Short Fiction: This Space Intentionally Left Blank

A harrowing tale of democracy... in SPACE!

Written with the goal of being interesting and provoking thought, rather than to argue for anything. Any resemblance to actual persons or policy proposals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Olivia Hart floated out of bed in the morning, anchored herself to her computer, and discovered that she had four thousand three hundred and seventy-nine missed calls, all from unknown numbers.

It took a few minutes for her heartrate to return to its baseline level. Even in a complete absence of any additional reason for concern, living in a floating death trap taught you to be wary of any unexpected developments: boring is normal, boring is safe. Thankfully, there was nothing in her inbox from NASA, no alarms on the station itself, just the same boring readouts and status reports she’d been following for months. But since about 2100 UTC last night, her personal messenger had been getting constant requests for video calls from unknown numbers.

A call icon flashed in the center of the screen. Olivia hesitated, then clicked through. An entirely too cheerful man in a suit with a red tie materialized on her screen. “It’s nice to meet you, Olivia. I’d love to talk to you about your vote—”

Olivia rolled her eyes and ended the call. Her alias must have gotten linked to a bot farm, this targeted political advertising kept getting worse. They must have the candidates say a hundred different names to record these messages. Or worse, have them sign off on a deep fake. She would probably need to go private, or register a new account. As Olivia started to click through a maze of support pages, the incoming call icon flashed again in the middle of the screen, causing her to click into the call again by accident.

The man in the red tie showed up again in high definition, the 600mbps bandwidth of the International Space Station seemingly fully dedicated to bringing him online. “Sorry we got disconnected. This is the most important election of our lifetime and…”

Olivia clicked the icon to hang up again. She didn’t need this right now. Besides, if she remembered her time zones, the election was already over planet-side, and she hadn’t even bothered to vote. Not that it would have made any difference. The call icon flashed in the middle of the screen a third time. Olivia glowered at it as it blinked. If there actually was someone on the other side, he might not stop until she picked up. Against her better judgement, Olivia clicked the button to accept the call as the smiling man in the red tie showed up a third time. “Who is this, are you even real?”

The man in the red tie raised his palms expressively. “I’m as real as apple pie, Ms. Hart, despite what some of my critics would have you believe. And I’ve very much been looking forward to speaking with you.”

Olivia decided to let him have it. “Do you have any idea the bandwidth you’re wasting on this call…”

Without warning, a second smiling face appeared on the screen, another camera-ready face in a suit wearing a blue tie. “It’s great to finally meet you, Olivia. I’d love to talk about…”

“Ahem. Sorry for the interruption, ma’am.” The smile of the man in the red tie began to strain. “You do know these aren’t your airwaves yet, Sneaky Pete.”

“No, this connection is government property, and if you’re going to be doing political advertising, I’m entitled to equal time.” The man in the blue tie smiled warmly at Olivia. “My name is Peter Marlow, and I’d like to be your next President.”

“I’m sure you would.” The man in the red tie tutted. “My name is Samuel Grant, and I’d like to be your next President as well.”

Olivia blinked in disbelief. She had tried to stay away from the cesspool of politics, but even so she was beginning to realize she had seen at least one of these faces on the news over the last year. “Why are you calling me, is this some sort of prank?”

“You mean no one’s told you…” Peter Marlow’s voice trailed off and he straightened his blue tie. “I see. Last night we had a Presidential election. Results are still coming in, but 49 states already have a projected winner, leaving the electoral college at 267 votes for both my opponent and myself. Your home state of New Hampshire will effectively decide the winner of the election.”

Samuel Grant nodded begrudgingly and continued. “And at this moment, the vote in the state of New Hampshire is an absolute tie. Unprecedented in our history. We have electronically counted and reviewed every eligible ballot, and the votes line up evenly. The polls are closed, and there is no one left in the world who can cast an eligible ballot to break the tie.” Samuel looked at her pointedly. “Well, no one on the world.”

Olivia felt a chill come over her. “You mean…”

Peter Marlow’s voice rang out. “Due to laws concerning the time zone of the International Space Station, you are still an eligible voter in the state of New Hampshire. You are the last eligible voter. And whoever you select will become President.”

“You cannot be serious.” Olivia shook her head.

“We are.” Samuel Grant’s smile had become tight-lipped.

“I don’t follow politics.”

“Well, it might be time to start. You can ask either one of us whatever you would like.” Peter Marlow looked down at his watch. “You have about fifteen minutes.”

