Unpopular Science

“’Bye, Daddy,” she said as he left, but it wasn’t a sad leaving because she said “’Bye, Daddy.” So naturally did she let those words come from her lips that he knew it was true. Remo was Freya’s dad and there was nothing better than that.

He was drifting like a peaceful ghost through the village. “Remember when I introduced you to the Sun On Jo?” asked Remo’s father, Sunny Joe Roam.

Remo pictured Sunny Joe’s introduction of him to the Sun On Jo people. They had accused him of being a half-white. What else had Sunny Joe said? Brought to us by a vision. That would be Remo’s vision of the desiccated remains of Ko Jong Oh.

Then Sunny Joe Roam called Remo the next Sunny Joe.

Another tidbit that had been floating around unused in his head for years. Yes. Remo was the next symbolic leader of the Sun On Jo tribe. But the Sun On Jo were a pacifist people. They had hidden their great talents for generations—it was part and parcel with their origins. Ko Jong Oh had instilled in them secrecy lest they bring down the wrath of Sinanju, who could allow no other village of assassins to compete with them.

But how could Remo, the embodiment of Sinanju, the dynasty of great assassins, become the leader of these people with their philosophy of nonviolence?

Did he want to? If not now, would he want to someday? Would the Sun On Jo want him?

It would be a peaceful, quiet life on the rez. Didn’t he deserve some peace and quiet?

As he drifted through the village of Sun On Jo like a weightless cloud, Remo passed through people and a horse and a fence, but then he crashed into something that he couldn’t pass through. It was Mark Howard’s stupid rental car, still propped up against somebody’s house, and it fell over with the loudest, most annoying racket possible.

Something crashed. Something banged.

“Dammit all to hell!” He grabbed his throbbing head and staggered to his feet, then landed upright against the cabinets of the small kitchenette.

“Please. For the love of god. I am begging you. Stop banging the damn pots.”

“Ah, you have awakened finally. I thought you might sleep the day away.”

“Shove it, Chiun,” Remo said. “My head’s killing me. What time is it?”

“What time is it? You have been addled by too much sleep. Go purchase yourself a Swatch if you cannot know the time inside.” Chiun touched Remo’s forehead. Waves of pain radiated from the spot into Remo’s skull and he sat down hard, back against the wall. He looked around and found himself in the three-room suite that he and Chiun shared at Folcroft.

“Feel like I’ve been out for days. What happened?”

Chiun didn’t answer the question, guiding Remo back to his mat and fussing over him. There was a concern in his eyes that Remo didn’t miss.

“Did I really get whacked, or what?”

“I suppose so, my son.”

“Are you okay. Little Father?”

Chiun stopped fussing and descended into a cross-legged position, a look on his face that Remo, who knew him so well, could not read well.

“I must ask your forgiveness, my son. I led you into great danger.”

Remo scowled. “Come on, Chiun, what are you talking about?”

“In the alley, after we left the clapboard palace of the pretender to the American throne.”

“Yes? It was you who saved me, remember, Chiun? Ironhand turned my lights out.”

“But there was the other. The ball-shaped copper man.”

“Yeah? He fired up the sense-sucking death rays again, didn’t he? I told you he would.”

“Yes, you did.” Chiun lowered his eyes.

“So I got knocked out again. So call me Scarlet O’Hara for having fainting spells. What’s the gloomy look all about?”

“You were wounded more grievously than you may think.”

“I don’t want to think. It hurts when I think.”

“It has been four days.”

“Ouch.” Remo touched his head. “No wonder I feel crappy. What happened? I mean, what would knock a guy senseless for four days?”

“That is what the young prince is trying to find out. He now has the mechanical heart that you tore from the breast of the first monster. He is having it studied.”

“What about Clockwork? What happened to him. Did he hurt you?”

“Of course not,” Chiun said, regaining some composure. “After you laid down to rest, I dismantled him. His trainer came along to retrieve him and I knocked his plane into the sea.”

“Cool. Case closed then, eh?”

“According to the Emperor, the case remains open. As you have not yet stood up with confidence, I shall handle the preparation of the evening meal. It shall be haddock and jasmine tea.”

“I’d like some Advil in mine,” Remo said. “It’s evening?”

When they entered the office it was past midnight Mark Howard watched Remo from his own temporary desk. Smith gave Remo a careful appraisal. “Feeling better?”

“Better than when I was unconscious? No. Got any Excedrin?”

“Do not give him any.” Chiun warned.

“Joking,” Remo said. “See, I have my sense of humor back so I must be feeling better.”

Smith said nothing. Chiun was silent.