Michael Crichton - Drug of Choice

“This is the group, the backup,” he said. “The Scientific Coming. We’ve finally got them polished into some kind of shape, but it was a battle, I can tell you. This first cut is a standard.”

He handed Clark a set of earphones. Electronic sound blasted him. As he listened, somebody handed him a sheet of words:

SHOCK TREATMENT

My little analeptic

She meets me at the door.

Gives me a kiss,

And I’m rolling on the floor.

In shock treatment,

Shock treatment,

Shock Treatment,

Rolling on the floor… or… or…

Blow my mind,

In a catatonic fit,

Losing my cool,

But loving it.

In shock treatment,

Stock treatment,

Block treatment,

But loving it… it… it…

Gotta admit,

It’s really a show.

Wears me out,

And leaves me kinda low.

From shock treatment,

Rock treatment,

Mock treatment,

Leaves me really low… low… ow…

The song was finished. Clark took off the earphones. “Nothing special,” he was told. “They’re just warming up. This next is a very sensitive ballad, very now, very today.” Clark put the headphones back on.

SICKIE, SICKIE

Sickie, sickie, where you goin?

All day long, and night time glowin.

There you go,

Poppin’ pills.

Seeking out,

Those extra thrills.

Don’t you know,

It’s really here.

Can’t you see,

It’s only fear.

Sickie, sickie, where you goin?

All day long, and night time glowin.

Out of sight

Mind a fog.

Big machine

A little cog.

Don’t you know,

It can’t be done.

You must see,

That you’re the one.

Pick you up,

Or put you down.

Start you high,

Or crash you down.

We don’t care

It’s what you do

But you know

We’re really true.

“Doesn’t that grab you?” someone asked Clark. “Here, check this out.”

He was handed an album cover: SIX INCH INCISION. Glow Girl and the Scientific Coming. The cover photo showed the group of hairy young men in the other room, but there was a blank space—for Glow Girl, he presumed. He turned the album over to look at the song titles.

“These are just tentative, of course,” he was told. “We may still call the album Acid Fast. The song titles are tentative as well. Molecular Love, for instance, may be changed to Cryin’ Ions Over You.”

Harvey Blood looked over at Clark, obviously relishing his confusion.

“You see the general principle,” he said. “Science. Everyone is afraid of science. Terrified of it. And yet fascinated by it at the same time. We’re bringing science down to the masses, making it agreeable, understandable. We’re educating people.”

“Oh,” Clark said.

“Now, all that remains,” Blood said, “is to make our new creation palatable to the public. In fact, enthusiastically received. There are slightly more than seventy rock groups which are, in any sense of the word, big-time. Of those, perhaps ten are really important. We intend to beat them all. The Beatles, the Stones, the Airplane, the Cream, Traffic, Jimi Hendrix, the Chambers Brothers—we are going to put them all out of business.”

“I see.”

“You doubt me. You shouldn’t. After all, look what we did with a product as untalented and basically boring as Sharon Wilder, the former Alice Blankfurt?”

Harvey Blood laughed.

“Isn’t science wonderful?” he said.

“YOU SEE,” HARVEY BLOOD said, as they drove back in the limousine, “the true purpose of Advance is the harnessing of science to turn a comfortable commercial profit. The drug of choice is just one example. Our use of it to operate a resort hotel may seem strange at first, but think about it. It’s wholly logical. In the same way, the Glow Girl will utilize advances—”

“What about Sharon Wilder? What scientific advance does she represent?”

Blood chuckled. “Applied psychology. We had it all worked out in advance—what she should look like, how she should act, what kinds of things she should talk about, what kind of photographs she should pose for, what kind of movies she should appear in. It was a careful balance, designed to fulfill the nationwide expectations for a modern sex symbol. I think you will grant,” he said, “that we’ve succeeded handsomely.”

“And the Glow Girl?”

“Ah. Now that is an interesting matter. Those inane songs you listened to are actually quite carefully prepared. The rhythm is timed as multiples of brain-wave frequency and function. If played loudly it can have quite a hypnotic effect. This, combined with the image of the Glow Girl, the scientific-sexual overtones of the group—”

“Scientific-sexual?”

“Of course. But Advance is not stopping there. We are already engaged in the manufacture of a new line of perfumes for women, and cologne for men. We are planning the introduction of a new game which will, we predict replace professional football as the most interesting game in America. We have a new contraceptive device which needs to be taken only once a year—a great boon for teenagers trying to hide nasty facts from their parents. Very shortly, we will begin marketing three-dimensional television. And finally, we have reason to believe that we are on the track of a mild viral illness which increases sexual potency.”

“I don’t believe you,” Clark said, but he really did.

“In time,” Harvey Blood said, “you will come around to our way of thinking. I don’t need to tell you that we are not a unique corporation in this country. We are merely a little smarter, a little faster than the others. But other firms are springing up, all across America. This is the way of the future—research and development, and commercial application on an imaginative basis.”

Clark said, “What about me? Why did you involve me in all this?”

“We needed you.”

“For what? To pick the Glow Girl?”

“Oh no. That was just a minor thing. We’ve had major plans for you, right from the start.”

“You mean for the island?”

“Well, no. Other things.”

“Like what?”

“We expect,” Blood said, “to utilize your knowledge of drugs and testing.” He held up his hand. “And please, no tiresome stories of how you will resist us, and refuse us, and fight us. We can make you do it, and if you are wise you will go along willingly. After all, we can make you a rich man.”

The limousine pulled up in front of the Advance building. As they got out, Blood looked at his watch and said, “Behind schedule again. You’re late for your appointment.”

“My appointment?”

“Yes. With the Glow Girl.”

“And what am I supposed to do with her?”

“Examine her, of course,” Blood said. “You’re a doctor; we want a full report on the physical fitness of our girl. After all,” he said, “we’re going to be putting a lot of time, effort and money into her. A hell of a lot.”

There was a room, a desk, an examining couch and a nurse. The girl, wearing a simple skirt and blouse now, sat in a chair facing the desk. She looked back over her shoulder as he came in.

The nurse was matronly and forbidding. He said, “You can leave now. I’ll call you when I need you.”

“A nurse should be in attendance—”

“Get out,” Clark said quietly, “or I’ll kick you out.”

“But Dr. Clark—”

“I’ll worry about Blood, if that’s the problem. Besides,” he said, “the room is bugged.”

The nurse glared at him, but left. Clark walked around behind the desk and sat down. Immediately, he began going through the drawers. The girl watched him silently.