He couldn’t do it
here.
He wasn’t sure if
he could do it at all, but if he could do it, it couldn’t be done here.
He needed his
laboratory. The big one under the corporate offices, which he’d modeled after
the research and test labs at MIT. It had samples of nearly every known
chemical compound on the planet, including quite a few that he’d discovered and
patented himself (he’d registered the patents under one of his false identities
because, legally speaking, anything and everything discovered while working
there belonged to the company).
There was also an
attached medical facility that had half a zoo’s worth of animals for testing
purposes. Not just for testing the “foods” they produced in the lab, but also
for production of assorted compounds. Doctor Ralph was particularly proud of
the moment he discovered the attractive properties of sloth pheromones and how,
when mixed with a particular strain of “ground beef,” the smell was
irresistible to 12% of all human beings on the planet.
That was the same
month they installed vent chimneys on all of their restaurants. Since another
fast food restaurant had thought of it first as a way of attracting customers
through the smell of their grilled beef, nobody suspected that they were
gassing their communities with sloth genital juice.
The hit they took
to their public image for copying another restaurant was quickly overcome by a
massive surge in sales.
In addition to his
extensive facilities, Doctor Ralph knew that he would need more hands on with
the testing and experiments. It wasn’t the most complicated process in the
world to add a single hydrogen atom to a chemical compound, but he appreciated
an extra set of eyes, when available, as well as an extra set of hands from
someone he trusted.
Doctor Ralph’s
laboratory was staffed entirely with people he trusted.
The simple
solution, of course, was to take his findings and go home. He’d already blown
one cover in this tiny little town, and there were so few branches of his
restaurant here that he knew it wouldn’t take long for a halfway smart cop to
start asking around – possibly even figure out who he really is. It would be
smart of him to pack up now and just get out of town. Don’t go back to the
hotel, don’t get his things (he had his computer and cell phone with him
anyway), just get a ride to the airport, buy a plane ticket, and fly back to Chicago.
The smart thing…
But he couldn’t
shake the fact that there was a successful, live subject right here. He’d seen
him, touched him, talked to him, even (sort of); he didn’t know if he could
just let it go, not when he was so close to finally finding…what? The chosen
one?
No, that was too
cliché.
The man with the
iron stomach?
No, that was too
much Alexander Dumas.
“Subject 189” was
all he could commit to, it would have to do.
So what was to be
done with Subject 189? Doctor Ralph had destroyed all of his biological samples
during testing, so even though he’d formed his hypothesis and confirmed it
through testing, the results couldn’t be replicated without more from Subject
189 himself. And even if he could find him, what was he supposed to do? Follow
him around and slip him some ipecac like the world’s worst date rapist? Maybe
he could mug him, jumping out of the shadows again and try kneeing him in the
groin this time to make him throw up?
None of these
ideas were sounding good, and each one was sounding worse than the previous.
Besides, he thought, even if he could get another sample of stomach fluid from
the poor guy, that would only give him enough material to run a handful of more
tests.
Doctor Ralph shut his
eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose, hating himself for the thought
that kept elbowing its way to the front of his mind.
He sighed, finally
accepting it.
He was just going
to have to kidnap Subject 189 and take him back to the lab in person.
Preferably alive,
so he could continue to provide genetic material for testing.
Dead would be acceptable,
though. There was plenty of bodily fluid in a corpse, after all.
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