For a moment, the Master of Sinanju paused, stricken by the paralyzed expression on his pupil's formerly proud countenance.
Then, steeling himself, he stepped forward. "Remo! What is it?"
Remo's reply came in a squeezed voice. "Chiun, II can't see."
Chiun's wrinkled visage flinched like a web touched by a stick. "What do you see in this condition?"
"Everything is white."
"Not black?"
"No. White."
"This is strange. If you are blind, you should see blackness."
"That guy was in here. Be careful."
"I encountered him. He is no more, Remo. You have been avenged."
Remo hesitated before replying in a thick voice. "Thanks, Little Father."
"I would do the same for any other adopted son, if I had one."
Remo waved a helpless hand in Chiun's direction. "Give me a hand."
Chiun took three quick steps, then halted. No, this was not the time or place to coddle Remo.
"No," he said.
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"If you are blind, you must learn to use your other senses."
"Look, just give me a hand out of here," Remo said angrily.
"No. You know the path that you took to the place of your downfall. You have only to retrace your foolhardy steps."
Remo made a stiff face. He looked to be on the verge of losing his temper. Then, straightening his spine and composing his face, he oriented himself using only his senses of hearing and touch.
At first he employed the tips of his fingers to guide him along the glassy walls. As confidence returned, his hand dropped free and he used his supersharp ears. No doubt the beating of the Master of Sinanju's heart guided him.
Chiun willed his heart to be momentarily still. It did not stop. It merely beat with exceeding slowness, a technique that, if prolonged, would result in a catalepsy that simulated death.
"No fair," Remo complained. "I can't hear your heartbeat."
Chuin said nothing. He was holding his breath. He stepped backward with exceeding caution, his sandaled feet making no sound on the glassy floor. He moved aside to allow Remo to pass him unsuspecting.
Without tripping or stumbling, Remo made it down the glass tube and into the central air pocket, where he immediately fell over the body of the defeated one.
"Is this him?" Remo asked, feeling the padded body.
"Yes," said Chiun, allowing his heart and lungs to function normally once more.
"I don't feel any head."
"Proof of its undeniable Martianness. For it has none."
"I saw him. For just a second. It had a head."
"A helmet. I removed it. But no head lay beneath it.
Remo felt the shoulders, then brought his hands together.
"Feels like there's a stump."
Frowning, Chiun went to the bullet helmet and lifted it up.
Shaking it vigorously, he got a head to fall out with an audible bonk.
"Was that what I think it was?" asked Remo, getting to his feet.
"Yes," returned Chiun thinly. "The head."
"What's it look like?"
"Ugly."
"How ugly?" asked Remo, drawing near, his face curious.
"Exceedingly ugly."
"What color skin?"
"Yellow."
"The Martian is yellow skinned?"
"Yes. With hideous eyes and a flat nose."
"Better save it for Smith, then."
"Of course," said Chiun, dropping the head into its helmet and carrying it like a baseball in a catcher's mitt. "Now it is time that we leave this place of shame."
Remo fell in behind the Master of Sinanju, his face and voice dazed and dull. "I only caught a glimpse of him-it," he said thickly. "I was moving on him, and everything went white."
"You see whiteness still?"