"There's no comparison," said Remo's voice in Heaven.
"It is bad enough being called a Chinaman. But to be called an American. That means I have those funny eyes, that sickly skin, that awful odor about the body. It means that I am of European stock,
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and therefore, somehow related to the French. That is beyond degradation."
"I'm white," Terri heard Remo's voice say.
"And don't think that has been easy on me," said Chiun.
"And I am very proud to be an American," Remo said.
"Compared to being French, why not?" said Chiun.
Terri turned around. They were alive. Unscathed. And standing behind Hamamota whose eyes were open wide with amazement. He looked first at the two and then at his little computer. He punched in several commands.
The computer immediately flashed a message back. In green luminescent letters, the computer told Hamamota: "Good for you. Once again you have succeeded. The two are dead."
Froth formed on Hamamaota's lips. His face turned red. His eyes bulged. He punched new information into the computer.
The information said: "Not dead. Standing behind me."
The computer was instantaneous in its response. "Reject inaccurate information. Please check source material."
Hamamota looked behind him again.
"Alive," he punched into the machine.
The computer answered: "All input accurate until last message. Must reject."
"How did you escape alive?" asked Terri.
But Remo and Chium were not listening to her. Chiun had seen screens like that. What he wanted to know was where was the little yellow
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face that ate the squares and the dots. He asked Hamamota.
"Not that kind of computer," the Japanese said.
"No Pac-man?" said Remo.
"Not that kind of computer. It killed you. Why are you not dead?"
"Does it do horoscopes?" asked Remo.
"I am a Leo," said Chiun. "That's the best sign. Remo is a Virgo. He doesn't know that but I do. He couldn't help that anymore than he could help being white."
"You dead," yelled Hamamota angrily. "Why you not dead? Why you standing here?"
"Maybe it has Missile Command?" said Remo. "Where's the joystick for shooting missiles?"
"No Missile Command. This assassin computer. Best in world. Number one."
"How the world demeans glory. They have made a game of assassination. The profession of assassin is now reduced to an arcade game," Chiun said.
"You dead," yelled Hamamota.
"Does it have blackjack?" asked Remo.
"You bombed," said Hamamota. "I bombed you."
"It did work the bombs, Little Father," Remo said to Chiun.
"Still a game," Chiun said.
"Heeeeeyahhhh," yelled Hamamota and leaped into a martial arts position, hissing like an animal.
"What's that?" asked Remo.
"Another game," said Chiun in disgust.
"You die. Heeeeeeyahhhhh," screamed Hamamota, thrusting a bladelike hand toward Remo's neck.
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The hand bounced back with four broken bones. The neck didn't move.
"Could I set off a bomb with that thing?" asked Remo.
"Pigs use booms," Chiun said. "Chinamen use them. They invented gunpowder because they lacked internal discipline."
Hamamota's hand hung limply by his side. His eyes bulged with hate and from his very spine, he threw a kick out at the head of the aged Korean. Chiun walked by and went to the computer inside the attache case.
"I have seen advertisements for a boom where there is a bucket to catch the boom and that is how you score."
"I don't think this is that one, Little Father," said Remo, "because the temple really blew up."
"Maybe there are controls for catching the booms too. Does this do catching and if so, where does it score?" asked Chiun.
Hamamota lay on his side, his back thrown out of joint, his striking hand limp, exhaustion and pain on his face.
"Listen to me, fat thing," said Chiun. "Does this have a scorer? Can we blow Calcutta up from here? If we can, how many points do we get?"
"Why would you get points for blowing up Calcutta?" asked Remo.