The “applause” signs lit up; the audience dutifully clapped for them. In front of the hosts, the stage manager counted down with his fingers, and got out of the way. At the moment the countdown would have reached zero, the familiar theme music blared, the spotlights waved across the room randomly, and the hosts — Megan, Pamela, Julie, and Amy — smiled gushingly at each other. Finally, the music died down.

Megan, the lead host, looked into the camera. “Hello, and welcome back to ‘Our Views’, the show where we tell you what we think! Our next guest’s company has been in the news quite a bit lately, and we have plenty of questions for her. From the self-crowned city of Millenniaburg, please welcome Danielle Strohmeier from Unlimited Partners!”

The peppy theme music played again as a young lady with long auburn hair, dressed in business formal, elegantly walked towards the stage. Loud boos and shouts from the audience threatened to drown out the music. Danielle arrived on stage and was greeted perfunctorily by the hosts, who couldn’t hide the nonplussed looks on their faces. As the noise quieted down, Danielle turned sharply towards the audience. “I’m glad you’re booing me! If the audience of this show approved of me, I’d think I was doing something wrong!” The crowd quickly went silent, and the few that remained standing meekly sat down.

Megan smirked. “Well, wasn’t that a perfect demonstration of Millenniaburg authoritarianism.”

“Hardly,” Danielle retorted. “I gave them a choice. I didn’t tell them what to do.”

“And you shouldn’t!” piped up Pamela. “This show is called ‘Our Views’, not yours.”

“Really?” Danielle observed. “That sounds pretty authoritarian.”

The hosts went silent; a small gasp could be heard from a member of the audience. “Well, why don’t we get down to it,” Megan declared, looking Danielle in the eye. “You’re a top executive at Unlimited Partners, the firm that somehow gained control of a major American city.”

“Bankruptcy,” Danielle interjected.

“I’ll ask the questions here!” Megan declared hotly.

“Was that a question?” Danielle asked.

Megan glared at Danielle furiously for a few seconds. “Your company threw away all of the city’s existing laws and regulations, replacing them with your nebulous ‘terms and conditions’, allowing you to rule any way you see fit.” She turned to the audience, holding her arms wide. “In this great nation of our, on our hallowed territory, democracy itself has been subverted.” The crowd started to boo.

“Oh, please…you can’t possibly be that naive,” Danielle dismissed. “Democracy was subverted long before we arrived.” The booing quickly came to a stop.

“Oh really? Care to explain that?” Pamela taunted.

“I’d be happy to,” Danielle claimed. “But before I do, I just wanted to point out that your previous three guests today made it clear they thought this country’s history was nothing but oppression and slavery. And I watched you four agree with everything they said. So suddenly it’s a great nation, and hallowed territory, when it suits your purposes? Pardon me for getting whiplash.” The hosts didn’t respond; Danielle simply smiled. “Democracy was subverted the moment more than half of the people voted their hands into the wallets of less than half of the people. That’s the moment it became a tyranny of the majority.”

“Oh, really?” Julie interrupted, leaning in front of Pamela. “Sounds like a right-wing conspiracy theory to me.”

“Actually,” Danielle intoned, “it’s from Plato’s Republic. The descent into strong-man tyranny is a long-understood weakness of democracy. The point of a republic is to act as a check against unfettered democracy. But you wouldn’t know that from looking at our country.”

“But the alternative offered by Millenniaburg is neither,” Amy countered. “It’s a straight-up oligarchy.”

“As is the American government, if you hadn’t noticed,” Danielle pointed out.

The hosts’ faces froze as several gasps erupted from the audience. Megan’s face boiled over with fury. “What? How dare you!”

Danielle looked Megan squarely in the eye. “Really? So you haven’t noticed that, no matter how we vote, things don’t really seem to change? Sure, the talk changes, but the actions remain remarkably the same. Every four years, the powers-that-be put up two bland, mediocre, focus-grouped, poll-tested ‘compromise’ candidates, whose only differences lie in words. And once in office, nothing fundamental changes.”

The hosts didn’t respond. Danielle continued. “Cambridge University did a study on the influence of voting on policy. You can look it up.” She turned to the audience. “Search for ‘Cambridge Theories of American Politics’; it should be the first link.” Several heads that weren’t already tilted toward their phones did so. “You can make time to read it later, but the punch line is, when it comes to actual policy making, the preferences of ordinary citizens — your democratic voters — have much less effect than economic elites. In short, the oligarchy rules this country, and voting is a sideshow.”

