The Treatment

In the early morning hours of October 15th, 2040, several people gathered at the White House. A group in head-to-toe black and donning matching sunglasses stood around the bed of the President of the United States, Rob DuPlais. The president was lying on his back and extremely ill, his wife, Janice, by his side. The doctor, who was also bedside, looked to the group and shook his head somberly.

"President DuPlais is extremely ill. We have run all possible tests, and it appears he has a rare disorder, hypoaquatic anemia," explained the physician.

"What is that, doctor?" asked First Lady DuPlais.

"Hypoaquatic anemia is a deficiency of red blood cells due to a lack of liquid. In other words, the president's blood is essentially dust, and because of that, his heart is black as coal."

"How much time do I have, doc?" asked the president, weakly.

"Not long. Perhaps a month or two at the most."

"Isn't there something you can do?" asked the first lady.

"No, ma'am. Hypoaquatic anemia is incurable and untreatable."

Two members of the group in black stepped aside and began to converse with one another quietly. One said to the other, "Thank God elections are a mere formality now. This will bide The Council enough time to find a successor for the president."

"But Agent Carson, we can't let the president die. Our country will descend into complete chaos, as his death will cause a vacuum no one could possibly fill."

"Agent Hawksworth, you heard the woman," Carson admonished his fellow agent, referring to the doctor. "The president's got a couple months tops."

"There's got to be a way to fix this problem. I mean, what if Doctor Paulson is lying? She could be secretly trying to overthrow the DuPlais regime. We can't let that happen - there must be a solution. If we need to torture it out of her, so be it."

The agents rejoined the group surrounding the president. Hawksworth asked, "Doctor Paulson, you say there is no cure and no treatment, correct?"

"Correct, ma'am," responded the doctor.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor appeared uncomfortable. "Yes. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do."

Carson chimed in. "We have an American penal colony in Yakutsk, Russia. As I'm sure you're aware, Doctor, we have established this Siberian penal colony due to the strong alliance President DuPlais has cultivated with Russia. Their oligarchs work our political prisoners to the bone. And they are in need of a doctor." His eyes narrowed towards Doctor Paulson.

The physician cleared her throat and responded, "We do not have a cure at this time, and there is no approved treatment, as we can no longer approve new drugs or procedures."

"Why not?"

"Because the president abolished the Food and Drug Administration in 2029. This was one of the first actions he took once he was sworn in."

"Are there any unapproved treatments?"

"Yes. There is one treatment that appears to be very promising. A few studies have been conducted on it, and per the findings, the treatment has a nearly one hundred percent success rate. But there are two caveats to that."

"What are they?" asked Hawksworth.

"The first one is that the treatment is incredibly rare and expensive."

"My husband is the president!" the first lady chimed in. "Money is no object. We are willing to clean out Fort Knox to save him!"

"Okay, that's fair," the physician responded. "But there is one other challenge. Once started, the treatment must be taken for life. If the treatment is halted or is not taken on a strict schedule, the patient will die a quick and painful death."

"The president will do everything in his power to stay alive, and he is an incredibly powerful man," Hawksworth responded. The president and first lady both nodded.

"Okay, then," Doctor Paulson responded. "Agents, let us make arrangements to procure the treatment."

As the doctor led the agents away to make arrangements, Agents Hawksworth and Carson hung back from the group. "We'll go ahead and get the treatment for the president, but I don't like this doctor," Hawksworth complained.

"I agree. I really don't like the cut of her jib. Look, we'll let the doctor set up the treatment, then once everything's in place, we'll convince the president to send her to Siberia."

"Do they actually need doctors there?" she asked.

Carson smiled. "Nah."

***

On the outskirts of Cincinnati, Ohio, in a small enclave called Elizabethtown near the Indiana border, lived a man named Harold Betts. Harold was a bachelor in his mid-fifties, who owned a five-acre cattle ranch and a Holstein dairy farm. Midday that Monday, Harold was bringing in his herd for water and rest from the early fall heat wave.

"C'mon, let's go!" he called to the cattle from his green four-wheeler. As he was bringing them in, he noticed the grass around him swirling unusually and the breeze picking up precipitously. After the cattle were properly corralled, he headed back out on his ATV and stopped when he noticed a dark Black Hawk helicopter that had landed in the middle of his field.

"What the..." Harold remarked to himself. He stepped out of the ATV, and after checking for the .357 firearm in the back of his pants, he cautiously walked towards the helicopter. Three people exited the aircraft and headed toward Harold. Two were dressed in all black with sunglasses, and the other wore a grey pantsuit with a blue blouse.

"Uh, hi folks," the rancher greeted them.

"Good afternoon, are you Harold Betts?"

"Yes...yes I am."

"I'm Agent Ella Hawksworth, and this is Agent Douglas Carson. We're Secret Service agents for the President of the United States. And this," she continued, pointing to the woman in the grey pantsuit, "is Doctor Sara Paulson, the president's personal doctor."

