"George, this isn't funny!" Operations thundered into his cellular phone. "It's complete chaos." He paused for a moment, his brow wrinkling in vexation. "Of course I can handle it."

Madeline approached with a data panel in her hand, wearing a stylish plum suit. Her hair curled softly around her face, skin devoid of the infamous Putty Syndrome. "What did he say?"

"George says it's an internal problem," Operations snapped, peering down at the milling crowd from his aerie. "What's our status?"

Madeline smiled faintly and consulted the panel. "The Nikita Clone is teaching nude, underwater basket weaving in the Med Lab whirlpool. She's continuing to give private lessons to all male operatives."

"How many?" he snapped.

"Surveillance indicates that the Nikita Clone has had intimate relations with over half of our current pool of male operatives."

Operations made a strangled noise in his throat and clenched his hands on the railing. "Continue."

"The Michael Clone stopped the impromptu tango session in the cafeteria. He's now going over field mechanics with the new recruits."

"Field mechanics?"

Madeline's lips curved into a real smile. "He's concentrating specifically on the French kiss." At Operations' silence, Madeline moved on to the next subject. "The Walter Clone has been planting explosive whoopie cushions in all the chairs in Section. Two operatives have already been admitted to Med Lab with severe bruising and extremely large smiles.

The Birkoff Clone rigged Section's computers to display the driver's license photos and school records of all our current operatives in a continuous loop." Madeline glanced up. "I see you received a 2.0 in your freshman Political Science course."

"Leave it alone, Madeline," Operations growled. "What about your clone?"

The smile dropped from Madeline's face. "The Madeline Clone has moved into my old office and is conducting Re-programming sessions with all the current Valentine Operatives."

Operations laughed and pointed his finger at Madeline. She gave him a cool smile. "Would you like to know what the Operations Clone is doing?"

Operations immediately stopped chuckling. "What?"

"After the Operations Clone's personal instruction from the Nikita Clone in underwater basket-weaving, the Operations Clone proceeded to perform a striptease on the briefing table."

"Where are they now?" Operations demanded.

Madeline gave him a slight smile and touched a button on the remote control. "We confined the real Michael, Nikita, Birkoff and Walter in containment." The video screen flashed to life. The four subjects were sitting around a folding table playing cards; pieces of folded up notebook paper lay in the center.

"What are they doing?" he asked, prowling up to peer at the screen.

"Playing strip poker, I believe. Michael is winning."

On screen, Birkoff was down to his tightie-whities and a tank top. Walter sat next to him wearing only his briefs and his navy bandanna. Nikita had only lost her CFMPs and her horrendously ugly art-deco hat, while Michael sat fully clothed with a blank stare firmly in place.

"Get them up here, now. We've got to clean up this mess."

************

"Do you think he's bluffing? I think he's bluffing," Nikita rambled, pinning Walter and Birkoff with her azure eyes.

"I'm not taking any chance, sugar. I fold," Walter growled. "The shorts can come off, but not the bandanna."

Nikita turned to Birkoff. "Hey, Nikita, this is out of my league. You're on your own." Birkoff threw down his cards and shivered in his tightie-whities. His tank top was gone and he had to curl himself up into a ball to keep warm.

"Are you bluffing, Michael?"

Michael turned the full force of his blank stare upon Nikita's speculative face. "What have you seen with your own eyes?"

"Pssst! Mikey! Wrong episode," Walter hissed, cupping his hand around his mouth.

"I had a dream last night," Nikita began seductively, biting her lower lip.

"Hey, who's got the script?" Birkoff called, twisting around in his chair.

"Get the Torture Twins in here so these two'll stop fooling around," Walter growled off-camera.

"I call," Nikita drawled. They both spread their cards face-up on the folding table. Nikita's face fell when she saw Michael had a full house to her pair of aces.

"Never mind," Walter called, waving the Torture Twins back through the door. "We've got this all under control."

Nikita stood and began pulling off her shirt, when Madeline's voice came over the intercom.

************

Michael, Nikita, Birkoff and Walter filed into the aerie. Operations was pacing back and forth snapping comments into his cellular. He clicked his phone off and faced the assembled group. "We have a problem," he began.

Operations explained the situation. Michael and Nikita glanced at each other; blue eyes connected with green.

"I have an idea," Nikita said slowly.

************

Down the the bowels of Level Three, six people were ushered into six separate rooms. A door squealed open and Michael stepped through, eyeing his weepy-eyed Michael Clone.

"You will not spontaneously tango," Michael said quietly. "You will not French kiss the recruits unless specifically ordered to do so by Operations, for no apparent reason other than to drive a wedge between you and Nikita. You will not show any emotion except when you are alone with Nikita, and even then, you must be cryptic and distant. On missions, you must wear the mission pants with the big gun strapped on the ride side, unless you slide underneath a semi going full speed on a motorbike. You must strut, not walk. You must never use more than one bullet to kill an enemy, nor use more than one smooth chop to disable an opponent and make him take a header down a flight of stairs..."

Simultaneously, Nikita entered another room and confronted her Nikita Clone. "You must not have intimate relations with anyone other than Michael. You must constantly defy Operations and Madeline and fight against losing your humanity. You must wear strange combinations of clothing and make them look oddly stylish...." Nikita pauses in her speech. "And if Michael ever asks if he is under orders to please you, by all that's holy, say yes!"

Birkoff entered his room and eyed his Birkoff Clone. "You must obey Operations at all costs. You are his lap dog, so you might as well get used to it. You must be spineless because you don't know how to shoot and Michael keeps threatening to kill you. You must play Network Doom whenever Operations and Madeline take a trip to the Tower. You must eat Oreos and like them..."

Walter steps into the room with the Walter Clone. "Hey, that explosive whoopie cushion was a pretty groovy idea..."

Madeline enters the fifth room and gives the Madeline Clone a pained look. "You will use the new office. The dungeon is so first season..."

Operations paces around his Operations Clone. "You must be a cold, ruthless bastard. You will have to drop hints of your humanity and quest for the greater good every once in a while or people will start to figure out your intentions of taking over the world..."

************

The camera pans over an exotic sunlit beach, populated by nude bathers in crystal blue waters. Operations and Madeline are arguing underneath a large umbrella.

"Paul, if you don't use the SPF 50, you're going to look like Frick and Frack took a butane torch to your pasty skin!"

"Don't tell me what to do, Madeline!"

Birkoff is crouched in a lounger, his skin turning pink. His eyes dart beneath his dark glasses and he clutches his oversized computer manual to his hips as several well-endowed women wander past his chair.

Walter is leering at a tall redhead. "Hey, you've seen mine. I've seen yours. Why don't we find a sand dune somewhere and get to know each other better."

Michael and Nikita are sprawled together on a lounger, earning appreciative glances from other nude sunbathers. Nikita flips up her sunglasses and gives Michael a grin. "What do you say we ditch them and go find ourselves a laundry cart?"

THE END

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