Echo Chamber

by A. C. Fuller

  "How'd you know about that?"

  I say nothing.

  "Benjamin? No, not Benjamin." He pauses. "Malcolm! That bastard, that—"

  "We received important information from an anonymous source. But that's not what's important, Peter. What's important is that the heads of all the companies you wronged will receive a copy of our evidence this morning, along with the FBI. I don't know whether the laws you broke will be enough to allow the FBI to nail you, but I know that most of the major tech companies on earth will never work with you again, and they are almost definitely going to sue you into total oblivion."

  There's a long silence.

  I hear his breathing, calm and steady, like he's trying to get himself under control.

  Finally, he says, "All this to get me back for cheating on you?"

  I stare out a little window at the end of the hallway. The street below is empty except for a couple men in suits, hurrying into a cab.

  It strikes me that Peter has no idea. He is so convinced of his superiority that it doesn't even occur to him that reversing his takeover of our system has nothing to do with our personal relationship. That stopping him from hijacking reality itself is not a jealous ex-girlfriend move.

  But he believes it is. He's that self-centered, that stupid.

  I consider various retorts, but I've said all I need to say. I'm done with the conversation. I'm free.

  I softly tap the "End" button on my phone and walk back into the hotel room.

  Quinn meets me at the door. It's the first time I've seen her standing upright in about six hours.

  She wobbles, then steadies herself. "My therapist told me not to take any high-pressure or high-stress jobs. She's gonna be pissed. I'm glad we got your contest solved, but consider this my resignation letter. I can try to control my paranoia, or I can engage with people weaponizing confirmation bias to take over our brains, but I really, really can't do both at once. It's making me less stable."

  "I understand." I give her a short hug. To my surprise, she doesn't pull away. "We owe you a huge thanks. Really."

  When I let go, she has an odd look on her face. "Don't you want to know how I knew you had a crush on Malcolm?"

  "I guess I assumed you hacked into my browsing history and found me watching videos of him. Or maybe you hacked my text conversations with Steph."

  Quinn laughs. "What do you think I am? Crazy? I saw the look on your face when he walked in the room. And I saw the look on his when he saw you. I'm no relationship expert, but you two are nuts for each other."

  The headlines of all the major papers confirm that Justine Hall and Avery Axum stole the debate. Their announcement about teaming up to form a super-ticket won universal praise with pundits and columnists overnight, and the lovefest continues this morning.

  A left-leaning, kickass mayor, a right-leaning presidential lawyer, historian, and professor. A woman and a man. One young, one old. One mixed-race, one whiter than skim milk. They couldn't be more different, except for their shared passion for pragmatic solutions and a disdain for the nonsense that dominates most political conversation.

  I scroll through my Twitter and Facebook feeds for news about Peter. Article after article talks about Peter's views—all stand in direct opposition to my own positions on major issues. One entertainment blog even informs me that Peter hates all my favorite movies.

  I also catch a glimpse of Hall and Axum's plan in action.

  Whether designed to do so or not, their answers on key questions have connected their constituents in the same way their surprise announcement did. Multiple times during the debate, Hall referred to Axum's answers or past statements. Axum did the same. Now, I can't see one of their names mentioned online without the other's name somewhere nearby.

  I check the early voting, and Hall is up by six points on Tanner Futch, who's at number two. Marlon Dixon is at number three, followed by Beverly Johnson, Maria Ortiz Morales, and Avery Axum.

  Axum's votes barely register, which confirms that most of his voters are following his direction and switching their support to Hall.

  Peter Colton sits in last, at number seven, with only six percent of the vote.

  For a long minute, I stare at the screen, watching the vote totals come in. Every five seconds, the page auto-refreshes, showing the new totals.

  Nine hundred thousand votes.

  A million votes.

  One point one million votes.

  Hall's lead grows with each refresh. For the first time in I don't know how long, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  She's going to win.

  29

  Back in the auditorium where the debate was held, Justine Hall gives her acceptance speech as I watch from a seat in the front row. Steph sits to my right, my mom to my left.

  To the right of the stage, Malcolm stands at the ready, his DJ equipment set up on a couple folding tables covered in black tablecloths.

  I invited Quinn, but on our way out the door she told me that her therapist wants her back in California at once.

  By the time the market closed this afternoon, Colton Industries stock was down forty percent. Peter went from being a billionaire to being, well, a poorer billionaire.

  The more serious issues for Peter are the lawsuits. The first one was filed about three hours after Steph sent our evidence of Peter's hack to the companies he hacked. My guess is that more will follow tomorrow. Peter will be in court for years. I doubt he'll ever see jail time, but he'll be fined heavily, blackballed by the tech community, and, with any luck, his company will be ruined.

  A loud cheer erupts as Justine Hall bangs her fist on the podium. The auditorium is full, as it was last night, but now it's full of Justine Hall and Avery Axum fans. They hang on her every word, applauding at all the right times and even applauding politely when she mentions her opponents.

  "To conclude," Hall says, "I want to ask my running mate Avery Axum to join me on stage."