"Oh wow, y'all got sent by the president? This must be really important. How can I help you?"

Doctor Paulson spoke up. "We're aware of a specialized milk produced here that can cure a number of illnesses. The president is in need of this milk."

"Uh, yeah. Do you mean the floating milk?"

"Yes," the physician responded.

"Floating milk...what the?" Agent Carson was a bit surprised at the treatment. "What the hell is 'floating milk?'"

"Sir," Harold responded, "it's all in the name. I have one cow that produces it, I call her Cookie. Y'know, we figured it out by accident. My nephew was milking her, and next thing you know, he ran off to find me. Come to find out, her milk doesn't just drop in the bucket like normal cows. It floats. We had to figure out a way to corral it into containers."

"Oh, I see."

"Then word got to the state universities, and they came a-knocking. They wanted to try it for some experiments or something. It can treat lots of things."

"That sounds great."

"Look Harold," Hawksworth interjected, "we need seven bottles now, and we need a steady supply shipped to the White House. We'll have a military Jeep stop by each week to pick it up. The federal government will compensate you top dollar."

"Uh, sure. I can handle that."

The agents followed Harold to his small store, where a metal briefcase of bundled cash was exchanged for seven one-gallon jugs of milk.

"Thank you for your service to the president, sir," Doctor Paulson told Harold.

"Of course. President DuPlais is the best president we ever had, and I'm so glad I can help him out."

The group of three took the milk, loaded it, and then stepped back into the helicopter. They flew off, leaving Harold in the field, $35,000 richer.

"Ah, that was easy enough," Hawksworth commented.

"Yeah, for sure," Carson responded while the helicopter was flying over the Ohio River. "So is this." He then pushed Doctor Paulson out of the helicopter. She screamed as she fell from the sky into the expansive body of water below.

"Carson! What did you do that for?" Hawksworth asked, in complete shock.

"Before we left, I received direct orders from the president. He didn't want to go through the trouble of sending her to Siberia, he wanted a more expedient solution."

***

In the weeks that followed, President DuPlais quickly improved, due to consuming one sixteen-ounce bottle of floating milk every three hours. These bottles of floating milk were consumed using a dispenser that resembled a nipple, so none of the milk would float away and go to waste. He never missed a bottle. Over the course of a few months, the supply continued unabated as agreed upon, the rancher was duly compensated for each shipment, and the president felt stronger than ever. His illness had subsided, and the sixty-two-year-old felt like he was in his twenties again.

At a meeting with members of The Council, the group of large corporate heads who were the real drivers of the president's political power, the president bragged of his newfound fountain of youth.

"This floating milk is the best thing ever! You see my hair is turning back to brown, and my wrinkles are smoothing out too."

Members of The Council began looking at each other in disbelief, then at the president.

"Rob," asked Norma Walls, the chief executive officer of WallsCorp, the largest physical retail chain in the country, "have you found the antidote to aging or something?"

"Have you been holding out on us, Rob?" queried Jim Banal, head of Zigzag, the largest online retailer in the United States.

"No, not at all," the president reassured them. "Uh...I'm sure that if you're interested, we can get you in touch with the farmer selling the floating milk, and you can open accounts with him, too. It's not cheap, but it's worth it."

"See, here's the thing," Evan DeGroot, the head of the electric car monopoly Edison TechCorp and the social media giant F, began to rant. "You government types love to waste taxpayer money. Sure, only one party exists now, but even when we had two major parties, what, like fifteen, twenty years ago, they were both wasteful as shit. Democrat, Republican, didn't matter. Both wasteful, both big government, they just made government big for different issues. Trimming down to one party didn't change shit, at least in that way. But see, The Council - we're different. We're all trillionaires. We didn't get to where we are by wasting our money. We will get this milk, but there is no way in hell we're paying for it."

***

It was the middle of the night on a cool December day in southwest Ohio. Harold sat around a modest fire with two of his neighbors, a couple named Tony and Carol Short, drinking cans of beer.

"Can't believe you got totally cleaned out of your floating milk, Harold," Tony lamented.

"Yeah. It's like as soon as Cookie produces it and we get it bottled, we get robbed. And it's just the floating milk. Nothing else. None of the regular milk, or cheeses, or anything. Can't figure out who's doing it."

"Do you have cameras? Maybe getting cameras installed will help you figure out who's doing it," Carol suggested. "I mean, I doubt it's anybody around here. Probably crooks from the city."

"Eh, I don't know about that. I got my suspicions," Harold responded.

"I'm curious," Tony perked up. "Let's hear 'em."

"I think it's somebody who's connected to the government. See, I do have cameras, but the footage of the robberies is mysteriously wiped."

"Do you have closed-circuit, or is it cloud-based?"

Harold shook his head. "Cloud-based. I don't even think they make the equipment for closed-circuit anymore."

"It exists, but it's not easy to find. It's all second-hand these days and you gotta know who to ask. I know a guy who can get that for you."

"I might take you up on that, Tony. But here's the other strange thing. When they steal the milk, they leave just enough for my contract with the president."