Judging by her spiking heart rate, her adrenaline was already back up to its previous levels. Olivia strapped herself into the chair, hardly believing what was happening to her. She made a quick click in the corner of her screen as a small red light flickered on, then shrunk the window with the two men to half her screen while firing up a search engine in the other half. Sure enough, what they were saying was true. The race was locked in a complete tie.

“Who is winning the popular vote?” Olivia winced as she said it, but knew it was the right thing to do. The entire notion of this election coming down to her decision alone was ridiculous. She should just cast her vote like the electoral college had never existed, and she would at least be doing the right thing for democracy.

“Unclear.” Peter Marlow did not look happy to be giving that answer.

“That’s politician-speak for saying I’m ahead.” Samuel Grant gave an expansive smile. “Results are still coming in of course…”

“California is not as modernized as New Hampshire around electronic voting, so we expect votes to be tabulated for days.” Peter Marlow said. “That said, internal projections and betting markets have us favored…”

Samuel Grant laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “Most independent pundits are favoring us. And those betting markets are playing with chump change, there’s over 20 billion being spent on advertising this election, it would be child’s play for one of your donors to buy out a market in your favor.”

Olivia’s fingers raced over the keyboard, trying to fact-check their claims as quickly as they were coming in. “What happens if I decline to vote, or pick a third party?”

“Under New Hampshire law, the state legislature breaks the tie.” Samuel Grant said. “And the balance of power there favors me.”

“Hence, my opponent has an incentive to filibuster.” Peter Marlow looked at Olivia with a knowing glance. “If he can sling enough mud to embitter you on either option or run out the clock, he wins by default.”

Christ, this was a disaster. “What’s the balance of power in Congress?” Olivia asked, already dreading the answer.

Samuel Grant nodded. “We expect 50 senators from my party and 50 from my opponent’s. The Vice President would break the tie, giving either winner control over their cabinet and the courts.”

“Our side has a slim majority in the house.” Peter Marlow said. “We’d be less likely to hit legislative gridlock.”

Samuel Grant shook his head. “I can give you the names of four independents right now who would gladly caucus with the winning team…”

“That’s enough, I have a mute button and I will use it.” Olivia raised a finger pointedly. Both men lapsed into a respectful silence. “I get to watch the whole planet from up here, and I don’t always like what I see. What are both of your stances on climate change?”

“I’m against it.” Samuel Grant offered helpfully.

“And that’s about as far as his support goes.” Peter Marlow shook his head regretfully. “Over the next several decades we’re going to spend a hundred trillion to fight climate change, unleashing the full force of American innovation on this problem. We’re going to invest heavily in renewable energy and nuclear power, tax carbon to incentivize migration to non-polluting energy sources, and expand our social safety net to prepare Americans for the impact of a warming world.”

Samuel Grant scoffed. “His plan has him spending trillions a year on initiatives that have nothing to do with global warming. Maybe you think universal health care is a great idea, but it’s not a plan for climate change. Sneaky Pete is just taking a generic liberal agenda and putting a coat of green paint on it.”

“And what, exactly, do you plan to do?” Olivia frantically scrolled through policy proposal pdfs in separate tabs, trying to pull out any specifics beyond generic unenforceable platitudes.

Samuel Grant looked apologetic. “The world is going to warm by 3 to 5 degrees by the end of the century and flatten out from there with current policy trends as nations gradually decarbonize. The US does a tenth of global greenhouse gas emissions, unless you want us to start a world war to force rapid changes onto the rest of the world that’s trying to achieve a US standard of living, that much warming is inevitable. And if you want to spend trillions of dollars to compensate for quality of life, you shouldn’t be spending it here. It’s poorer countries and those closest to the equator that will be hardest hit.”

“Which he also has no intention of doing anything about.” Sneaky Pete… no, damnit, Peter Marlow was scowling. “There’s no political constituency for that level of foreign aid and he knows it.”

“Which is why I’m going to let them come here.” Samuel Grant flashed a smile. “The same jobs in the US pay more in a month than people living in other countries can make in years. The US is dwindling in power and influence against the rise of autocracies with larger populations. If we want to remain relevant we’ll need to grow, and opening our borders with climate visas and an accelerated path to citizenship will ensure we remain the world’s global superpower. Imagine a nation of one billion Americans, we’d be unstoppable.”

