furtl

by Strobe Witherspoon

  After about a week, Manny could stay conscious for hours at a time. A team of doctors came in and out of his bright white, minimally decorated room. There was only his bed in the middle of the room. No TV, no nurse station, and no other medical equipment.

  At that point, the nurses and doctors who visited him started to treat him with a little more compassion, Manny noted, which he assumed a function of their training, that they would treat even the dreaded Manny Kahn this way. He asked them several times what happened, what was happening, and they told him that he should focus on getting better, and what was going on outside of the hospital was not his concern.

  Occasionally he would hear shouting matches right outside his hospital room, and sometimes a person’s face would appear in the small glass window of the door to his room. These anguished faces looked, and their shouts sounded, like they had something important to tell Manny. And just like that their agitated face would disappear, yanked away by the numerous security guards outside Manny’s room.

  Manny saw slivers of these guards when the doctors came in and out of his room, but he couldn’t make sense of it. Were they making sure he didn’t escape? Were they protecting him from outside attackers? Were they preventing people from talking to him? The doctors were all mum on the subject, and Manny grew frustrated.

  After about his tenth visitor to the window, Manny decided to ask his caretakers what was happening again, and this time his pleas to the doctors were more lucid and direct. The doctors apologized and told him that he was getting better and that was all that mattered. He was, in fact, getting better. The stomach wound was healing up. The shards of glass and lead pellets were removed from his back, and he noted with some relief that he had movement in all of his limbs. He now managed to go entire days without pressing the painkiller delivery button propped right next to his shackled right hand.

  After ten days, an expressionless man in a suit entered Manny’s room. He unlocked Manny’s handcuffs as another suited and serious man wheeled in a large television and stopped it at the foot of his bed, turning it on and leaving the room along with the first man.

  For the next two hours, Manny was briefed by the Independent News Network (INN), a channel that did not exist before Manny’s email blast but that had been launched in response to the sudden, precipitous demise of the largest provider of news in the United States – furtl.

  Manny watched a montage of people from all over the country talking about where they were when they got the email.

  “At first I was like TLDR! I haven’t read an email that long in many months, but I’m glad I did. That was some bullshit…”

  “I was just finishing my second pint of cookies n’cream n’ bacon when I saw it and couldn’t believe my eyes…”

  “I was just commenting to my friend the other day how I thought something about America felt off…”

  Within a few days of his email blast, the news anchor told Manny, people took to the streets and there were demonstrations and sit-ins. The furtl empire that was built up over a generation came down almost overnight, the man in a neat blue suit and perfectly coiffed hair said.

  Manny’s heart rate increased as he watched the TV, and he moved from lying in his bed to sitting at the end of it. His legs dangled over the metal bars at the foot of the bed and the backs of his thighs stuck to them as he watched people across the country burning and defacing Libold’s electronic voting machines.

  The DCS force tried to stem the unrest, but even their extensive resources couldn’t quell the discontent emerging from almost all corners of American society. Their task became even more difficult after DCS headquarters were torched by an angry mob. The DCS became a pariah agency, the newsman reported, and politicians across the country began distancing themselves from all of their activity. Funding for their operation was cut off in an emergency meeting of Congress within the first week of nationwide unrest.

  Outrage over the voting-massage scandal could not be quelled. Conservatives and liberals and everyone in between realized something had to be done.

  Kurt Sturdoch was right. The American people had a threshold. A willingness to tolerate governmental dysfunction and manipulation. But that threshold was crossed after Manny’s email.

  Kurt, who was off the coast of Bermuda spearing baby Morningbird dolphins, felt pretty good after his plan to take down Fiona Mathis’s campaign succeeded, and his trip was a last-minute treat to himself. When he first heard about the email blast and its contents, he thought he could marginalize it. On this front, Kurt was wrong. “Journalistic integrity?” he shouted over his cell phone from the Spearhunter, his yacht. “Tell them to shut their mouths and stay away from this story. If they report it, they are going down.”

  Susie, on the other side of the call, was not as confident and told him they didn’t have enough media control to quash this story.

  “Other news organizations? That we don’t control? We’ll shut them down also,” Kurt said.

  Little did he know that the various zine producers and local news organizations that sprang up during the Mathis campaign were now coordinating their efforts, distributing information via their own network, the INN, and had the resources to avoid the DCS just long enough to mobilize the general public. And the state and local governments were in revolt as well. They held emergency meetings demanded by their constituencies, constituencies now intent on having their voices heard. A critical mass of anger was reached, and those in power were now in the minority, prisoners to the demands of the American people.

  Manny, fixated on the TV, watched a news segment that outlined furtl’s rapid fall from grace. It was horrifying and exhilarating. He learned about the employee exodus from the social networking, email, voicemail, videomail, search, retail, global positioning software, mobile phone technology, near-field communication, video projection technology, geospatial informatics, geospatial activity synergy, and cat video departments. He learned about these same employees giving out the codes to hack into all of their former departments’ data centers and to take over their web domains. Days later, hackers replaced all of furtl’s Internet content with hacktivist graffiti demanding user information privacy.

