He raised his eyebrows and looked at me, as if they formed a question mark. I guess I was supposed to ask what more I could give for my country. If he was looking for working legs, he’d come to the wrong person. “As I’m sure you know, this country has never been so divided…”

Well, there was that pesky Civil War thingy.

“… and with the challenges facing us now, that god-awful mess the Trumpers created. The Democrats…” He clenched his lips and shook his head in disdain. “I don’t have to tell you what a shitstorm we’ve inherited. The pandemic. The drought. Famine. That whole Trump thing about the election being fixed. The Iranians, North Koreans, Putin.” He shook his head. “The whole China debacle. The Palestinians. The French are laughing at us.” He paused to muse over that. Apparently the French were not supposed to laugh at us. “We’ve even had to reestablish relations with Canada. Canada, for God’s sake, how the fuck do you fuck up relations with Canada?

“The whole fucking world is ready to blow up and we can’t even get the two parties to agree that we should clean our water and fix the roads.” He took a long and thoughtful breath. “Frankly, Rollie, we no longer can afford that division. The future of this country is at stake. ‘A house divided against itself’ and all that stuff. It’s right. We’ve got to figure out some way of putting this country back together. Whatever it takes. That’s why I asked you to come in.”

He paused again to await my reaction. I wasn’t quite certain what I was supposed to say. I couldn’t even convince a plumber to come on a Saturday, yet somehow I was supposed to bring the entire country together? I flipped up my hands in confusion.

“Here’s the deal. Among journalists here in Washington you’re an influencer. Editors and reporters know who you are. They respect you. The president asked me to tell you that he would welcome your support.” He took another sip of water to allow that compliment to sink in. Then he smiled his most insincere smile—the one in which his lips are so tightly closed they might have been sewed together, and only one side of his mouth curls up—and added, “But honestly, Rollie, we don’t need it.”

I assumed this was where I was expected to respond with some level of dismay. Well, we both knew I wasn’t going to stand up and walk out in a huff. Instead, I smiled back, although both sides of my mouth curled. I’d found mirroring an expression often was far more effective than words. And in my humble opinion my insincere smile was far superior to his. Then I lightly pushed the toggle switch on Mighty Chair’s armrest. With barely a whisper the extendible arm emerged from the armrest. I guided it to the water glass on his desk. Holding my hand above the AI command screen, I closed my fingers as if squeezing a toothpaste tube. In response, the steel fingers at the end of the arm mimicked that motion, closing around the glass. Using the toggle switch, I deftly brought the glass to me and set it gently on my tray without spilling a drop. I picked it up, tipped it toward the vice president, and enjoyed an equally long sip.