by Nigel G. Mitchell
Kenny finally led Arturo to a stream running through the park. Kenny crawled underneath the rocky bridge to a large shanty made of planks of wood. Arturo followed him inside.
Arturo's first thought was that it was the home of a madman. The bed was just a grimy blanket folded over and stuffed in a corner. The walls were literally papered with news clippings about seemingly unrelated topics. One was an article on the rising numbers of the depressed in America. Another was an advertisement for a home water-filtration system. A third was just a big picture of the classic "Have A Nice Day" smiley-face. A large X had been drawn over it.
In a corner, a pot boiled rapidly on a gas stove. The top of the pot was covered with a metal dome that trapped and collected the steam coming off the water. The steam condensed into water that trickled into cups arranged around the pot.
Kenny crawled over to the pot, grabbed one of the cups, and thrust it at Arturo. "Drink this."
Arturo stared at it. He was beginning to wonder if Kenny held the answer, after all.
The old man's wrinkled face twisted into a grin. "It's okay. This water's pure, and I cleaned it myself. Built this whole system. Only way to avoid mind control."
Arturo took the glass. He was thankful that it appeared to be clean. After casting a suspicious glare at Kenny, he took a sip. It was hot, but tasted fine.
"Uh, thank you," Arturo said. "Now I wonder if you could tell me what this has to do with so-called mind control."
Kenny stabbed a finger at the glass. "That has everything to do with mind control. It's the water. The government, the military, the Powers That Be, they've contaminated our drinking water. Purified water is the only way to avoid it."
Arturo blinked as Kenny turned away to rummage through some newspapers. The professor pointed at him.
"The water," he whispered. "Of course. The water. I was the only one who didn't drink the lemonade the Mallorys gave us. And the lemonade was made with water. That's what I did differently."
Kenny hauled out a large envelope and shoved it into Arturo's hands. "I've been collecting information. Articles, environmental studies, government files released by the Freedom of Information Act. It's all here."
Arturo took the envelope and dragged out some of the papers inside it. It was indeed what Kenny had described. Newspaper clippings, computer printouts, all focused on San Francisco's drinking water.
"I've been trying," Kenny said, "to do a study of my own. Try to figure out what it is in the water that's doing all this. But...I'm not a chemist. And the Powers That Be keep everything related to it under wraps. I've been
trying to isolate the contaminant, the final piece of the puzzle I need before I can tell the world the truth."
Arturo found a chemical study on the water and skimmed it. His eyes focused on one chemical in particular. "Wait a moment. This chemical. I've heard of it in my own world. Trioximetasone. Where have I heard...of course."
Arturo looked up at Kenny, who grinned back at him with a wild look in his eyes. "It's an antidepressant. Highly controversial on my world. It was discovered to have narcotic and hallucinogenic effects. It didn't pass the FDA standards and was never released to the public. Why the devil would anyone put that in the drinking water?"
Kenny snapped his fingers. "You've given me the missing piece of the puzzle. We must alert the media."
A thick green boot kicked in the door of the shanty. A large man in army fatigues charged in, aiming an Uzi automatic rifle at Kenny. Another man followed to draw a second Uzi on Arturo.
"Come with us, please," one of the men snarled.
Arturo forced a smile as he raised his hands. "Well...I can hardly refuse such a polite request."
* * *
Arturo and Kenny had been taken out of the shanty to a black van parked alongside the river. Canvas bags had been dragged over their faces and handcuffs snapped around their wrists. Blind and immobile, Arturo could only be thrown into the back of the van. He endured the ride in bitter silence while Kenny hurled insults at everyone he could think of. Other than an occasional scratching noise at the door, the drive was smooth, so Arturo assumed they were travelling on a paved road.
After what felt like hours, the van stopped. Arturo was hauled out of the back and walked down a concrete path, guided by a hand on his arm. Eventually, Arturo felt the surface underneath him change to carpeting. Then he was pushed up against a chair.