“Well…it doesn’t mean it has to be that way!” Megan retorted. “You can go along with a broken system if you like, but we, and our viewers, choose to fight the power! We don’t give in to convenience!” A few heartfelt cheers flitted from the audience; applause started to rise.

“That’s because you can afford to!” Danielle interjected. The weak applause died down quickly. “You may be willing, and able, to engage in some sort of march against the system, but the people in your audience can’t do that. They want peace, stability, and good governance, because they actually get something out of it. If things get too bad here, you can board your yacht and sail to another country. Your audience can’t.”

“You could do that, too,” Pamela sniped.

“But I don’t, and neither does anyone else at Unlimited Partners,” Danielle corrected. “Instead, we stay here, in the middle of the mess, and try to make things better. You claim to ‘fight the good fight’, but what do you actually do? All I see coming from you are lofty words. You get outraged, your audience gets outraged, and nothing happens, nothing changes. My firm is physically reclaiming the decay of a once-proud city, working every day to make it more of a place people would actually want to live.”

“So they want to live under a fascist surveillance state?” Julie scathed.

“Again, not a new development,” Danielle pointed out. “I’m sure you all remember the ‘global surveillance disclosures’ of several years ago. That’s still in place; nothing has changed since then. It’s actually gotten quite a bit worse. And it directly serves the interests of the oligarchy that you’re pretending isn’t in charge. Ours, on the other hand, strives to apply the lightest hand possible, and is mostly concerned with restitution. If someone commits a crime, they must make up the damage they caused. At worst, it leads to deportation. We don’t use it to control how people think; we wish to encourage a diversity of views.” Danielle smirked. “Not just our views.”

Danielle could see Megan’s face turn red. Amy finally spoke. “Let’s talk about your deportation for a moment. So that’s how you solve your problems? You pack them on a bus, and pass them off to some other poor city?”

“Not at all,” Danielle explained. “We get permission from their new hosts. More than permission, actually; all have seemed positively enthusiastic about taking in these people. They’re practically overflowing with some sort of perceived moral superiority, to be frank. Finding new homes for our deportees has been a lot easier than we ever expected.”

“Really?” Amy murmured, looking down at what she held in her hands. “That wasn’t in my notes.”

“And it’s a far cry from what the federal government does,” Danielle continued. “People from other countries cross our southern border, and the authorities literally bus them to destinations unknown. Their new hosts cities are never even informed! It’s a long-running scandal, and nothing seems to change—” Danielle turned back to Megan. “—despite the will of the voters.” Megan continued to stare angrily.

“At least we still live under the rule of law, not your ambiguous ‘terms and conditions’,” Megan huffed.

“You’re perfectly aware that the laws are less important than how they’re interpreted,” Danielle reminded. “The difference between a principled whistleblower, and criminal charges of espionage, comes down to a matter of opinion…of the government’s opinion. That opinion is all that separates celebrated journalists from poor sods rotting away in prison. In the end, your laws don’t protect you any better than our ‘terms and conditions’.”

Danielle turned to the audience. “How many of you are posting on social media right now?” Several heads looked up. Danielle continued. “Is it one of the big social-media sites, or a smaller independent site? Seriously, raise your hands if you’re posting to an independent site right now.” No one raised their hands. “So you are literally supporting the oligarchy that runs this country.” She turned back to face the hosts. “Your complaint against Unlimited Partners can’t be that we’re an oligarchy. You also can’t fault our rule of law, or our deportation policy. So what is it, then?”

No one spoke for a few seconds. “How about Councilwoman Karen?” Pamela blurted. “She ran afoul of your ‘new order’, and got deported for what she believed. How do you explain that?”

“I’m sorry, but your story isn’t even remotely true,” Danielle laughed. “She was offered a position without our company, but it was clear within a few weeks that it wasn’t going to work. She then voluntarily left the city to go live somewhere else.”

“Yeah, right,” Pamela snorted. “You expect us to believe that?”

Danielle smirked. “Why don’t we ask her?”

Pamela’s face fell. “Wait, what?”