“His plan would be an oligarch’s dream come true.” Peter Marlow snapped. “An infusion of cheap labor on that scale would empower corporations over workers, weaken the ability of unions to negotiate, and provide a pool of cheap exploitable labor for the rich, creating a new underclass to massively increase inequality in the US.”

“Yes, inequality in the US would rise.” Samuel Grant responded patiently, his words clearly not directed at his opponent. “While inequality in the world would drop. Sneaky Pete must only be bothered by inequality when he sees it next door. Those people already have a much lower standard of living than the typical person in the US. They would be better off with the option to come here, and the laws which keep them in poverty by denying them the right to live and work here are crueler than any laws affecting Americans today. We have an aging population and we’re slowing down on innovation, those immigrants would make us stronger. America has the opportunity to reinvent itself, and we have a society that can offer them a better life.”

“It’s a cheap political ploy to take attention off what we should be doing, trying to improve the status quo on climate change by accelerating energy migrations that could have ripple effects on other countries.” Peter Marlow shook his head. “He thinks his party can buy voters by inviting them here, and once the nation’s attention is on immigration at the scale he wants, support for universal health care or universal basic income would completely evaporate.”

“Sneaky Pete is telling the truth, for once.” Samuel Grant nodded. “There is a trade-off between having an open society and sustaining a strong welfare state: no society which offers universal health care has immigration policies as open as the US already has today. Polling in every country tells us people don’t want a generous government if they see the benefits going to anyone who shows up there. And with climate change, our current border restrictions would be the greater evil.”

“Our society won’t survive if we don’t take care of our own.” Peter Marlow said through clenched teeth. “We need to find a way to stop climate change, not mitigate its effects. And I have no confidence this man won’t back off when his immigration policy faces pushback.”

“Like your policies would last a single election cycle…” Samuel Grant began.

“Enough.” Olivia raised her voice and both men quieted down. Time was running out, and she was hoping for something clearly disqualifying. “I want to hear your thoughts on abortion.” Olivia carefully avoided throwing in any politically loaded terms like pro-life or pro-choice; better to let the two of them sweat that one out.

“The real question is why my opinion as a man should matter at all.” Samuel Grant shook his head ruefully. “Under my plan, abortion policy for every state would be controlled by women through direct democracy. The issue would be taken away from the legislatures and put on a recurring special ballot so women could decide their state’s abortion policy, and if necessary, have the laws they approve interpreted by women judges, and enforced by women police officers.”

That answer had come fast. Olivia groaned inwardly as she realized her mistake. They knew exactly who she was, they would have seen her voting registrations, past political donations… every like and comment she’d ever left on social media. They had probably spent the last few hours mining for potential weak spots to persuade her to their side without flagrantly contradicting their public statements, who knows what spin they would be throwing at her if they thought she was more pro-life.

“See if you can get him to clarify whether or not he actually means to give that control to birthing persons.” Peter Marlow griped. “This is more cheap political hackery that would accomplish nothing. There’s not even five percentage points worth of difference between men and women on this issue in policy polling, and this ridiculous plan would allow the most partisan states to limit bodily autonomy in ways that are unacceptable. The Constitution supports a woman’s right to choose for everyone, not just the states with liberal voters.”

Samuel Grant shrugged. “The current justices don’t seem to think the Constitution covers abortion at all. And when voters are asked directly about their preferred abortion policy, even a lot of conservative states like Texas or Virginia prefer a standard allowing abortions later in pregnancy than the laws which have passed in France, Germany, and some provinces of Canada. We can’t—”

“Sorry—” Olivia tried to shove aside the natural guilt that came with interrupting, reminding herself that this show was only taking place for her benefit. “My understanding is most European countries have smaller windows for legal abortion than Roe v Wade allowed, but are much better about ensuring access to abortion in the first trimester than we were.”

“That’s exactly right.” Samuel Grant nodded. “And that’s where I want us to end up for the most conservative states. I want to be president of the whole country, and forcing every state to have the same abortion window when opinions diverge wildly doesn’t make sense, we should be more like Europe on this point. My proposal ensures policy will be set locally and accountable to the voters for whom it matters most, rather than being controlled by a federal government that keeps changing parties or by gerrymandered legislatures. Ask yourself if you’re ever going to get a better deal from my party, or from most of the democracies on Earth.”

“What about the justices you would appoint, what stance would you ideally have them take?” Olivia watched Samuel closely to gauge his reaction.

