President Morewitz
swallowed the capsule and promptly dropped the glass of water, which
shattered into a wet spray of shards on the wooden dais.
“Oops...I'm
OK, I'm OK. It hasn't started working yet. I don't think!”
Grinning, he stepped clumsily backwards off the dais as Ruth and
Geddes rushed forward. Morewitz had regained his footing by the time
they reached him. Chuckling, he led them into an alcove behind the
curtain. The space was occupied by a steel cot and a couple of
folding chairs. Morowitz sat on the cot and motioned to the chairs,
but before either Ruth or Geddes could sit something mechanical
jerked the curtain up and rolled it into the ceiling exposing them to
the floodlights and the president's son peering at them through the
camera's viewfinder. Geddes waved him away.
“You
can turn that off now, Bradford,” Geddes said. “Show's over.”
“No
no, leave it on, Brad! I want the world to see the whole thing live.”
Ruth leaned in and
said quietly, trying to keep her voice from the sound pickup, “Not
a good idea, Geoff. There'll be a stretch when nobody looks very
presidential.”
“I
don't care, Ruth. I believe I've already shown them that side of me.”
He laughed. “I can't imagine a better way to demonstrate how this
stuff works.
“Besides,
you're going to join me aren't you? Have you taken yours yet?”
“No,
Geoff. Changed my mind.”
“Whatsa
matter. 'fraid we'll start singing Auld
Lang Syne?
No, wait, Eve
of Destruction!
Hahaha.”
“Oh,
Geoff.” She nudged Geddes. “Thanks a bunch, Al. You didn't have
to put that in the book, you know.”
“So
when will this stuff kick in? Should I be lying down? It sounds in
your book, Al, kinda like an LSD trip?”
“You
ever done acid, Mr. President?”
“No,
Al. They asked me that many times once I got into politics. I've been
with people who were tripping. When I was at Yale. At least I assumed
they had taken acid. I think they called it windowpane.
“Frankly
I was afraid to try it. I smoked some marijuana – oh, and I did
inhale hahaha – but the other stuff, the windowpane, if that's what
it was, well, they just got too weird for me when they were on that
stuff.”
“There
are similarities, Mr. President. The first time I took it
unknowingly. Thought I was losing my mind.”
“I
know. I read both books, Al. You called them fiction, but I suspected
at the time there was more truth in them than not. So has Vulcana
made you a...a better man?”
Geddes shrugged and,
trying to keep his face deadpan, turned to Ruth. She met his eyes and
shook her head. Morowitz interrupted her as she started to speak.
“That's
an unfair question, Al, and I apologize for putting you on the spot.
I know we're still live, although I can't imagine every station is
still carrying the feed, but...”
“It's
OK, Mr. President. It's a perfectly valid question and, double
entendres aside, I really don't feel any different, except obviously
a little older and...well, even more disappointed. I'm not sure
Vulcana's given me any new insights or mental abilities. Maybe I was
too old and set in my ways.”
“You're
a goody two-shoes, Al. Vulcana doesn't affect goody two-shoeses...is
that right? Two-shoeses?”
“Ruth,
jeezus.”
Morowitz remained
seated on the cot, but his face wore a puzzled expression. He seemed
distracted, staring at something behind them. Before Geddes could
turn to see what it might be, Dr. Knoe appeared at his side. Her
intriguing scent – a subtle marriage of fetching and dangerous –
reached him first. She touched his arm and pushed him gently out of
her way as she moved nearer the president.
“Mr.
President,” she said, in the protective voice of a mother to her
child, “are you comfortable?”
No response.
“Mr.
President?”
The corners of his
mouth twitched as if he were starting to smile, but he continued
staring at the opposite wall. Geddes and Ruth stepped back and eased
toward the alcove entrance.
Dr.
Knoe reached out and placed a hand on his forearm, drawing no
reaction. In a near whisper she said, “Geoffrey?” Nothing. Then,
barely audibly, what sounded like the word no.
She
patted his arm. He started rocking sideways on the cot. He blurted,
“NO!
NO NO NO NO NO NO!” He turned his head and met her eyes, his wide
and fearful. Small voice, “Mommy?”
“It's
alright, Geoffy. It's alright, honey.” The rocking continued.
“Mommy,
I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Mommy. I'm sorry.”
He closed his eyes tightly and rocked back on the cot, not seeming to
notice his head bumping loudly against the wall behind him. Geddes
rushed to the cot and helped Dr. Knoe move him so he was lying
lengthwise.
Morowitz offered no
resistance, but pulled his legs up to keep them from dangling off the
end of the cot. He pulled them up further than necessary, contorting
his gangling body into a bizarre fetal position.
Geddes saw the
president insert his index finger into his mouth, and watched the
lips and jaw muscles begin undulating.
“What
the hell?”
“This
is not good, Al.”
“We
haven't seen anything this drastic, have we? I mean, I sure as hell
didn't suck my finger, did I?”
“He's
jumped straight to infancy. I'm not aware of anyone else who
regressed that far. And so quickly.”
“Can
you do anything, Liz?” said Ruth, horror stretching her face as she
moved toward the cot.
“Let's
wait. Maybe this will be temporary.” Dr. Knoe removed the
president's shoes, and she and Ruth spread open the Navy blanket that
was folded at the foot of the cot and draped it over his lower body.
Geddes
stepped in front of Bradford Morowitz to keep him from moving the
camera dolly closer.
“He
wants this to be live. All of it,” the president's son complained.
“You
can keep the camera rolling, Brad, but we need to give your dad some
room here. I'm sure he would agree.”
Bradford
halted the dolly. “Is he going to be all right?”
Dr.
Knoe turned to him. “I'm sure he'll be fine, Brad. I'm a physician.
I'll make sure nothing happens to him.”
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