"Launch? Today!"
"The Atlantis is on the pad. The countdown's started. You go up in an hour," said the NASA flight controller in a breathless tone. He looked serious. And sane. But he couldn't be either. Space shuttles were not launched on short notice.
"What about the mission? The package isn't ready."
"Scrubbed. You have a new mission and a new payload."
"What is it?"
"Classified. You take the orbiter up. And deploy the payload."
"You know it doesn't work that way. We have to train for a new payload."
"Not this time. This time you're flying a glorified delivery truck."
"What about payload-deployment procedures?"
"Don't worry about them. It's self-deploying."
"Self-"
"You heard me."
Within an hour, Commander McSweeny was being suited up, along with his mission specialists and what he saw was a severely reduced crew of five. That meant a military mission.
"What the hell is going on here?" he yelled as they dropped his helmet over his confused face.
"Just relax. It's a short mission. Up and back down the same day."
As they were being escorted to the vehicle, lugging their portable oxygen tanks, McSweeny asked his flight controller, "Can you at least tell me what the payload is?"
"Sorry. This run you're just a stick jockey."
IN Moscow, FSK Major-General Stankevitch sat with the Cosmic Secret file sitting on his desk like a time bomb, his stomach burning with half a bottle of vodka. Upon his shoulders rested the fate of the world.
"Get me the Kremlin," he told his secretary, and reached for the bottle. Very soon there would be no more vodka, no more air, no more water. For anyone.
THE MASTER of SINANJU was beside himself with rage.
"Never!"
"You gotta," pleaded Remo.
They were in an all-white ready room at the Kennedy Space Center.
"Never! I will not shear off my nails. It is bad enough that I am bereft of one. But to willingly abandon the others! My ancestors would be ashamed of me. They would shun me in the Void when my time came."
And he inserted one hand into a white gauntlet. The long nails popped through like daggers.
"Tough," said Remo. "You volunteered. You can't go up without a space suit, and they don't come with extralong fingers."
Chiun folded his arms. "Have them sewn. I will wait."
"That mirror just zapped a piece of the South Atlantic. Nobody got hurt, but it's all ready to power up for another burst. It's only a matter of time before it hits a populated place."
"I cannot." Chiun looked up at Remo with imploring eyes. "Remo, you must go in my stead."
"Me?"
"It has been prophesied that a Master of Sinanju would battle the returning sun dragon. I can see now that it is not destined to be me. Therefore, it must be you."
"I didn't volunteer."
"I have volunteered the House. Since I am constrained by circumstances beyond my power to alter, you must go and uphold the honor of the House. Not to mention save precious humanity from this scourge."
"Look, the countdown's starting. One of you has to go!" the flight controller implored.
"One of us will," Chiun said. And he pointed his jade nail protector at Remo. "You. You will go."
"I'll do it," said Remo angrily. "But you owe me, Chiun."
Support personnel helped Remo into an atmosphere suit.
"We need to brief you on how to go to the bathroom in space," the flight controller said anxiously.
Remo shook his head. "No time. I'll hold it."
"How to eat."
"Give me a fistful of cold rice, and I'll be fine."
"Emergency procedures."
"That's up to the crew. I'm cargo."
"At least try to understand MMU operations for your EVA."
"If I can't understand what you just said," Remo shot back, "how can I understand what I'm supposed to understand? Just suit me up. I'll wing it."
Support personnel blinked dazedly.
"Just get him in the suit," the flight controller said resignedly.
Remo eyed the Master of Sinanju. "Did Master Salbyol say how this would turn out?"
"No," admitted Chiun.