounds; that had become obvious. It was getting late and he wanted to leave. Dylan, hopping mad and green with envy would have done anything just to play another round.

  “Didn’t I prove I’m the best already? You still don’t understand it, do you?” Tyler Hall told him while getting ready to grab his coat.

  Determined to take revenge, Dylan threw the strongest argument into the battle: “Unfortunately, you are a bad player, mediocre at best. You won just because we played without a stake. It wouldn’t have been as easy for you if we’d competed against each other in an official championship.”

  Tyler Hall fell for it almost instantly. “Are you saying that you want to play for money?”

  Dylan was not a fan of gambling. He thought lotteries were designed to keep hope alive for the fortuneless, for those without perspective, for the elders who felt their lives were wasted. But now the situation called for desperate measures.

  “I know you’re badly off,” said Dylan. “It wouldn’t be too kind of me to take the money your mummy and daddy gave you.”

  He had to make sure he provoked Tyler Hall enough to take the dare.

  “How much? Is one hundred enough?”

  Dylan hesitated. One hundred dollars was a fairly large sum. He had eaten all day with only ten. But he couldn’t draw off now. He had entered this game and had to go all the way in.

  “Sure, one hundred is not such a large amount of money for you. I just hope you won’t mind when I take it from you.”

  Tyler Hall threw his coat. “Come on, man, tip the shilling!”

  The first step had been made. Tyler Hall was back in the game. All Dylan had to do now was to apply the probability theory. But bad luck kept following him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He lost again and again. They went to the vending machine at the end of the street and bought another bottle of wine. In less than two hours, Dylan lost his computer, his car, and all the money in his account. He was now broke. He had nothing to put up at stake anymore. While Tyler Hall took delight in his victory, Dylan was staring off into space.

  “Some people can get rich so easily. I swear to God! Let’s take me as an example. Earlier this morning, I barely had money to go on a vacation. And now I have a car, money… I have everything I want.

  Dylan couldn’t find the strength to say a thing. What was he thinking when he chose to play this game? How was he going to tell Lydia? The computer…the car… the money… his life’s work went down the drain. In half a tick!

  “Well, buddy… to show you’re my friend…I’ll
give you another chance.”

  Was he for real? Did Tyler Hall not want to take everything away from Dylan? Or was this a bad joke? Maybe Dylan misjudged him. Maybe Tyler Hall was a true friend.

  “Let’s play another round…if you win, I’ll give you back everything you lost. If I win, you give me Lydia!”

  “What? How am I supposed to give Lydia to you? She’s not my property. In fact, she’s not a thing. She cannot be ‘given.’ Is that some kind of joke or what?”

  “Lydia is fierce. I bet she’s fierce in bed, too,” Tyler smirked. “You’ll tell her what happened and, of course, she’ll understand. Precisely because she cares about you. She won’t let you go broke!”

  Dylan’s first impulse was to punch him in the face. How could he think of something like this! She was his girlfriend… And to think he thought for a moment that Tyler Hall was a true friend!

  “Are you crazy? I’d rather die than tell her something like that.”

  “As you wish… I gave you another chance… you can’t say I didn’t try. I’m fine either way.”

  The game of Rebound started to disgust him. He didn’t feel like playing anymore or trying out any further strategies. To hell with the probability theory. To hell with Tyler Hall. He felt an almost primal desire to beat him. Not only was he a social pariah, but he was also a jerk. He had gone too far. That was it. Dylan stood up and grabbed him by the throat.

  “Listen up, you punk! We’ll play one more round. I am going to win and take back everything I’ve lost and then I’m going to forget I ever met you. You’re disgusting. I’m ashamed to know you. I’m ashamed of you.”

  Dylan’s reaction took his opponent by surprise. Tyler Hall was much taller than Dylan. He could mop the floor with him. Yet, the thought of putting Lydia at stake had dawned on him much earlier. He took his time imagining that he had won her, and that Dylan, forced by circumstances, had to accept the situation. He went even further. He imagined that Lydia enjoyed him so much that she’d call him after a while and ask to have sex again. She’d be the one to ask him for it.