Paradise Plaza


Meanwhile, in a hotel room, a man in a lab coat reviewed an intricate diorama on a desk. It displayed a recondite illustration of a process that resembled phagocytosis. He turned to a short, dark haired young man and muttered.

"Mr. Bertrum, is all the equipment ready?"

The student scrambled around the room, counting everything. He stopped before a refrigerated crate.

"Ten… eleven.. T-twelve."

The doctor pored over his papers, paying his minion no heed. "Is everything in order?"

"Y-yes doctor…"

The elder man raised his head and glared. "Except…"

Bertrum’s face whitened. "One of the genetic insert tubules is missing," he squeaked.

The professor sighed and shrugged. "This is just a minor setback."

His college gasped. "But we spent so much time creating those formula. It’s the most important part of the procedure."

The professor laughed, "I figured that one of those bonobos would drop one, or misplace one in packing, so I made some extra serum. Honestly, I couldn’t trust them to do a Grahm stain properly."

Bertrum nodded obsequiously.

He continued. "Bertrum, son, there’s nothing to worry about. First, to remain active, the serum must be stored in an environment that does not exceed ten degrees centigrade. Then it must be injected intervenously, followed by administration of citronoid acid one hour afterward. Furthermore, the serum shows no effect on animals other than mice. Even if an entire flask of it were to escape into the environment, the amount of havoc it could wreak would be minimal. So there’s no rational cause for alarm."

"What is the forumla for Citronoid acid again."

The hoary man shrugged again. "I’m too tired to list all the components of that right now. Go call James Peterson if you need to know. He’s the eidetiker. I haven’t eaten for twelve point seven hours. It’s time for dinner."

The two men locked up their scientific equipment securely and walked down the hall, noticing the unflinching security guards posted every few meters.

What they did not notice was a young redhead in a maid outfit pushing a nondecript covered dish nearby. She ran to the corner, lifted the dish, and, after glancing to assure herself that no humans or cameras were around, she reached into the turkey on the silver platter and pulled out a telecommunication device. She pressed three buttons and crouched into the corner.

" Maid to the Hamper.

Maid to the Hamper!

I’ve determined that security is too tight to make our move here. but we have a new target. His name is James Peterson, and he knows what we want."

The woman listened to the response and concluded. "Yes sir. immediately."