Samuel hesitated for a moment under the intensity of her gaze as his eyes glanced away. “I think there should be some latitude for different policies by state, but not this much. The strongest originalist case for abortion rights is that abortion before quickening could be considered an unenumerated right under the Ninth Amendment, as it was permitted under common law at the time the amendment passed. I can’t tell a judge what to do, but I’d be relieved if the court moved in that direction to protect the first trimester, which would still allow more variation by state than Roe gave us. I’m just looking for a compromise here, I’m no ideologue.”

“Of course not, to be an ideologue you’d have to believe in something.” Peter Marlow muttered. “Frankly, that isn’t good enough. We’re not waiting to roll the dice on an appointment to see if we can turn the clock back to the 18th century instead of the 5th, this is America, where abortion is a fundamental right. With the current court not protecting abortion, I would expect a few conservative states to still have the votes for complete abortion bans under this plan. And don’t forget, we’re only having this conversation because his party stole enough Supreme Court seats to strip abortion rights away. I will not compromise on the right to bodily autonomy, and since his party hijacked the Supreme Court to stop that right from being universally respected, we’ll add seats to the court until it is.”

“And people call my proposals dangerous.” Samuel Grant tut-tutted. “Sneaky Pete here thinks he can operate like this is the last election that will ever take place, and for him, it probably is. What does he think is going to happen the next time my party holds power if he opens the floodgates to court-packing? If we double the court anytime someone doesn’t like a ruling, by the end of the century every American alive would have to be on the Supreme Court to keep up with the exponential escalations this would set off. I’m completely against it, but the next president after us could just double the size of the court again to seize power and ban abortion nationwide or throw out election results they don’t like by judicial fiat, if Pete blows away the last guardrail of constitutional democracy. Honestly, if one President and 50 Senators can stack the Supreme Court with whoever they want, you might as well not even bother having a Constitution to hold back the majority, because the party in power would have effective control over every basic right.”

Peter Marlow rolled his eyes. “His party already took that control away from the American people with their callous obstructionism, and they’ve turned the court into an international disgrace, we don’t even have the time to cover all the ways they’ve set us back. The compromises he’s offering are like someone burning your house down and asking you to be grateful because they offer to help rebuild the first floor. Women are going to die if we don’t do something, and he’s telling us to play nice so we don’t antagonize the crooks who got us here. The court is already broken, and the American people will understand…”

“Any scandals I should know about.” Olivia interrupted. She badly needed more time to process all of this, but this bickering was getting them nowhere.

"Nothing you’ll have to hear about in the news.” Samuel Grant smiled. “There are a few sealed settlement agreements from people I’ve worked with, some NDAs. It helps respect the privacy of all parties.”

“I think we all know what that means.” Peter Marlow muttered. “And no, I don’t have any sealed settlements from the women who’ve worked for me. Just a few men.” Peter must have misjudged the look in Olivia’s eye, as he gazed back at her, nodding sincerely. “I know, this is what progress looks like.”

Five minutes left. Olivia scrunched her eyes, trying to think of the other topics she should cover. It’s not like the fate of the entire world was in her hands. Oh wait, it probably was. “Foreign policy.”

“Read my lips: no American troops overseas.” Samuel Grant rattled the words off with a rhythm suggesting it was a slogan he’d uttered a thousand times. “American troops defend American soil. Our misadventures overseas have destabilized the world and gained us nothing, and our presence in these conflicts raises the chances that weapons of mass destruction will be used. We’re done wasting resources to defend supposed allies who want the US to fight their battles for them.”

Peter Marlow sighed. “Our power has to be used responsibly, but pushing back against the rise of autocracy is in America’s interest. American commitments to defend our allies with military force deters aggression, no responsible leader can promise to keep our troops home in good faith. You can expect more wars to break out if we retreat into isolationism and let invasions go unpunished. We have a responsibility to the world, beyond what we’d get from another white man who only wants to look out for himself.”

Olivia blinked her eyes as she looked at Peter Marlow, who looked as white to her as anyone she’d ever seen. “Sorry, are you not…”

“Yes, why don’t you tell her, Sneaky Pete.” Samuel Grant had a gleam in his eye like a predator about to pounce on his prey. “Why don’t you just go ahead and share your ancestry report, put your DNA up on the screen.”