“I’d love to know where you get your information,” Danielle deadpanned, “but until then, we can settle this debate very easily. I’m pretty sure I still have her phone number.” Danielle fished around her chair for an audio wire and plugged it into her phone. “This’ll let everyone listen in on the call, right?” As the hosts gaped at her, she calmly scrolled to a phone number and selected it. The phone’s audio played over the studio’s public-address system, and for the home audience; the call was answered after the first ring.

“Danielle! Great to hear from you!” Karen gushed. The hosts became pale.

“Karen! It’s been a long time. Have a few minutes?”

“Of course!” Karen chimed. “I’m watching the show right now. I heard you were going to be on; I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

“Then you know there’s some debate over how you left Millenniaburg,” Danielle explained. “Would you like to tell your side?”

“You pretty much already did, but I’d be happy to,” Karen clarified. “And I admit, I was really surprised when you called me into your office the first time. Your offer to employ me — or, as you put it, ‘make full use of my passion and motivation’ — caught me off guard. But after a few weeks, it became clear to both of us that, while I might have identified the problem correctly, my solutions all involved force. I literally had no idea how to solve any of these problems without forcing people to believe a certain way. I was crestfallen, but I agreed it was time for me to go.”

Danielle glanced at the hosts; they continued to stew. “So how have you been since then?”

“Oh, you know, it’s an adjustment,” Karen admitted. “I’ve been trying to teach myself different ways to resolve problems. It’s not easy to overcome a lifetime of thinking. But at least I’ve taken the first few steps in that direction.”

“Glad to hear it!” Danielle piped up. “I don’t want to keep you on the spot, so I’ll let you go, but first…is there anything you’d like to say about their specific charges? Of running ‘afoul’ of us and getting ‘deported’?”

“Yes,” Karen affirmed. “That’s not at all how it happened. I have no idea where they got that. They certainly didn’t talk to me.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Danielle ended. “Have a good day!”

“You too!” Karen trilled. “Give ’em hell!”

Danielle hung up and disconnected the cable. She turned to face the hosts, all of whom looked ashen. “Well? What do you have to say for yourselves? Where exactly did you get your information on Councilwoman Karen?”

The hosts began speaking over each other; the words came out in confused jumbles. “Errors in research”…“differences of opinion”…“we’re not on trial here”…finally, Amy stood up and spoke loudly, cutting them all off. “We made it up.” The other three hosts glared at her, aghast.

Danielle blinked. “Care to explain that?” Megan made a “cut it off” motion with her hand, but Amy ignored it. “We never even looked into it. We simply jumped to conclusions once we heard she didn’t live there anymore.” She turned to face her fellow hosts. “Megan, you assured me we were fighting the good fight. But lying isn’t part of that. What the heck’s going on here?”

Megan didn’t respond; she continued to stare hotly at Amy. Danielle broke the silence. “Karen didn’t leave because of her criticism, but because her solutions involved excessive force. We regularly hire critics to solve the problem they’re criticizing; the passion they bring to their work is highly valued. But it’s on them to demonstrate how to solve the problem. If their solution works, that’s wonderful, since there are now less problems. But if their solution doesn’t work, then they forfeit their right to criticize, since events have proven their ideas to be wrong.” Danielle settled back in her chair. “I think that’s eminently fair. Don’t you?”

Danielle noticed that Megan’s collar was soaked with sweat, as was the upper part of her blouse. Megan finally managed to respond. “So what sort of people qualify to live in Millenniaburg, then? You pick and choose among the privileged?”

“Hardly,” Danielle responded. “Our criteria are not difficult to meet. If you can hold down a job, go to a restaurant without screaming at the waitstaff, and return your shopping cart to a corral, then you’re more than qualified to live in our city.” An appreciative murmur arose from the audience.

“How many people, do you think, can live under such rules?” Pamela sneered.

“We’re not sure,” Danielle answered, “but we believe it’s a silent majority.” More approving noises from the studio audience.

“Do your citizens have any voting rights?” Julie asked.

“Yes, like any other shareholders,” Danielle explained. “That’s one way that universal suffrage fails; the voters don’t necessarily have skin in the game, so to speak. But shareholders do. Also, you never know why voters make the decisions they do…for all you know, they could be trying to crash the system deliberately, voting for the most destructive ideas possible. Shareholders are much less likely to do that, since it’ll hurt them directly. For this reason, Unlimited Partners’ plan is to make all citizens stockholders, so that they can share in the profits realized by the peace and prosperity they’re creating. This contrasts with the current system, where the rich get richer, the poor stay poor, and the middle class find it increasingly difficult to join the ranks of the rich.”

