Atlas Drugged

by Stephen L. Goldstein

  Khouris introduces Breckvold, Lipper, and Siegfried to Smythe and Klein, then leads his guests to their table. “Who are those guys?” Smythe asks Klein. “They’re the ones engineering the takeover of countries A, B, and C. Breckvold is the one who will call the loans. Lipper and Siegfried—he’s a real prince but he’s been living in exile for twenty-five years—have got the money and connections to buy up the assets. They’ll lose billions if Cooper loses the election.”

  Inside the Grand Ballroom, forty tables of ten sit in a horseshoe around a raised platform. The name and corporate logo of each table sponsor are embossed on the 12" high gold dollar that serves as each table’s centerpiece. Around it are ten bottles of Atlas Energy Drink, one for each guest. Suspended from the ceiling over the platform is a 30‘x10' backdrop that reads “July 4th Made Possible by Gayle’s Department Stores.”

  At 8 p.m., the Grand Benefactor of the event, Mortimer Gayle, goes to the podium and addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow investors, those of you here with me in the Washingtonian Hotel, on the National Mall, and, of course, watching on TV nationwide, I am especially delighted to celebrate the founding of the Corporate States of America with you this year.

  “What you are about to see is the premiere of an original pageant, ‘Atlas Drugged: The Birth of New Atlantis.’ Developed at Atlas Fitness Centers, it is a collaboration of some of the finest creative minds in the Corporate States of America. The script, music, and choreography were developed by Bambi Broderick, Thor Rentgen, Rick Michaels, and Cheryl Watkins of the New York Headquarters of Atlas Fitness. The musical accompaniment is provided by the nationally celebrated ensemble, the Gross National Product.”

  To thunderous applause, Broderick, Rentgen, Michaels, and Watkins appear dressed as early British colonists. Together they chant, “We are the founders of a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all of us are free to be unequal.” They then shed their costumes and reveal the suits they are wearing underneath.

  Grabbing top hats and walking sticks as props, they each put on a different mask—Andrew Carnegie, Andrew Mellon, J.P. Morgan, and John D. Rockefeller—and chant: “They call us robber barons. But they don’t really know us. We’re all just average guys you’d like to know. Of course, we play by the rules: We made them up. But now that we have prospered, we are being looted.”

  They clutch their throats with both hands, strangling themselves and appear to wither and collapse. While they are on the ground, the men strip down to thongs; the women, to bikinis. As they slowly rise, in unison they say, “We see hope in a man named Galt.” They then hold up bottles of Atlas Energy Drink in their right hands, grow visibly stronger, flex their muscles, and twirl globes of the world on their fingers. “We are Atlas drugged. We are the new John Galts. Drink with us. Get drugged with us.”

  They then open the bottles of Atlas Energy and all sing, “We’ve got the whole world in our hands. We’ve got the whole wide world in our hands. We’ve got the whole world in our hands! We’re drugged on Atlas Energy!”

  There’s thunderous applause and people jump to their feet. Then, in unison, Broderick, Rentgen, Michael, and Watkins say, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the president of the Corporate States of America, Ham Cooper.”

  Cooper rushes onto the stage, shaking the hands of the performers as they leave. Basking in the adulation of the crowd, he makes no effort to stop the applause or signal people to sit. Instead, he beams and stretches both arms up and out in an extended V and makes smaller V’s with the index and middle fingers of both hands. After about five minutes, people begin sitting down, so Cooper asks them to continue doing so: “Thank you, thank you, my fellow investors in the Corporate States of America. Please be seated.

  “I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to see all of you here tonight, once again celebrating Independence Day. Ever since John Galt defeated the leeches and looters and reclaimed this great land of ours in the name of creative and productive men and women, independence has had a special significance. First, it is freedom from everything that stands in our way, principally the government and all the obstacles that it tries to put in our way. Second, it is freedom to be—on our own, accountable to no one, owing nobody anything. Once people grasp the true meaning of independence, they experience the liberation that comes from enlightenment, and they pity those who have yet to come to their senses.