  As furtl lost its chokehold on the American public, Holospace machines started to enter the mix. A number of countries, including Mexico and Canada, began secretly supplying Holospace machines to agitators in the United States. They called it a “humanitarian technological intervention” and proclaimed they were doing it under what they deemed their “responsibility to inform.”

  Not everybody was happy to see the Holospace machines flood the country. Many were fearful of a new source of technological control by outside forces, especially the Chinese, who had been all too happy to surreptitiously donate tens of thousands of machines to the Canadian and Mexican governments in order to hasten furtl’s demise. But for most Americans, the intensity of their appetite for revolution was such that it overpowered their fears of Chinese domination – and their appetite for cute kitten holograms.

  “I’m at the Vault Residences, standing in front of the home of Susie Mays,” an INN reporter said, as Virginia state policemen carted off Susie in handcuffs. Mindy was right behind her, arrested on charges of election tampering and voter disenfranchisement.

  The Vault was the last of the administration’s strongholds to fall, the reporter said. With INN cameras following them, policemen were able to accumulate enough resources and manpower to raid the Vault and overtake its private militia, which was heavily resourced but poorly trained and unable to hold off the reinvigorated police forces that were acting with explicit state government support.

  Manny’s pulse quickened even further as the INN story of Susie’s arrest transitioned to live helicopter coverage of the Interpol Aquatic Police Force’s (IAPF) arrest of Kurt, who abandoned his hopes for a return to the United States and fled for the Caribbean. The helicopter hovered over the Spearhunter, and the camera captured him clad in nothing but an American flag speedo and
a cowboy hat, his dolphin spear held aloft by his pasty, spindly white arm as he did his best to look menacing.

  “Come closer, and you get a spear to the throat!” he yelled.

  The IAPF boarded the Spearhunter from all sides, easily overpowered a now visibly overwhelmed Kurt, and turned the boat around just before it reached Cuba, where Kurt was trying to get to, and where Interpol and the US government lacked jurisdiction or extradition powers.

  When the helicopter reporter threw it back to INN news headquarters, Manny learned about the impact of the revolution on the presidential election. “The people have demanded a free and fair election and the rehabilitation of the founding principles of America,” the news anchor said. “And they have let their congressional representatives know.”

  All of the members of Congress that had not resigned decided that, in an effort to move America beyond this dark period, the presidential elections would not be postponed. The election would be carried out with the oversight of international election monitors from France.

  7.2

  The doctors, one by one, apologized to Manny over the ensuing two weeks and told him they were ordered to keep him in the dark. Ultimately, along with the local policemen stationed outside his door, they realized that their orders were coming from the DCS and chose to disobey them. After Kurt, Susie, and many of the highest-ranking furtl and DCS employees were arrested, they decided to remove his handcuffs.

  Manny had gone from demonized to lionized. And the public wanted to hear from him.

  Healthy enough to walk on his own, Manny got dressed and checked himself out of the hospital. It was a week before the presidential election. When he got out, a mob of reporters and well-wishers were waiting for him. The crowds became excited when they saw his face as Manny exited the temperature controlled hospital and cold air overtook his body for the first time in many weeks. The chill in his body turned into a cold sweat as he walked down the steep stone steps and realized he was going to have to address the crowd. He had not planned for this moment, and he was not ready for the barrage of questions coming his way.

  “Manny, how did you crack the Holospace code?”

  “How did you get proof of the vote massaging?”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Manny stopped midway down the steps and put his arm up slowly, signaling he was ready to talk. The crowd hushed. Manny took a moment to gather himself.

  “Over the last few months, I have seen a lot of things. I saw democracy under attack. I saw extremism drowning out pragmatism. I saw humanity reveal itself in its most terrible and amazing way. And I saw the fundamental components of this great country under fire. But I believe in this country and I believe in the American people. Don’t forget to vote.”

  With that short statement, Manny walked down the rest of the steps and onto the street.

  “Who are you voting for?” one reporter shouted at Manny.

  Manny stopped, thought about answering, and continued to a waiting car that would drive him to his motel room.

  chapter 8

  Manny voted but otherwise didn’t leave his new motel room in the days leading up to and after the election, allowing himself some time for self-reflection and physical recuperation. It wasn’t the most luxurious of options, but it was familiar to him, and it allowed him to acclimate himself to his sudden fame, even if it meant he had to endure a shower that oscillated randomly between ice cold and scalding hot, worn out bed sheets that were an uneven shade of mauve, and a carpet that smelled like ranch dressing.

  He thought about what his next step should be, how he could reconcile his own internal conflicts with technology’s role in society. As he struggled to come to terms with whatever his new life might be, he found himself glued to the INN’s television channel, watching with intense interest, and occasional horror, at the invigorated/truncated race for President of the United States of America.

