Chapter 4

A few heads nodded while the Vice President replied affirmatively.

“If the population is approximately 10 females who need treatment for every 1 male capable of production ... a ratio of 9-1 doesn’t work, now does it?” continued the President.

There was some paper shuffling, heads slightly turning away ... all the makings of an answer that I wasn’t going to like.

“Madam Vice-President?”

“Sir, the numbers reflect a 9-1 ratio with everyone getting a supply every three days. We anticipate a certain percentage of the population will continue to refuse treatment for religious reasons.

We can also expect that some will simply refuse, well, certain lesbian populations, well sir, they’re refusing ... they’re using black market substitutes from farm animals and trying untested synthetic substitutes and--”

“I get it. And...”

“Well, sir, a certain percentage of the population, well, we just can’t--,” she was cut off.

“You’re talking about Prop 911.” The President paused, looking around at those in the room with him. “What groups?”

“Prisoners. Addicts. Mental Patients. Non-citizens.” It was the Secretary of Defense who spoke up, a grizzled older man who’d seen his fair share of trouble over the years.

“How will it be handled?” The President was now tight-lipped.

Consulting his paperwork, the Secretary of Defense continued onward.

“Female prisoners will be subject to forced testing. So will female addicts when found or caught,” he paused for a second, “female mental patients too.” There was some grumbling.

“Non-citizen females will be expatriated to their native lands. If they’re refused, they’ll be subject to mandatory testing also.” He looked up and met the President’s gaze. “All will be given the option of the Black.”

The room was dead silent, all eyes on the President.

The Black was a concoction of drugs that highly accelerated the death caused by lack of the White. Instead of suffering an agonizing death that was protracted over several long, painful days, you would go to sleep and simply never wake up. It was known in circles as The Kevorkian.

“And the testing?”

“Mr. President, if we can find a cure, an inoculation, or some type of drug to counteract the need, we can make all of this go away, this, this abomination.”

The meeting was momentarily interrupted when a message was passed to the President by a Secret Service agent who had rushed in.

After reading it, the President, who blanched and then rose quickly, followed by everyone else in the room, looked at the Secretary.

“I’ll get back to you on this.” He then left quickly, followed by his security detail.

Outside the conference room, the Agent-in-Charge was on his cell phone as the President approached. He held up one finger to the President, silently asking for a moment. Impatient, the President waited and watched. The agent lingered half a minute longer, then clicked off.

“Mr. President, she’s been missing from about 7:30 this morning. No foul play is suspected. We think, sir, that she just wandered off. We’ve got all our agents being called in, as well as Metro police.”

“National Guard?” inquired the President.

“We could use their help, sir.”

“Make it happen. Whatever you need, you call it in. I want her found and brought here.”

“Yes, sir!” said the agent, once again activating his phone and moving off.