  “John Galt set an example for everyone to follow. He opened the door to riches for all those who have the guts to follow him. It is no exaggeration to say that John Galt created the Internet. Don’t let anyone tell you he didn’t. Wherever there is money to be made, John Galt lives. He lives through Atlas Fitness Centers, which are revolutionizing mind-body harmony and are strengthening the next generation for their roles as leaders in the Corporate States and around the globe.

  “And, of course, John Galt lives through Count Henry de Horsch, the man we are honoring tonight. He is without a doubt one of the most successful corporate titans of the CSA. He sets the pace for others to follow. He is proof of the principles of Free-for-All economics. Count Henry, please join me here on the stage.”

  As the count makes his way to the podium, an unidentified voice comes over the sound system and announces, “My fellow Americans, especially those of you watching around the country, the People’s Court is now in session.” Cooper and Count Henry look out on the audience helplessly. Cooper taps on the microphone. The count looks for wires to unplug. The hotel’s sound technician rushes onto the stage.

  “Stay calm,” the voice continues. “But don’t try to leave the room. No one is in danger.” Nonetheless, the ballroom is thrown into complete chaos. As people run for the exits, they discover that the doors have been locked, so they go back to their seats or remain standing by the exits. “No one will be hurt,” the voice continues reassuringly. “All of you, just return to your seats. You will be able to leave very shortly. As I’m sure you’ve already discovered,” the voice continues, “all cellphone coverage has been blocked within the ballroom. Sit down, now—and listen very carefully. The future of all of you, and of everyone in this country, depends on what you are about to hear.

  “In the name of ‘the people’, we accuse President Cooper and his administration of the death of Adam—and we demand justice. The recent attack on the Cooperville on the National Mall was planned and carried out on the express orders of Ham Cooper, a man who is not worthy to lead this country. He is criminally responsible for the death and violence that took place.

  “We accuse Count de Horsch of fraud in the development of Horschville. His massive land grab was totally illegal. We have copies of forged documents executed by de Horsch that prove he has no title to his city. They have been turned over to the proper Mississippi and federal authorities.

  “We accuse Hilton Manfreed of plagiarizing. All the ideas in his first book, What’s Mine Is Mine and What’s Yours Is Mine, come from the thesis of one of his students who died in a car accident before he was able to get his degree. He is an academic fraud. The People’s Court now rests its case. Now, let all of ‘the people’ demand justice. You are all free to go. The doors are unlocked. But do not forget, or try to deny, what has taken place here and the undeniable truths that have been exposed.”

  As though fleeing from a terrorist attack, the president and the count are surrounded by security and escorted out of the ballroom. No one can find Hilton Manfreed. The count and his date disappear into his limousine, but not until he tells Ham Cooper that “he’ll pay” for this. “You’ve lost control, man, and I’m paying the price. You better see what you can do to make things right. I’ve got billions at stake.”

  Turning to his date, the count adds, “Well, the night’s over, Cinderella. It’s time to fork over the goods,” he says as he reaches to unclasp the diamond necklace. “You can change into your clothes right here.”

  “Why you cheap piece of trash,” she says once she’s in her own clothes.

/>   “Wilson, stop the car. Here’s the thousand bucks I promised you,” he says practically throwing a wad of bills at her. “This should be more than enough to cover tonight. Take a cab home.”

  “Keep it, you piece of shit,” she says, throwing it back at him. “Your money is dirty. I got principles. But you’re a fraud. And you’re gonna lose everything.”

  Back on the Mall, the fireworks display is just about to end. But the finale doesn’t go as planned. The last burst of red, white, and blue was supposed to show the face of Ham Cooper. Instead, it proclaims “John Galt Is Dead” across the night sky, no less than three times.

