Warren Murphy: Terminal Transmission

Remo paused to see how he was doing.

The visage of the Master of Sinanju was frozen, its webby wrinkles deep with shock. The parchment yellow of his tiny features were slowly turning red, like Donald Duck in a particularly strenuous cartoon. His tiny mouth was a tight button. And as Remo watched, his cheeks began to bulge like Dizzy Gillespie blowing on his trumpet.

When his breath exploded out of his mouth, the words of the Master of Sinanju came like a violent typhoon.

"That is not how the legend goes, pale piece of pig's ear!" Chiun hissed. "You have everything wrong and nothing right!"

"You forget I've been to Sinanju," Remo countered. "If you and I didn't send them CARE packages every year, they'd probably all move to Pyongyang and go on welfare."

"An outrage! My people are country folk. They would not dwell in cities, as I am forced to."

"Then again, North Korea doesn't have welfare," said Remo. "And what does this have to do with Dr. Gregorian?"

"You have not only gotten it all wrong, you have left out the most important part," Chiun complained.

Remo scrunched up his face in thought.

"Oh, yeah. Every other martial art, from Karate to Kung Fu, was stolen from us. And nobody got it right either. Which is why if Bruce Lee were triplets and still alive, either one of us could take him with our big toe tied behind our back."

"No! No! The babies! You forgot the babies."

"Right. The babies," said Remo, wondering why if Chiun were telling him a story, how come he was doing all the work? "The first Master left the village because the food situation got so bad they had to drown the babies in the bay."

Chiun lifted an admonishing finger.

"First the females," Remo added, "because they weren't good for much except for making more babies, which might not be needed anyway, and then the males-but only if it was absolutely necessary."

"And this is called?" Chiun prompted.

" 'Sending the babies home to the sea,' " said Remo. "Another word for crap."

"Crap?"

"That's right, crap. They were drowning innocent infants. Calling it something fancy and talking about how they'd all be reborn in a better time doesn't change what it was."

Chiun cocked his head like a curious chipmunk. "Which is?"

"Murder, plain and simple."

"No, it was necessity. Just as this Dr. Gregorian is performing a necessary service. Snuffing."

"Crap."

"And what would you do if those days were to return and you were Master, Remo?"

"Me?" A cloud of confusion passed over Remo's face. What would he do? Of course, it was unlikely. Each year the United States sent a submarine crammed with gold to the village of Sinanju in payment for Chiun training Remo in the art of Sinanju. Hardly any of it was spent, either. The human race would probably die out before the gold ran out at the rate it was being spent. But that wasn't the point. Remo was being tested. His brow furrowed deeply.

"I wouldn't drown any babies, that's for sure."

"You would send them away?"

"Probably."

"To wander alone and unloved, to be eaten by wild animals-those who did not starve?"

"I'd've put them up for adoption then," Remo said firmly.

"And what of the piteous wailing of their mothers, who would not eat in the grief of not knowing the fate of their children, and without whom there could be no future generations?"

"Okay, I wouldn't put them up for adoption. I'd. . ."

"Yes?"

Remo hesitated. He was on the spot. "I just wouldn't," he said flatly. "I'd find a way. Something would come to me. I wouldn't give up until-"

"-until all had expired in the agony of their empty bellies," Chiun snapped. "You may be a Master of Sinanju, thanks to my indulgence, but you will never possess the grace and wisdom of a true Master. You have a white mind. It sees poetry and reduces it to garbage. Oh, I have tried to drill those traits out of you, Remo, but I can see the error in my ways." He shook his aged head ruefully. "It is very sad, but I have no choice."

"To do what?" Remo asked suspiciously.

"To stay alive long enough to see that the boy who will soon issue from Cheeta Ching's mighty womb is properly trained in the art of Sinanju."

"I'm glad you brought that up," Remo said. "I've been wanting to clear the air."

"This is easily done. Simply leave the room and the air will clear itself. Heh heh heh." Closing his eyes, the Master of Sinanju rocked in time with his own cackling. "Heh heh heh."

"Why are you on my case all of a sudden?" Remo asked, barely masking the hurt in his voice.

"Since you have become testy with unwarranted jealousy," Chiun returned.

"Jealous? Me? Of what?"

"Of the boy who is about to be born."

"One," Remo said. "You don't know it's a boy. Cheeta's not saying."

"A grandfather knows these things."

"Two, it'll be a cold day when I'm jealous . . . Wait a minute--did you say grandfather?"

"Merely an expression," said Chiun, looking away. "Think nothing of it."

Remo hesitated. For nine months now, ever since Cheeta Ching had announced her pregnancy after a brief interlude with the Master of Sinanju, Remo had believed the child was Chiun's. Chiun had not discouraged this belief. After all, Chiun had been infatuated with the Korean anchorwoman for over a decade now. And Cheeta had been trying to become pregnant by her husband-with a noticeable lack of success-for years. It all added up, although no one was speaking on the record.

"Let me get this straight," Remo pressed. "Are you saying you're not the father?"

"I am not saying that," Chiun said evasively.

"Then you're not denying that you're the father?"

"Cheeta would not be with child were it not for my grace and wisdom."

"Then you are the father!"

Chiun lifted his bearded chin proudly. "I admit nothing. Cheeta is a married woman. I will not shame her with rumors. Nor will I be lured into making rash statements by jealous persons."

Remo's dark eyes narrowed. The Master of Sinanju made a show of arranging his riotous kimono skirts.

"I am not jealous," Remo repeated.

"No? Then why are you running hither and yon, snuffing Emperor Smith's enemies as if there were no tomorrow? You are hardly ever home anymore."

Remo made a violent, sweeping gesture that took in the entire room. "You call this pile of stone home?"

"You will be fortunate indeed if your next emperor bestows upon you a castle," Chiun said aridly.

"This isn't a castle," Remo said hotly. "It's a freaking church turned into condos and foisted off on you by Smith. I can't believe you fell for his lame sales pitch. He tells you it's a castle with a great meditation room. This is the steeple, for crying out loud!"

"It is true," Chiun said in an injured tone, "that this castle is not as large as I would have liked, but this is a new country and sadly deprived of royalty. Its castles are lamentably few. I was forced to settle."

"I got news for you, you settled for a freaking church-turned-condo."

"Also," Chiun added, "there was the urgent need to prepare a suitable dwelling for the boy who is to be born."

"If Cheeta and her brat move in, I'm moving out."

"I would not trust you to change the diapers of a son of pure Korean blood," Chiun sniffed disdainfully, "you who would not grant a starving child the boon of sending him home to the sea, but instead let him be eaten by wild wolves."

Remo threw up his hands in surrender. "What does this have to do with that ghoul, Gregorian?"

Chiun's evasive gaze suddenly locked with Remo's. "Just as the young depend upon those who have more wisdom than they to end their lives in times of difficulty," he said, "so too do the old."

"You saying that euthanasia is okay?"

"No. Not okay. Merely preferable."

"To what?"