  Axum steps up from the front row to the podium, taking a spot behind Hall to her left. "Together, Avery Axum and I will bring sanity, compromise, and honesty back to the White House. The election is four months away. We'll need every one of you, and everyone watching at home, to pitch in and do their part to ensure that we all get the America we deserve."

  That's my cue, and as Malcolm starts a track—the Ray Charles version of "America the Beautiful"—I make my way to the podium.

  Hall and Axum each give me a quick hug, then step aside.

  "I've given more speeches in the past year than I thought I'd give in my entire life," I say. "So I'll make this short. The winner of Ameritocracy is Justine Hall!"

  I pause for a lengthy applause. Red, white, and blue streamers and confetti fall from the ceiling, and the music rises.

  "America donated thirty-nine million dollars to Ameritocracy over the last year, betting on a fair and transparent system to pick a winner that everyone could get behind. Instead of backing a candidate, you all backed an idea. And today I'm honored to say that tomorrow morning, Ameritocracy will seed the general election campaign of Justine Hall and Avery Axum with everything that's left after operating expenses."

  I pick up a two-foot-tall novelty check that's been leaning on the podium, hidden from the audience's view, and extend it to Justine Hall. "We all know this isn't a real check, but America loves drama. So I hereby present you with this check for thirty million dollars."

  A few people gasp at the amount. The crowd erupts.

  It's less than half of what the Democrats and Republicans have raised, and that's not counting the PACs they have doing much of the dirty work for them. It's a hell of a start, though.

  Down in the audience, I catch a glimpse of my mom, who beams up at me. Tears of joy stream down her cheeks.

  Steph looks proud and determined. Apart from being happy that Peter didn't win, I'm happy that Steph's happy. Justine Hall was her favorite candidate from the beginning. I can tell from the look on her face that she's already contemplating the gen
eral election campaign.

  "Thank you," Hall says. "I think I can speak for Avery when I say that I accept this honor humbly and gratefully, and I vow to do my best to use the money wisely. To use the money to win in November."

  30

  One Week Later

  Malcolm and I stroll along the Potomac River, hand in hand.

  "I was thinking," I say. "How would you like to be the sound of the Hall-Axum campaign? Forgo your newfound fame and come on the road with us as the MC for campaign stops. Play them offstage, that kind of thing." I laugh. "I'll drop the politics, you drop the beats?"

  After the finale, I took two days off to sleep and eat room service. On the third day, instead of flying back to California, I extended my stay to do tourist stuff.

  I visited a couple Smithsonian museums, took in the Martin Luther King Memorial, and stopped by the Leadbetter Pharmacy in Alexandria, where Martha Washington used to buy opium. I considered renting a paddle board to try my luck on the river, but in the end I didn't have the guts, so I stayed in the hotel and watched Netflix.

  On the fifth day, Malcolm came through town and we got dinner.

  On the sixth day, he slept at my hotel instead of his.

  Steph accepted Justine Hall's job offer about five minutes after we handed her the check. She'll be the deputy campaign manager, serving under Simon Ermintrout.

  Every day since the finale, Hall, Axum, and Steph emailed me, asking me to become the press secretary for the new campaign. They wanted me to manage the communications and media strategy, working directly under Steph, who, along with Ermintrout, relocated to D.C. to run the campaign.

  This morning, on day seven after the finale, I sent Justine Hall a simple email.

  Dear Ms. Hall,

  I accept your offer, and will be in the office tomorrow.

  Mia

  I cc'd Steph and Avery Axum.

  Malcolm catches my eye, studying me. "Sure, I'll be the DJ. My contract with Dolly ends in another week."

  "I was kidding," I say. "You have much better options now. You can do anything you want. Collaborations with major stars, tour Europe. Didn't Club XS in Vegas ask you to do a show?"

  Malcolm smiles. "They're gonna pay me twenty grand for a two-hour set."

  I stop walking and look up at him. He's nearly a foot taller than me so I have to tilt to see into his dark eyes. "You serious?"

  He nods. "You should see how much they charge for drinks. The biggest DJs make ten times what they offered me. And if it goes well, it could turn into a once-a-month thing."

  "So apparently I'm not the only one who thinks that electronic Americana music is the next big thing." I do the math in my head. "Wait, if you do a gig a month at twenty grand a pop…is it okay if I tell people you're my rich boyfriend from now on? 'Cause the Justine Hall campaign is only paying me three grand a month."

  He leans down and kisses me. "You can call me whatever you want. But seriously. I want to be on the campaign. Don't get me wrong, I'll take the job at XS, but those gigs mean I don't need to hustle anymore. I don't want to be one of those DJs who burns himself out doing six shows a week. My YouTube videos are getting crazy hits right now, and that's like free money to me. But I don't want to go crazy about it. I want to be on the campaign trail with you, making music." He smiles. "And popping out to Vegas to make twenty grand a night every now and then."

  We sit on a bench overlooking the water. I lean back, facing Malcolm, and put my legs on his lap. I'm about to ask him about a theme song for the campaign when a tall blonde lady in a jogging outfit stops next to us.

  Panting heavily, she asks, "Are you Mia Rhodes?"

  "I am," I say cautiously.