“My personal medical information is private.” Peter Marlow snapped. “Big corporations and insurance agencies are clamoring for genetic information to set premiums and discriminate against workers based on DNA markers, I’m not about to set a bad example by caving…”

“I’m just saying, it’s interesting that some people have alleged from hair samples left behind at campaign events that your heritage appears to be fully German.” Samuel Grant paused notably. “Some would say, pure, German. It’s a strange thing to find in Argentina…”

“Even if that were true, a lot of families moved because of the war!” Peter Marlow glared into the screen.

“Right, but most of those moved before or during, it’s interesting that your family seemed to show up after. Almost like they were running from something. Now, I can not see…”

“That’s never been proven!” Peter Marlow sputtered. He raised a finger in the air. “You probably haven’t even heard about what a fake this man is, or the teleprompter incidents. We have reason to believe that every word out of his mouth is fed directly from an AI-driven language model, spouting pat political answers and comebacks. We have no idea who he actually is, or what he actually believes. This man is practically a construct, all of his speeches and rhetoric are spun out of a computer program somewhere. He’s nothing but a hollow vessel for algorithms constructing whatever policies it takes to convert voters to his side.”

Samuel Grant extended his palms expressively, as Olivia thought she caught a flicker from his eyes reading something off-screen. “I won’t deny it, our team takes substantial help from top of the line AI software to form our campaign strategy, and many of my policies are informed by that research. But this is how politics has been for decades, Sneaky Pete here has a team of advisors and researchers puppeteering him with pat lines and poll-tested quips where they tell him what he thinks and what to say each week. They even pick the color of his socks and where he eats. My side is just better at it, and we’re innovating on what’s possible politically by exploring new ideas. Do you want to be stuck in the same partisan gridlock forever, or are you ready for something new?”

“You’re a manipulative empty suit.” Peter Marlow glowered. “Sneaky Sam here would snatch up cheap labor for his corporate masters and create a new underclass while shrugging away an unacceptable status quo on climate change, ignore the problems of the world with dangerous dictators on the rise, and take no real action to defend the rights of women beyond an insulting padding of bureaucracy.”

“Wow, ‘Sneaky Sam’, did you come up with that yourself or did your team of interns prep that for you?” Samuel Grant laughed. “Petulant Pete is an inflexible ideologue with no vision. He would destroy the constitutional order for a short-term policy win, drag us into bloody foreign entanglements, and wall off the benefits of American society from the people who need it most as his ineffective climate plan attempts to bribe Americans into complacency.”

“If I vote for your opponent, what will you do?” Olivia was keeping a steady eye on the clock. She had maybe two minutes left. “Will you concede, or attempt to contest or overturn the election, considering the unusual circumstances?”

“Concede, of course.” Peter Marlow responded without hesitation.

“The election is the election.” Samuel Grant shrugged. “I can always run again.”

Olivia looked back and forth between the two of them. “Really?”

“It’s a democratic election, we both know the rules. We’re just politicians.” Samuel Grant looked a little guilty for some reason. “We’re not terrorists.”

Olivia nodded. One minute left. “Thank you gentlemen, I think I have all I need.”

“Thank you.” Samuel Grant responded out of what must have been habit. “And may God bless America.”

“Science bless America indeed.” Peter Marlow nodded, and both faces winked out.

Clicking the corner of her screen one last time, Olivia rushed over to the cabinet to pull out her ballot, scrambling to find the miracle of engineering that was the space pen, allowing her to write from any angle in zero gravity. The old joke was that the Americans spent millions on an exotic new piece of technology to solve this problem, while the Russians used a pencil. Funny, if you didn’t think about the impact of floating graphite on electronics.

After a few quick marks on the paper and a nervous double check, Olivia scanned her ballot into the onboard computer system, preparing the least private ballot in the history of the world for the long electronic journey to the White Sands Ground Terminal in New Mexico, to the Johnson Space Center in Houston, to her home state of New Hampshire.

---

The Stratford New Hampshire county clerk was sitting at her desk, watching the seconds tick down to the deadline, when a ping of activity arrived on her computer. Her contact in Houston had let her know that the International Space Station had just generated another flurry of bandwidth, what looked like an email with a small attachment headed to New Mexico… followed by a five hundred megabyte file being uploaded to an unknown destination. Not her concern.

And sure enough, seconds later, the Johnson Space Center sent over the last possible ballot of the election. The county clerk scrolled through the file quickly, noting the single selection and hastily written signature, before certifying the ballot as valid and sending it on.

“Huh.” The county clerk thought to herself as she prepared to go home for the day. “So that’s how she decided to vote.”