  Standing alone on Capitol Hill, the young red head smirks as he watches the confusion break out among the audience on the Mall and chuckles aloud as he watches video of “The People’s Court” and the fireworks on his wireless device going viral on social media.

  EIGHT

  Devastate, Berate, Orchestrate

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 5: THE FLORIDA PENINSULA. Tuesday, August 2, the sky was a brilliant, clear blue until 4 p.m. when an unbroken cover of steel-gray clouds suddenly created a canopy over Key West, Florida, obliterating what had promised to be a typical, made-for-tourists sunset. With the clouds came the unique mugginess locals knew was the harbinger of an impending storm, confirming the rumors that had been swirling for the past two days. Fishermen returning from the day’s catch had been telling stories of a monster—presumably a hurricane—already moving through the Caribbean.

  There was no way to know the intensity or extent of the storm for sure, however. After three failed attempts within the past five years by agents of the Corporate States of America to overthrow the Cuban government and clear the way for businesses to privatize the country’s assets, all communication between Washington and Havana came to an abrupt end, including tropical storm tracking that was routinely shared on humanitarian grounds, even when the countries were bitterest enemies. In addition, ten years ago,the National HurricaneCenter in Miami was privatized, its assets sold to CallUS.com, a company that specialized in creating Internet-based businesses, specifically call centers.

  In short order, the most experienced meteorologists were fired to save money and increase profits. The site posted almost no original weather analysis, but typically repackaged data and information from other sites. Free weather reports disappeared. Only people who could afford to pay could get updates and were prohibited from sharing them or making them public. In the biggest blow to what had once been a model agency, “Hurricane Hunters,” the Air Force Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, which flew directly into the eye of storms and provided lifesaving information, was discontinued because it wasn’t considered profitable enough. Finally, just last year, CallUS.com declared bankruptcy. While its assets are tied up in court, nothing can be done to replace it, leaving hurricane-prone regions of the CSA defenseless.

  So, Wednesday morning, August 3, when residents and visitors in Key West woke up to a pitch black sky, they had no idea what they were in for. Fearless conchs, as residents affectionately call themselves, typically take storms in their stride. They stand pat and snicker at people who run scared. Nothing gets them to evacuate. “Just another storm in paradise,” longtime Duval Street resident John Macalister reassured his friends visiting from Syracuse, New York. “We’ll get some heavy rain, probably a good deal of flooding. But it won’t amount to much.” Local TV stations ran banners across their screens, advising people to stay put, but few paid any attention.

  By 8:30 a.m., fifteen-foot waves were crashing across the island’s wharf. Within half an hour, all streets were under at least six feet of water. Key West looked like a game of pickup sticks. Buildings that had withstood years of storms were swept away, reduced to rubble. Victims sat perched in trees or hanging on to branches. Everywhere, people—the lucky ones—clung to anything that could float. But heavy rain pelted them, and, with heads bobbing, they struggled to stay alive in water churned by merciless winds. Many had already lost consciousness and drowned. Dead, bloated bodies and the carcasses of hapless pets already outnumbered the living. All power to the island gone. All communication severed.

  As the storm made its way north, local, on-the-ground reports pieced together an unimaginable story: the Florida peninsula was either being hit by two storms at once—one on the east coast, the other on the west—or by one storm that split in two. No one could say for sure. But either way, the net effect was the same. On the east coast, the eighteen-mile stretch of bridges connecting the Florida Keys and the mainland was completely destroyed, so there was no way to escape—and no way to bring victims relief, except by helicopter. Using boats was not possible because most docks had been swept away. The trendy art deco district of South Beach on Miami Beach and high-rise buildings along Biscayne Bay were leveled. A tornado destroyed the MacArthur and Julia Tuttle Causeways.

