Klaus pulled no punches in throwing one hell of a party. In a large multipurpose room he had erected a stage where a hired college band played hits from past decades at a reasonably loud volume. Over the stage hung a wide hand-painted banner reading “Wilkommen Zum Klonenfest”. Professional caterers were called in, serving a variety of culinary delights, much to the pleasure of all.
In a partitioned corner, a large screen was playing arcane classic science fiction films. In front of the screen, several of the clones reclined on three overstuffed couches, utterly transfixed. Klaus socialized with the brethren, sharing simple jokes and encouraging banter. Klingel strode back and forth between the punch bowl and the movie, pausing only to wind his watch and chat with the mingling Klaus.
“Splendid party, Herr Doktor!” he beamed his crooked smile.
“So glad to see you finally enjoying yourself, Arnie!” Klaus clapped him on the back and pointed to one of the clones standing abreast. “Three here was just telling me his hopes to study medicine! Can you believe it? All of these delightful children came from the same man, yet each has his interests. Simply amazing! To think we may have created one to follow in our footsteps!” Three smiled bashfully and turned to watch the band as the doctors talked.
“Indeed,” Klingel munched on a tortilla, spewing crumbs as he spoke. “For example, just look at those who prefer to watch the band versus those who, like me, are entranced with the earlier masterpieces of George Lucas.”
“Not that philistine revisionist pap, I hope?”
“Apropos as it may seem, my dear friend, no! I have been asking the JONs questions intermittently about the classics. Each has a favorite character! Chewie’s my favorite, but it’s absolutely marvelous—all this variety. I pray when we proceed to Star Trek, none favor that headstrong rapscallion Kirk.”
“Arnie, your devotion to Captain Picard has never ceased to amaze me.” Klaus chuckled, gazing around the room. “Ach!” The rotund doctor jumped.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s only my mobile.” He dug into his lab coat and withdrew the vibrating phone. “Hello? Ah, wonderful. Bring them in, please. No clearance? Very well, I shall send someone up to receive them. Goodbye.” Klaus ended the call and tucked the phone back into his jacket.
“Who was it?”
“The extra pizzas are here. Would you mind terribly getting them, Arnie?”
“But I’m having so much fun! Why kill a good buzz when it’s raging?”
“I am seventy years old, my friend. Be a good sport and humor me.”
Klingel nodded apologetically. “Of course. Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Klaus patted his shoulder. “The delivery man is waiting in the lobby. Here is the money.” Klaus handed over a wad of bills. “Tell him to keep the change.”
“Will do. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Klingel disappeared out the door as Klaus rejoined the festivities.
As Klingel closed the door behind him, he turned to stare down the barrels of two very large pistols.
“Hey, Lanky. Where’s Fatty? Where is Klaus?” a voice in the shadows whispered.
“My God! Tanzer? What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s complicated.” Tanzer lowered his weapons. “Sorry about that, my nerves are all jumpy lately. Can you get Doctor Klaus out here? We need to have a chat in private, the three of us. Something’s gone wrong and the Board would like to have a word.”
