"You said visitors. They took you literally. Relax. By the time Hale-Bopp comes back, this will all be forgotten."
Dr. Cosmo Pagan screamed like a cow in distress. "I'm going to be pilloried by every astronomy society on the planet. And beyond."
"Poor baby," Venus II said, hugging him tightly. "Look at it this way-at least you still have me. And we'll orbit the sun until the end of time."
"I need some face time."
"I need some suck-face time," his wife returned, pinching his boyish cheek.
Cosmo considered this. "Trade?"
"Throw in a galactic orgasm. I haven't had one in moons."
"That's going to take all night, knowing you."
"What will a few hours' delay cost you?" Venus said, giving his hair a muss and starting to pop his shirt buttons with her strong white teeth.
Chapter 11
On a beach in Cancun, a pale man in a Speedo bathing suit lounged on a candy-cane folding beach chair as turquoise waves creamed against the pristine sands. Unfolding his laptop, he booted up his system and began typing. To: R From: RM@qnm.com Subject: Current project status. Update, please. The reply took twenty minutes, even by e-mail. In that time, his skin began to burn. And remembering how fragile the ozone shield had gotten in the past eleven years, he applied supersunblock to every exposed area. He smeared his forearms as he read.
To: RM@qnm.com From: R Subject: Update No feedback from corporate. Media currently ascribing event to space aliens. Specifically Martians determined to nip planned NASA Mars colony in the bud.
The fingers, greasy with sunblock, pecked out a response.
To: R From: RM@qnm.com Subject: Update Sounds good. Go with it.
The reply came back almost instantly through the miracle of orbiting communications satellites: "What do you mean, go with it?"
Greasy fingers went to work: "Encourage media's thinking."
The reply: "How?"
To which, the greasy fingers typed: "That's your job. If you can't do it, I'll find someone who can."
A long time-by information-age standards-passed before the next e-mail appeared on the laptop screen. Actually it was only twelve minutes.
To: RM@qnm.com From: R Subject: Directive What about legal ramifications?
The man on the beach snapped out an impatient response:
To: R From: RM@qnm.com Subject: Re: Directive You're protected by the corporate shield. Do what's best for the corporation.
There was no response to that, and the pale hands powered down the laptop, folded it up and went back to enjoying vacation.
After a while, the pale man on the beach threw on a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. With all that UV radiation pouring down from the sky, there was no sense in taking chances. Basal-cell skin-cancer rates over the last decade had skyrocketed higher than the stock market.
Chapter 12
Somewhere over the Ozarks, Remo Williams leafed through a newspaper.
"It says here that Hale-Bopp was last seen three thousand years ago."
"How do they know this?" demanded Chiun.
"Search me. It orbits the sun, and once every three thousand years or so, it comes within sight of the earth." Remo frowned. "Who was Master three thousand years ago?"
"If you were a true Master of Sinanju, you would not need to ask such a question." "I know the lineage of the Masters. I can recite almost every Master's name, but I can't reconcile them with Western dating."
Chiun puckered up his facial wrinkles. "Yes. Of course."
"What do you mean, of course?"
"You were raised to worship the crucified carpenter. To those of your doubtful creed, the universe began only two thousand years ago."
"That's not true-" Remo started to protest.
"Before the carpenter, there was nothing. All was darkness, without form, without light, without substance," Chiun said bitterly.
"That's not how it works. There was a time before Jesus. We just count the years backward from that point. Three B. C. is three years Before Christ."
"We count forward from Tangun, who created the first Korean. That was five thousand years ago. Before then, no one was."
"According to modern science, man has been around for about three million years or so."
"Your hairy-ape ancestors, perhaps. But not Koreans. We came along to rectify the wrongs done to this world by your simian forebears."
Remo started to protest, but decided it wasn't worth it. They had had this argument before. Instead, he changed the subject. "How's the nail?" he asked.
Chiun winced painfully.
For several months, he had been wearing the hornlike jade nail protector to guard his maimed right index fingernail, which had been sliced off by a foe wielding a supersword. It was unheard-of for a modern Master of Sinanju to be bested in close combat. Chiun was still sensitive about it.
"It grows apace," he said aridly.
"Good."
"But it lacks its full length yet. Thus, I am forced to wear this."
"It goes with the kimono."
"That is the problem. I am forced to wear only kimonos whose colors harmonize with jade. I have not worn my royal purple kimono in months. The black lies folded in darkness, wondering if it has been abandoned forever. The cinnabar wilts from disuse. The pink-"
"You'll be back in pink before you know it."
"It was Master Salbyol."