"Sit," a deep voice said.
Arturo sat down in the leather chair. A rope tied around his arms, then to the back of the chair. When he was firmly tied down, footsteps left the room. The click of a door closing, then silence with only the sigh of air passing through a vent to break it. The inside of the bag made him dizzy with the smell of canvas.
"Kenny?" Arturo asked.
"Yes," the old man said from beside him. "I'm here with you."
"Are you tied up like I am?"
"Yes. I'm afraid so, my son. The Powers That Be seem to have caught up with us at last. If only my telepathic powers were working, I would be able to free myself, but the Powers have thought of that, and must have lined this room with tin foil. I cannot communicate with my alien friends."
Arturo pondered his words, then decided that Crazy Kenny really was crazy after all. It just seemed as if Kenny's paranoia was accurate in one respect. Perhaps that's why he had been unaffected. His suspicion of everything led him to avoid and uncover the one conspiracy that actually existed.
"But not to worry," Kenny said. "I have other allies. A friend from above. He's been watching us, following us, and soon he will strike to release us from our prison. Our persecution is coming to an end."
Arturo took a deep breath to launch into a flurry of insults when he heard a whisper coming from somewhere around him. It was low and slightly slurred, but it almost sounded like someone calling his name. Arturo winced, trying to listen, as the sound came again. Where was it coming from?
Then he heard the click of a door opening. Someone was entering the room.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," a man said. "Remove the bags, will you? This isn't a James Bond movie."
The bag on Arturo's head came off. Arturo looked around an office with a tall, thin man sitting on a desk, grinning down at Arturo. Kenny sat tied to a chair next to him.
"Good evening," the man said. "You can call me Thomas. I'm currently directing the Saguaro Project for the National Institute of Health. I'm responsible for what you and your little friend here have uncovered."
The man picked up a bowl and held it out to them. "Mint?"
"The NIH?" Arturo asked. "The government contaminated the city's drinking water? For what possible reason?"
Thomas put down the bowl. "Come now, you seem like an intelligent man, unlike your companion. Surely you can see the benefits of the Saguaro Project."
He held up a finger. "Consider this. Depression is the number one mental illness in the country. The numbers of the clinically depressed are growing at an astronomical rate. And with it, an increase in suicides, crime, homicides, drug usage. The nation's productivity suffers as people don't work or perform well at their jobs. No one is happy anymore. An unhappy nation is a self-destructive nation."
"Medication exists," Thomas continued, "to treat depression, but it's hard to get people to take it. First, they have to admit they have a problem. We've tried everything to locate and treat the clinically-depressed, but can't seem to reach everyone the way we reach the traditionally-ill. So the NIH has devised a scheme to solve this. We're adding antidepressants to the water, medicating everyone. This is just a trial run. If things go well in San Francisco, and they
have so far, we'll be expanding the program to the rest of America."
"This is abominable," Arturo growled. "You are medicating your own people without their knowledge or consent."
Thomas shrugged. "It's not without precedent. We give Americans fluoride in their water without their consent."
"Fluoride is a dental hygiene aid. This is a mind-altering chemical. It is *not* the same thing. People should have the choice about whether or not they choose to be controlled this way, and quite frankly, I believe your so-called Saguaro Project is a colossal failure. These people are zombies, not citizens. To imagine your entire nation to reflect this San Francisco is a nightmare too terrifying for me to contemplate."
Thomas looked down at him, his smile flickering at the edges. "I guess I should've known you wouldn't understand. Sure you don't want a mint?"
"Yes," Arturo snarled.
"Pity. It's laced with trioximetasone. I was hoping we could get you to conform the easy way, but I suppose it was too much to hope for."
Thomas popped the mint into his own mouth, then gestured towards Arturo and Kenny. The two men who had arrested them stepped into their range of vision. They were holding large syringes filled with a yellow fluid.
"Time to take your medicine," Thomas said.
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