No Contest

“Yeah, sure. But you said in the dream you saw something and you recognized it, and then it was gone. Then you were somewhere else and you recognized something, and then it was gone. What I’m asking is, did you remember the two things that you saw in the vision?”

“There was nothing for me to remember.”

“Oh,” Remo said. A minute later, he added, “What?”

“I was meditating. Maybe I dreamed, and if so then what I saw was symbolic. The recognizing and forgetting—this happened two times in rapid succession. This would tell me that the act of recognizing and then forgetting is the message itself—never mind what I saw and then at once forgot.”

“Oh,” Remo said. “So what does the message mean?”

“I do not know.”

Remo wondered if the old goat was fibbing. Chiun lied expertly.

“If what I saw was a vision, then I must take it as a directive. Perhaps I am being instructed to seek something I have yet to recognize.”

Remo glanced over at Chiun, who sat in perfect stillness and composure, at one with the world. The icy breeze played with the strands of yellowing hair around his shell-like ears. The frigid fingers of wind tugged mischievously at the thin robe. Chiun was old. Older than most people ever dreamed of becoming. Great age had taken its toll on him, slowing his reflexes, sapping his stamina, maybe even reducing his intellect.

Chiun in his prime possessed magnificent stamina and skill, and even burdened with age he was a force of furious nature.

When you started out as a Master of Sinanju, you could go to pot in a big way and still be the scariest guy in town. Chiun might be slowing down in little ways, but it was nothing. Chiun was still a Master’s Master.

Remo wondered if he would ever be that—one of the true great Masters. When the scrolls of Sinanju were read, would he stand out among the thousand names? Would he be great, as Chiun was great?

“There are untamed thoughts galloping about your head, Remo Williams,” Chiun declared. “They are trying to push out of your face, and the cold makes your rubbery white flesh extra resilient and tending to squeak.”

“I hope you’re kidding me.”

Chiun never even opened his eyes.

“I was thinking about the future.”

“What future do you mean?”

“My legacy. My place in the scrolls. I was wondering if I will be a star or an asterisk. A standout master, like Chiun the Magnificent, or a footnote. Remo the Caucasian Oddity.”

“This worries you?”

“No. I’m just wondering about it.”

“You foresee my disposition in the scrolls as Chiun the Magnificent?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. We both know you’ve got a special status. Hell, you’ve met Wang more than any Master who came before you. You’ve done a lot of good for Sinanju. You’ve done a lot of good for just about everybody.”

“Visions and good deeds don’t make for a magnificent master,” Chiun said. “A great spirit, a great intellect, these make for magnificence.”

“Check. Check. You’re in, Chiun. Don’t give me that look. I’m not trying to butter you up. I’m just thinking about stuff. How unlike me—beat you to it.”

Chiun smiled faintly, then said, “Now what?”

“Now what what?”

“You have more to say. I see the words ready to spill from your tongue. You must have been thinking most intently.”

“I’m done.”

“We have hours of waiting still. You may as well say it.”

“No,” Remo said. He smiled easily, but there was no mistaking the look. Remo would say no more.

“Very well.” Chiun closed his eyes in meditation again, and Remo did, too. He thought about what he wanted to ask Chiun but would not ask.

He wanted to ask Chiun if he was getting tired. Chiun already knew the question, and Chiun would answer it in his own time.

Chapter 32

The production crew was up early on the day of the Second Annual Blind Ice Wall Climb. They had much to do, and the network had arranged for a big hot breakfast with fresh-squeezed juice and good strong coffee.

Then producer Aaron Presci got up to motivate the troops.

“This one is special,” Presci said. “This is our biggest event all year. Biggest purse. Biggest audience. We get the most advertising, and we spend the most to make it happen. But there’s something more—the Blind Ice Wall Climb was the first event that the Extreme Sports Network actually produced in-house. That means this year’s event is ESN’s first second annual anything. It’s the symbol of ESN’s pioneering, spirit. The bottom line—it’s gotta go perfect. I don’t want to hear about problems. You have a problem, you fix it. You can’t fix it, you figure out some other way of making whatever is supposed to happen happen. Breakfast is over.”

The ESN crew dispersed.

“I’m getting some sort of a vibe,” Presci told his assistant.

His assistant had an answer ready for him. “It’s the cold. It’s been kind of jarring to come from the Australian desert into winter weather.”

“Next year they’ll know better.” Presci went to make some phone calls.

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a soulless tyrant without an ounce of compassion,” his assistant added when he was gone.