  Fiona Mathis’s electoral victory was not a foregone conclusion, even after the Democratic and Republican candidates dropped out in the face of overwhelming repudiation from the American people. The people demanded new choices, and that’s what the hastily organized elections gave them. A General Election Convention was organized by a number of the groups that planned to field candidates. Groups such as the Mods, the Lefteas, the newly reformed Righteas, and various others that rose from the ashes of the two-party system assembled in Washington, DC to lay out the rules for the presidential election. They would move forward with a paper ballot election, it was decided, and the states unanimously agreed to dismantle the Electoral College and decide the winner based on the national popular vote. There would be no primaries, and the elections would not be postponed. Direct democracy was all the rage.

  The Mods, once a disorganized group of intellectuals in esoteric fields of study, competed against 85 new parties that threw their hats in the ring. Because of her organizational advantage, Fiona became the frontrunner, which meant she was automatically the target of all the others. In the week before the election she suffered relentless attacks from all sides. The Leftea candidate, a wounded and barely coherent Muffin Top Morganstern, went after her for her free market ideology. The Righteas term for her, socialexican (socialist Mexican), failed to stick with voters. There were also fourteen celebrities who decided to run. Three of them had last starred in the PG action adventure The Expendables 8, and they all attacked Fiona for being physically weak and nerdy. A number of single-issue candidates flamed out early: the pro-gun candidate was immobilized when he left the safety off on his Uzi; the Eat Paleo candidate had a heart attack on the campaign trail; and the Change to the Metric System candidate kept getting lost on his way to events.

  A Rabbi, a Priest, and a Buddhist Monk walked into a bar. They were all running for president. That was the punch-line. The bar was actually a popular campaign stop in New Orleans, where they all went at the same time (they didn’t check the bar’s schedule before stopping in). Once that picture went viral on the HoloNet, their respective candidacies never really recovered from the mockery. The anti-abortion candidate lost support from the social conservatives when he took the position that abortion was okay in instances of “legitimate rape.” Fourteen academics in fields as diverse as evolutionary sociobiology to astrophysics to music therapy all failed to get traction as well. After a brief but tense campaign, Fiona Mathis sailed to victory, winning in a landslide with 28% of the total vote.

  8.2

  There was a lot of activity, a lot of energy, and a lot of noise backstage right before Fiona’s inauguration speech. There were also more than 2 million people on the national mall. Manny had mixed feelings about going to this event, but Fiona invited him backstage, and Manny was curious about everything that had happened in recent weeks.

  “Go get ’em up there,” Manny said to Fiona, who had summoned him to her semi-private makeup room just feet away from all the commotion. She sat in a chair, getting primped and prodded by makeup, wardrobe, and hair people in front of a large mirror. Manny stood to her side, happy to see Fiona’s platform of reasonable debate and public engagement finally get its moment. And he was optimistic that the country was moving in the right direction. That’s why he voted for her.

  “Will do,” she said, staring straight ahead at the mirror.

  “Do me a favor – don’t screw it up.” Manny said, smirking at Fiona. She smiled back a little but was reprimanded by her makeup sprayer.

  “Please, Madam President. No smiling,” the sprayer told her. “It’ll give you lines on TV.”

  “Okay,” Fiona said, swiveling in Manny’s direction as her handlers handled her hair and makeup. “You know I’m still looking for a secretary of technology.”

  “Please, Madam President, look straight ahead,” Fiona’s hairdresser said to her as he struggled to fluff up her straight shoulder-length hair that was unaccustomed to such attention.

  “I know,” Manny said.

  “And?”

  “I think my p
lace is in the private sector. Technology is very powerful, for good and for bad. I think I can harness it for good. I’m batting around a new idea.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Now’s not the time. But it’s gonna be big.”

  “Looks like the old Manny is ready to make a comeback.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I know the pitfalls now.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Fiona said, raising her eyebrows at Manny, vaguely referencing his PAYGO sabotage years before, Manny assumed.

  “No eyebrow raising please,” the makeup sprayer said.

  “I’m not naïve, Fiona.”

  “If it doesn’t work out, let me know. We could use all the help we can get around here.”

  “Do you really need another cook in this kitchen?” Manny looked around at the many familiar faces — Dolores, Frank, Olaf, Sorenson, Ruthie — but there were also many new faces.

  A mousy young man in a crisp suit and holding two phones and a tablet approached Fiona’s chair. “Yao Hu Zhong needs to speak with you,” he said. “I have the poll numbers back, and we triangulated your language on Taiwan.”

  Fiona looked at Manny via her mirror. “Meet the new boss,” she said.

  “Hi! Zeke Horace, Chief of Staff,” the pinstriped man said to Manny, extending his pudgy little hand and grabbing Manny’s.

  “Madame President, the line about drawing down the agricultural subsidies…Yeah, we struck that. It didn’t track well with our focus group, and so we will have to quickly reword that section a little.”

  Fiona shot a look at Zeke. “Put the line back in Zeke.”

  Zeke forced a look of contrition. “Yes Madame. What about the immigration section? I still think we need to strike that one, too opaque right now.”

  “Fine. But keep that language for a later speech.”