“Still, the majority shareholders are likely to get their way,” Julie pointed out.

“Of course,” Danielle conceded. “Just as how, in your system of government, special interest money can sway voters. In the end, it’s a problem that neither of us have solved. But at least we’re not any worse off.”

“I heard that company stock is also your currency?” Megan charged. “Your people literally sell their voting rights for their daily needs?”

“We also have non-voting stock,” Danielle explained. “That’s used as currency.”

“And there’s no danger of forging them?” Megan griped. “The U.S. Treasury goes through a lot of trouble to make their bills difficult to forge. That takes time and effort. Have you cut corners here?”

“We took an easier way out,” Danielle said with a smile. “All classes of our stock are technically cryptocurrencies. The paper versions, when they’re used at all, are just tokens representing the electronic versions.”

Megan frowned. “Well, it seems like you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you. It remains to be seen how many people want to live under such a blatantly right-wing regime.”

“Our system is inspired by the terms and conditions of Big Tech companies that publicly profess left-wing values,” Danielle reminded. “How does that make us right-wing?”

Megan smoldered as Danielle continued. “Besides, we only have to offer something better than the alternative. Big Government is collapsing. Big Tech wants to impose a totalitarian state where your every online utterance is censored. Frankly, we’re a lot better than either of those alternatives.” A single shout of “Yeah!” erupted from the audience. Danielle turned and smiled. “Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence!”

“I’ll still never understand how the government lets you get away with this,” Pamela seethed.

“Like I said earlier…bankruptcy!” Danielle reminded. “The government agreed to our terms, and gave us permission.” Danielle shifted in her chair and smiled. “It was remarkably easy! Once the city defunded the police, civil order broke down quickly. They eventually tried to rehire some police, but got few takers. The city was literally in danger of collapsing into anarchy. Unlimited Partners put a stop to that.”

Megan looked off-camera at the stage manager. “Well, it looks like we have to move on to the next guest,” she huffed. “We’ll have to take this up again later.”

“I’ll be glad to come back,” Danielle smirked. “I’ve had a lovely time today.” Megan’s eyes flared with anger, but before she could respond, Danielle turned to the audience and pointed. “Looks like someone has a question!”

Julie snarled. “Hey, we’re the only ones allowed to do that!” But the staff member with the roving microphone had already reached the audience member. A quiet voice spoke up. “I’m impressed with what I’ve heard today. How does one become a citizen of Millenniaburg?”

“You only need to demonstrate that you have something to contribute, and that you won’t be a drain on the system,” Danielle explained. “That’s not too much to ask. There’s an application form on our website.”

The audience member chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to ask my grandchildren about that. I don’t know a web site from a garden spider.”

“I’m not buying this for one second,” Megan retorted. “You’re obviously a plant.”

“A what?” The staff member holding the microphone explained it to her. She looked irritated. “No, I’m not. I’ve never met Danielle before.”

Megan crossed her arms angrily. “We’ll see about that.”

Danielle’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. So, you’re openly willing to attack an innocent person, hurling accusations at them, abusing your position…is that not the mark of a corrupt, self-serving oligarchy? And yet you deny it exists.”

“Can I say something about this?” came the quiet voice.

Megan turned toward the speaker and glared furiously. “No!”

“Go ahead, ma’am,” Danielle reassured.

“I’m insulted you think I’m a plant,” the audience member lectured. “And until today’s show, I opposed what Millenniaburg stood for. But now that I’ve heard their side of the story, I’ve changed my mind.” She pointed her finger directly at Megan. “So go ahead and investigate me; I might just be an old lady, but I’m not afraid of any of you. Do you worst, dearie.” She then abruptly sat down, leaving the hosts gaping.

Danielle bemusedly pondered the silent hosts. She then turned to the camera, smirking, and said “We’ll be right back.” Immediately, the theme music started, the search lights played over the room, and the “applause” signs flashed. She got up to leave.

Megan stood up suddenly. “Get out!” she commanded.

“I was leaving,” Danielle responded flippantly. “Have a great rest of your day! Enjoy being miserable!” As she left the stage, the audience gave her a standing ovation, turning to face her as she walked out.