  "I'm so glad my girl Justine Hall won. She is amazing. Did you see the FiveThirtyEight thing?"

  "I didn't, but—"

  She shoves a phone in my face. "They came out with their first three-way poll about an hour ago. I am obsessed with politics."

  I study the article on her phone.

  Evan Westbrook (R) and Michelle Harris (R): 35%

  Joaquin Herrera (D) and Payton Rhodes (D): 29%

  Justine Hall (I) and Avery Axum (I): 19%

  Undecided: 17%

  As I read, the woman jogs in place.

  A week ago, while I handed Justine Hall the novelty check, Joaquin Herrera announced my father, Payton Rhodes, as the vice presidential nominee of the Democratic party. My hesitation about taking a job on the Hall-Axum campaign was about that as much as about wanting some time off.

  No part of me relishes working against my father.

  But I've always heard that working on the last few months of a presidential campaign is the most exhilarating job one can have. And this campaign is about Justine Hall and Avery Axum, not my father.

  I hand the woman her phone and she stashes it in a pocket. "You've got four months until election day," she says. "Don't let us down."

  "You're an American voter, ma'am," I reply. "Don't you let us down."

  She grins. "Okay, deal."

  With that, she takes off.

  "She's right," I say as she jogs away. "I don't even have a national media strategy set up yet. We need to schedule sit-downs with the editorial boards of The Times, The Post, Dallas Morning News…maybe I can get Gretchen Esposito to do a podcast series on us…we've gotta start working on getting on the ballots...most of the states give candidates until mid-August or even early September, but Texas and Illinois are gonna be a nightmare...and we might have to take New Mexico to court to get on the ballot...plus, damn, we need to start lobbying to get in the debates...not to mention—"

  "Mia." Malcolm's calm voice interrupts me. "That woman just told you that you're only ten points behind the Democrats, sixteen points behind the Republicans, with seventeen percent undecided."

  I don't know what he's getting at. "I know. I saw."

  "Work starts tomorrow. You just finished something monumental. How about for now we celebrate what you already did."

  I stand and pull him up off the bench, smiling. "If you come with us on the campaign, it's gonna be four months of late nights and early mornings. Travel, travel, travel. You sure you want to sign up for that?"

  "I'm sure."

  He pulls me in close, his strong arms holding me as I stare at a duck, drifting slowly in the water.

  I squirm free and pull him back in the direction we came from. "A quarter mile ago we passed a place that rents paddle boards. You ever been?"

  He raises an eyebrow. "No."

  "Me neither, but it's a beautiful day in America. A perfect day to try something new."

  —The End—

  Author Notes, May 2018

  I came up with the idea for Ameritocracy in the summer of 2016. Like Mia, I was dismayed at the level of political discourse in the country, and yearned for a fantasy world free of hypocrisy and political nonsense.

  At first, I envisioned the story as a single novella, maybe 150 pages. But as I explored the idea, it grew into a trilogy, a trilogy you just completed. I expect to continue this series eventually—to tell the story of the general election campaign—but I don’t yet know when.

  I’d like to thank the following people:

  Noah Brand, who helped create this story and made many improvements to the scenes and the writing.

  My wife, Amanda Allen, who also helped create this story. She deserves something more than thanks. In addition to the specific improvements she makes to all my books, she supports my writing tirelessly and enthusiastically. Without her, I’d still be planning to write my first novel.

  Chet Sandberg, who did an excellent job editing this book. I can’t wait to see your books in the world.

  Adrijus Guscia of Rocking Book Covers, a talented designer who created the covers for the whole Ameritocracy series.

  My Street Team and ARC Team for offering feedback on covers and book concepts, and always being there to support me.

  My dad, Robert W. Fuller, whose interest in politics and media
inspired my own.

  My extended family of Allens, Cosbys, and Andersons, who always offer support and encouragement. And to Dave Cosby for helping me with some of the technical aspects of this book.

  I spend a lot of time studying the American political landscape. I couldn't do this without the wonderful journalists, bloggers, and podcasters doing their best to make sense of the world in confusing times. Thanks to all of them.

  And to the readers who enjoy my books, thanks for reading.

  A.C. Fuller

  Introducing The Alex Vane Media Thrillers

  Remember Alex Vane, Mia's boss at The Barker? He's got his own series. I call them The Alex Vane Media Thrillers. If you like the Ameritocracy series, I think you'll love them.

  The Cutline

  (An Alex Vane Novella)

  Available free, and only though my website

  The Anonymous Source

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 1)

  The Inverted Pyramid

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 2)

  The Mockingbird Drive

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 3)

  The Shadow File

  (An Alex Vane Media Thriller, Book 4)

  ***

  Or get books 1-3 together in the boxed set

  The Alex Vane Media Thrillers: 1-3

  About the Author

  Once a journalist in New York, A.C. Fuller now writes novels at the intersection of media, politics, and technology.

  He also teaches writing workshops around the country and internationally. Before he began writing full time, he was an adjunct professor of journalism at NYU and an English teacher at Northwest Indian College.

  He now lives with his wife, two children, and two dogs near Seattle. For a free copy of one of A.C.'s books, check out: www.acfuller.com/readerclub.