Tony’s motorized palanquin putt-putted into the Oval Office, the red-lit dome on the top revolving furiously.

“COVID, COVID!” he said through the speaker grill, his wheezing voice robotic and stripped of emotion.

“COVID?!?” Joe cried. “Already?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Tony said gravely. “The Republican debates are coming up and we must all wear masks!”

“I don’t think I have a mask anymore!” Joe said.

A compartment opened on the palanquin and vomited dozens of n95’s on the floor. A fleshy nozzle slid out and sprayed them with bleach.

“You must warn America, sir! A big press conference! A huge press conference!” Tony squealed.

Joe pressed the intercom button on his desk and stuttered, “Send-nd-nd in my-my press secretary! The, uh, the, uh, the, uh… Black one? She’s Black, right?”

The intercom button had been disconnected months ago.

Joe and Tony waited, staring at the door to the Oval Office expectantly.

“She should be here any minute,” Joe said.

“COVID!” Tony cried.

“She’s coming,” Joe said.

They waited and waited.

“How is your health, Mr. President? Has Rachel been taking good care of you?”

“Who?”

“Rachel Levine? Your personal doctor?”

“Is that the one with the, you know, the thing?” Joe asked.

“Yes, Mr. President. It’s the Rachel with a penis.”

“Uh.”

“It’s a fine, womanly penis. I’ve seen it,” Tony said, his voice paralyzed with wonder. “Just majestic.”

“I’ve been having accidents again,” Joe admitted.

“Perfectly normal for mammals your age,” Tony assured him.

“I just had an accident,” Joe said.

“You needn’t be embarrassed, Mr. President,” came the cold voice. “I am a physician first and foremost.”

Joe gasped as long robotic arms, black and insectile, unfolded from the palanquin and lifted him out of his office chair and laid him across the Resolute desk. The cold manipular pads stripped away his pants and wet diaper. As Joe dried, the arms took a new diaper from the desk and expertly wrapped Joe crotch in absorbent fine cotton. Joe sighed contentedly as his pants were tugged back on and he was sat back into his chair.

“Where is the Negro woman?” Tony asked, a feedback whine creeping into his projected voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe your body slave can find her.”

“Finnegan’s been missing all morning,” Joe said. “I had to eat breakfast by myself.”

“And your son?” Tony asked. “I understand he has been living here all summer.”

Joe froze, readied himself for Hunter to appear.

“I guess he’s gone too,” Joe said sadly. “They’ve all been mad at me since I fell asleep in Hawaii.”

“I have a solution,” Tony said. “Medicine, medicine, medicine!” he screeched as his vending slot shat tube after tube of Pervitin onto the desk.