Rafael sat beside Tom near Gate 27, a coffee in his hand, though he hadn’t touched it in a while. His flight wasn’t until tomorrow, but he had come to see Tom off.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves of travelers flow past. For once, neither was in a hurry.
Tom shifted in his seat. “So... I’ve been thinking,” he said, not looking over. “You really believe a society can be both free and fair?”
Rafael smiled faintly. “I do.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “But aren’t those opposites? When you try to level everything, you end up taking away choice.”
“You’re not wrong,” Rafael said. “Absolute freedom is just a fancy word for anarchy. It’s unfair by design—the strongest win, the weakest disappear. And forced fairness?” He shook his head. “That’s how good ideas rot into total control. When fairness is forced, freedom disappears. When freedom is unlimited, fairness does.”
Tom was quiet a moment. “So... what do you do then? Pick your poison?”
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Rafael leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What if you stop balancing along that flat line entirely?”
Tom turned toward him, puzzled.
“We added another axis. A third dimension,” Rafael said. “Mosaic doesn’t grow by profit. It grows through contribution—by how much you lift others. That’s our currency.”
He gestured lightly toward the crowd beyond the glass. “You’re free to live how you choose. But the better you contribute—the more people your actions uplift—the more doors open for you. Not as dominance. As appreciation.”
“So,” Tom said, “you’re saying people who work hard still earn more?”
“Of course,” Rafael replied. “Just not ten thousand times more. Maybe two. Maybe five.”
Tom gave a crooked smile. “That feels fair, actually. Like… if the base is good, and the gap stays human.”
Rafael nodded. “Exactly. Most people live well. But if someone pushes—they get more. Because they earned it. Not because they grabbed it.”
Tom leaned back in his chair, looking out over the terminal.
“You know,” he said, “I still can’t stop thinking about that kid in the park—the one with the law book.”
Rafael’s face softened, as he was listening to the story of the young man. “There’s a place for him in Mosaic, if he wants it. We’ll cover everything. Travel, housing, training. We value talent.”
Tom nodded slowly. “I’ll pass along your contact. I think he’d be into it.”
Rafael hesitated, then asked, “And what about you?”
Tom chuckled. “I’m staying put. The U.S. isn’t perfect, but it’s my home. I’ve still got work to do here.”
He paused. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing your place someday. Might be good to know what the future could look like.”
Rafael smiled. “Fair enough.”
A voice crackled over the speaker: Final boarding call for Flight 82 to Columbus.
Tom stood and grabbed his bag. He turned once more. “Take care of yourself, man.”
“And you,” Rafael said with a smile.