"Oh, that can't be a coincidence," Carol said.

"Absolutely not. The president's gotta know. I can't believe he'd do us like this. We supported him even before they got rid of that other party. And I feel so bad. We have people around here who rely on that milk to survive, and they get it free. We've already lost thirteen folks because, with the thefts, the supply can't keep up with demand. It hurts to see so much suffering," Harold shared, his voice cracking. "It didn't have to be like this. Thought I was being a good patriot. I should've kept Cookie's floating milk here in our community."

"It's not your fault, Harold," Carol sought to comfort him. "These thieves are heartless and cruel."

"Carol's right," Tony added. "It's not your fault, Harold. And you know what? I think there's a solution. It's gonna be a tough one, but I got a plan."

***

One month later, soon after the president's inauguration to a fourth term, he decided to pay a special visit to Cincinnati. This was the home of the floating milk that saved his life and kept him alive. Never mind that the milk was actually produced on a ranch outside the city, but as far as the president was concerned, Cincinnati was close enough.

Several members of The Council decided to accompany President DuPlais on the trip. They would visit the sights in and around the city, and enjoy Graeter's Ice Cream, which was one of the few local businesses that survived the Great Depression of 2034. The day would be topped off with a fancy dinner in downtown Cincinnati, where Harold Betts, the rancher who saved the president from certain death, and the country from total chaos, would be the guest of honor.

The president and first lady, The Council and their spouses, and other distinguished guests arrived at the DuPlais Hotel Cincinnati, a property owned by the president and his family. The Grand Ballroom, where the shindig was held, overlooked Fountain Square. In the ballroom, the president, The Council, and the rancher were seated at a table on a raised stage, facing the room of distinguished guests, who were other wealthy and popular people.

On the menu were appetizers such as crab cake bites, brie pastry puffs, oysters, and blueberry goat cheese crostini, and main course options that boasted several cuts of the best prime steak, including filet mignon, steak tartare, and Beef Wellington. Several types of cake would be made available for dessert. The drink menu included beer, wine, and of course, floating milk.

"This steak tartare is absolutely delectable!" the first lady marveled.

"This Beef Wellington is smashing!" noted President DuPlais.

"I can't believe this beef came from the Midwest!" noted Evan DeGroot. "I haven't had anything this good since I visited Japan!"

After some time, the dinner guests began to notice that they were missing something.

"None of you received your bottle of floating milk, did you?" Norma Walls asked.

"No, I certainly did not. Perhaps the kitchen is running slow," Jim Banal guessed. "But while we wait, maybe we'll go ahead and start the festivities."

The emcee, who was the governor of Ohio, spoke first from the podium. He then introduced the president. The president gave a few remarks, then introduced the guest of honor, announcing, "I present to you the humble rancher from right here in Cincinnati that saved my life, Harold Betts!"

Harold walked to the podium and began to speak. "The Betts Cattle Ranch has been in my family for generations. We're well-rooted in the community of Elizabethtown, Ohio, west of the city. I'm proud to say that the floating milk produced by my ranch saved the president’s life." He sighed, took out a bottle of floating milk, and sat it on the podium. The crowd grumbled.

"Why does he have that and we don't?"

"Where's the rest of the floating milk?"

Harold continued his speech. "I hope you enjoyed the meal tonight. The steak that was served was special, near and dear to my heart. It was...it was my prized cow, Cookie, the sole producer of the floating milk you were expecting tonight. This is the final bottle."

The audience gasped. Harold then picked up the bottle, held it high, and dropped it. It shattered, and the milk clumped and floated in a mass. The president, first lady, Secret Service, members of The Council and their spouses, and the distinguished guests, ran towards the dissipating milk, fighting each other for droplets of the last bottle of life-saving liquid on earth. Harold silently stepped back and slipped away from the affluent, desperate crowd.

***

Harold, Tony, and Carol sat around a campfire one August evening.

"Wow, it's been six months, and Tony, I still can't believe that plan of yours worked!"

"But Harold, you executed your part of it perfectly, and really, that was the toughest part. Thinking back on it, I'm surprised they didn't take you out on sight."

"Yeah, I know. But you wouldn't believe how rabid they got with that last bottle of milk."

"I just had to peek out of the kitchen to see it. Tony, it was crazy town," Carol added.

"And y'know, DuPlais barely got back to DC before he was a goner. And those other rich folks followed right behind."

"Yeah. The French had the guillotine. And I guess all we had to do here is wean them off their bottles," Tony noted.

Carol laughed. "Quick, fast, and in a hurry!"

Harold proposed a toast. "To a new, democratic America."

"To a new, democratic America!" Tony and Carol responded joyously.

The three raised their beer cans in unison, clinked them, and took a swig.

"I'm gonna check on Cream right quick, and then I'll be right back."

Harold went to the cattle shed to check on his white and black Holstein cow, Cream. He gave her a gentle pet. "You good, Cookie? You should be calving very soon."