"Confusion," Remo said, and threw Smith's files into the wastebasket.
"From Emperor Smith, of course," said Chiun, who then dropped the subject. "Is Cheeta Ching to be found in this area?" he asked, changing the channels on the television.
"No. Not in Oklahoma."
"Then I will watch my beautiful dramas," Chiun decided, and began setting up the tape system on which he had recorded such soap operas as "As the Planet Revolves" and "The Young and the Wanton," all originally broadcast before sex and violence— overt sex and violence, anyway— invaded daytime television.
Knowing that this would keep Chiun occupied well into the early evening, Remo decided to leave him and infiltrate the local FOES chapter on his own. Chiun would only complicate Remo's carefully thought-out plan— which Remo had yet to devise. Regardless of what it turned out to be, though, he knew Chiun would complicate it. Besides, he was getting sick of that stupid cube.
"I'm going out, Chiun. Don't wait up."
But Chiun made no sign that he heard, already being immersed in the sad story of Dr. Lawrence Walters, psychiatrist at large, who had just learned from Betty Hendon that her husband, the insane billionaire Wilfred Wyatt Hornsby, whom she had married when only a teenager, was planning a sex change operation so he could marry Betty's father, who had been posing as Betty's mother and as the upstairs maid in the house of Jeremy Bladford, the man she truly loved.
Remo closed the door of the bedroom as he picked up his dark blue nylon windbreaker, which he put over his black T-shirt and chinos. The phone in the bedroom gave him his plan. Screw this freelance writer crap, he thought, and dropped the windbreaker, which was only a prop.
Remo dialed the number of the local FOES chapter. Normally, Remo could never remember phone numbers, but this one he had just read in the files, and it had the same exchange as the hotel. The rest of the dial sequence was FOES. That, Remo could remember. So he dialed the exchange of the hotel phone and F-O-E-S.
"Flying Object Evaluation Center," a twangy female voice said.
"Hi," Remo said. "My name is Remo Greeley. I want to report a UFO."
"Really? In this area?" The woman's voice rose a full octave and skittered dangerously close to a falsetto.
"Yeah. This area. Just outside of town," Remo said in a bored voice. "Saw it just ten minutes ago."
"Where, where? What did it look like?" the woman squealed. Then, catching herself, she asked calmly, "If you could give us the exact time, place, and circumstances and describe the object as best as you can in your own words, please. This conversation is being recorded."
"Right. Okay, here goes." Remo heard a tape recorder's beep and searched his mind for a description, trying to remember if the Martians were the tall hippies or the hairy, apelike creatures. "It was shaped like a penguin, about four feet tall—"
"The UFO was shaped like a penguin?"
"No, no. The guy who came out of the UFO and talked to me was shaped like a penguin. The spaceship was kinda like a bowl with a blue bubble on top. Or was it on the bottom?" Remo couldn't keep the various classifications of UFO shapes straight, either. He knew that most flying saucers were not shaped like saucers at all, but like spheres, eggs, cigars or just bright lights.
"You had a Close Encounter of the Third Kind?" the woman screeched, hurting Remo's eardrum. "Hey, Ralph, get on the extension. I have someone who's made contact... Go ahead, Mr. Green."
"Greeley. Remo Greeley. I was driving along and my car stopped in the middle of the road without any reason. Then this bright thing came down and lighted up the road."
"I thought you said this happened just ten minutes ago," the woman asked suspiciously.
"Yeah, ten minutes ago."
"How could it light up the road in broad daylight? It's three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Um, these were very, very bright lights. The penguin explained to me that they were brand new."
"What else did he say?"
"He was upset. Very upset. He said that he wanted the world to stop building atomic weapons and things. Said it endangered the penguins of the universe. I guess it was like Save the Whales or something. He even gave me a button, but I can't read it. Anyway, he said it's got to stop."
"Yeah, they all say that," the woman breathed. "All the reports we get agree on that one point for some reason. Did this creature say where he was from?"
"From?"
"Yes, he had to be from somewhere, didn't he? I mean, in order to get here he obviously had to come from somewhere else."
"Right. Oh, right. I get you now. As a matter of fact he said he was from the Milky Way."
"Sir," the woman said steadily. "The Milky Way is not a place. It's a cluster of stars, each of which is millions of miles apart. Our sun is one of those stars, so when you're talking about the Milky Way, you're talking about quite a bit of territory."
Damn, thought Remo. He should have known that. "Well, I can't help that. It's what the little guy told me. I mean, if he doesn't know where he's from, who does?"
"You've got a point there. Maybe he just didn't want to leave an address. He's not still there, is he?"
"No, but he said he might be back."
"In that case, he may try to contact you again. It would be best if you were to come over to our headquarters and give a full description to our staff. Could you do that?"
"Okay. I'll be right over," said Remo.
"That's Suite Fifteen, the Stigman Building. We'll be here. Oh, goodie," she said just before Remo hung up on her.
"Moron," Remo muttered.
* * *
The Stigman building was only a few blocks away, so Remo walked, enjoying the cool air and wishing Smitty hadn't given him this dippy assignment.
"Oh, you must be Remo Greeley," a frizzy-haired redhead said to Remo when he walked into the headquarters of FOES. "This is really exciting. Now you're both here."
"Both?" Remo said.
"That's right. After you called, Ms. Bull showed up. She saw the UFO, too. Isn't that exciting? And she said it's still there."
"She did? Still where?" Remo wondered if he'd screwed up the description and they were playing a joke to get back at him.
"Still in the woods down in Chickasha. Oh, it's so exciting," the woman said. Remo decided that her hair wasn't red, but more of an orange color, and that while she looked a roly-poly 36, she was probably a plump 24 years old tops. She wore a lot of rings and bangles, none of which helped. She was the receptionist Remo had talked to before.
"We're all about to drive out there now," she burbled, bouncing to her feet. "You're coming, of course."
"Of course," Remo said. He didn't understand what was going on, but whatever it was, it would make his job of keeping tabs on these loonies easier.
"Is everyone ready?" a blonde as tall and slim as a birch tree asked as she led a contingent of people out into the reception room where Remo was. "Oh, who are you?" she asked him, when her cool gray eyes alighted on him.
"This is Mr. Greeley," the receptionist said. "He saw the same object you did. But he describes it a little differently."
"Yeah, mine had a penguin," Remo said.