  The story was the same as the storm relentlessly made its way up the east and west coasts of the peninsula; city after city leveled. In Fort Lauderdale and surrounding cities, all the bridges over the Intracoastal Waterway had been blown away. Residents of the flooded barrier island have no water or power or any way to reach land or be reached. Palm Beach, the playground of the rich, is no more—its palatial oceanfront mansions now piles of rubble; its residents, homeless. Causeways from the mainland were blown away, so there is no way to help thousands stranded on the island.

  Fort Pierce, Cape Canaveral, Titusville, Daytona Beach, St. Augustine, Jacksonville—city after city has been flattened. On the west coast, Naples, Fort Myers, Sarasota, St. Petersburg, Tampa, and Clearwater have been leveled. Two-thirds of the Florida peninsula are cut off from the mainland. I-95 from the Keys to Jacksonville is impassable. I-75 from Fort Lauderdale to Tampa and the I-4 corridor from Tampa to Daytona were swept away and are no more. The Sunshine Skyway Bridge over Tampa Bay has collapsed.

  After two of the most destructive days in U.S. history, about twelve million people in Florida are estimated to be homeless and/or living without water or power. About twenty years ago, claiming that existing building codes, written specifically to ensure that structures could withstand hurricane-force winds, cut into their profits, developers successfully lobbied the state legislature to eliminate them.

  Frequent gas leak explosions and fires raging out of control are creating panic. Scores of victims who have ignored warnings to stay out of the water because of downed, live power lines have been electrocuted. Vehicles are strewn everywhere, often piled on top of each other. It’s being called “the rich man’s hurricane” because almost all of the damage has been done to the most expensive private property. Reconnaissance planes and helicopters surveying the damage are recording video of unimaginable devastation and human desperation. Refrigerators and stoves are strewn everywhere. Clothing is scattered, caught in trees, blowing like flags in the wind.

  Children’s dolls and toys are piled in heaps on land. Some are floating in stagnant pools, clutched tightly in the arms of dead boys and girls. “Help!” has been painted on the rooftops that survived intact and on sheets—and spelled out in scattered debris to draw the attention of aircraft. At the sight of planes possibly bringing help, victims wave furiously, drop to their knees and clasp their hands as though praying, but collapse in despair when they disappear.

  The truth is: No help is coming from the government. No help can come. There are no public relief agencies at any level—local, state, or federal—to provide assistance because of a disaster, any disaster. A cardinal principle of Free-for-All economics is hands-off government and personal responsibility—no big brother, every man for himself. The market replaced the government. If you could afford to pay for protection, you were supposed to arrange to get it on your own. If you couldn’t afford it, you were out of luck. The Corporate States of America abolished all national search, rescue, and aid agencies. And state and federal governments followed suit and disbanded theirs. What survived was a patchwork of for-profit businesses that provide fire, fire rescue, f
lood, general disaster aid, and related services, to which individuals annually subscribe for a fee. The problem is that most of those corporations have been devastated from the storm and, even if they hadn’t been, they didn’t have anywhere near the resources they’d need to function after a widespread disaster.

  This morning, Friday, August 5, a few helicopters and small boats of private companies from outside of Florida are beginning to land and offer assistance to anyone who can pay. They have limited supplies of canned goods and water. But most people who have money don’t have access to it. So, when about fifty victims in the rubble of what used to be Worth Avenue in Palm Beach were told that “money talks, nobody walks,” they became so incensed, ten of them wrestled the pilot and two crew members of one helicopter to the ground and held them down, while others ran off with the provisions they carried. Similar scenes are occurring everywhere.

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 6, 10 A.M. By video link from Tallahassee, Governor Cris Cott of Florida and, from the Press Room of the White House, President Ham Cooper hold a joint press conference in the aftermath of the recent hurricane.

  Malcolm Scott of Floridanews.com: “Governor Cott, four days after the most devastating hurricane in U.S. history has destroyed at least two-thirds of Florida and left an estimated twelve million people homeless, destitute, and cut off from the rest of the country, no help has been forthcoming from the state. Victims are desperate. There are reports of riots and looting in affected areas. What is your plan of action to help them?”