"I would be remiss if I did not point out our deep sorrow at the tragedy that has befallen Mr. Drake Mangan, the president of National Autos. I know that Drake-my dear, good old friend Drake-with his keen interest in technology, would also have been here if death had not closed down production on him first."
Remo heard the two men, who had been introduced as Revell and Millis, speak to each other.
"Good old friend Drake?" Revell said. "Drake wanted to kill the bastard."
"Still seems like a good idea," Millis responded.
"But no further ado, ladies and gentlemen," Lavallette said. "I know you're all wondering what the Maverick Genius of the Auto Industry has up his sleeve this time. Well, it's simply this. The gasoline-powered automobile, as we know it, is dead."
There was silence until Remo said aloud, "Good."
Lavallette ignored the comment and went on. "The internal-combustion engine, the basis for the auto industry as we have known it before today, is now a museum piece. A dinosaur."
Remo clapped. No one else made a sound. Chiun said, "Be quiet. I want to hear this." But his eyes were scanning the crowd constantly and Remo knew that the Master of Sinanju had not shown up to listen to some kind of announcement about a new bomb-mobile.
"A dinosaur," Lavallette repeated. "It's ironic, perhaps, because the dinosaur has been for years the source of our wonderful car culture, in the form of decayed animal matter that we extract from under the sands of the world in the form of crude oil. Decayed dinosaurs, the leavings of the primeval world. But those supplies have been dwindling and our four-wheeled culture has been threatened with slow extinction." He paused for dramatic effect. "Until today."
Lavallette patted his white hair, reassured to find it all in place.
"While I was fighting my lonely battle against Communist tyranny in Nicaragua," he said, "I had a great deal of time to do new research on new means of powering autos. Ladies and gentlemen, here is the solution."
He looked up and the helicopter which had been hovering over a far corner of the lot spun forward. It stopped over the silver-wrapped package in front of the dais. Lavallette nodded and a man dropped on a rope from the helicopter, attached the rope to a hook in the top of the silvery package, then pulled on the rope and the helicopter began to rise.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the public unveiling of the marvel of our age, the supercar of tomorrow here today. The Dynacar."
The package was lifted into space by the rising helicopter. It had had no bottom and as it lifted off the ground, it revealed a sleek black automobile.
Behind the automobile, in a neat row, stood three shiny metal trashcans. They were filled to the brim and the faint breeze carried the noxious stench of their contents back into the faces of the press. Revell, at the end of the dais, started to cough; Hubert Millis choked, turned and retched.
Next to the garbage cans was a small black machine that looked like an industrial vacuum cleaner.
"Just as the cars of yesterday were fueled by the refuse of yesterday, the Dynacar-the car of today-will operate on the refuse of today. No more gasoline. No more oil. No more exhaust or pollution. Gentlemen. Please."
He nodded to the workmen, who stepped up to the row of trashcans and one by one began emptying them into the top of the small black device. Old newspapers, coffee grounds, chicken bones, underwear tumbled into the round black hole. Some spilled over and fell to the ground and maggots began climbing up the side of the black machine.
The workmen hastily brushed them back. When all three cans had been emptied into the black device, one of the workmen pushed a button.
Immediately, there was a whirling grinding noise, like a combination clothes drier and trash compactor working. Slowly, the mound of garbage that had topped the opening of the black machine began to move. It shook and lifted, maggots and all, then slowly disappeared into the machine's gaping maw.
"You are watching the Dynacar refuse converter in operation," Lavallette announced. "This device duplicates the same action that transformed the carcasses of the dinosaurs into fuel. But this is an instant processor and refiner all in one."
The grinding stopped and Lavallette signaled one of the workmen, who closed the top of the machine, then stood off to the side, fighting the dry heaves. That was bad for the corporate image and Lavallette made a mental note to have the man fired.
Lavallette stepped down from the platform. Remo noticed that the two automakers, Revell and Millis, were leaning forward, watching. Chiun, meanwhile, was still scanning the crowd.
Lavallette went to the base of the black machine and opened a small door. He turned around, holding above his head a grayish-brown lump about the size of a pack of cigarettes.
"Here you are, ladies and gentlemen. Those three barrels of trash you just saw dumped into the machine have now been converted into this."
"What has this got to do-with cars?" a reporter called out.
"Everything," Lavallette said. "Because this little block here is solid fuel and it's enough fuel to run my Dynacar for a week without refilling. Imagine it. Instead of putting out your trash every Tuesday, you simply dump it in the refuse converter, turn on the motor, and from the bottom you take out fuel for your auto. In one stroke, the problems of waste disposal and fuel for the family car are solved. "
A reporter called out another question. Lavallette recognized him; he was from an independent local station which had never liked Lavallette. The station had refused to call him a maverick genius of the auto industry and had in fact called him one of the car business's greatest frauds.
"My station wants to know what happens if you're a two-car family?" he asked, with a smirk.
"Those people can just stay tuned to your channel all day long. You produce enough garbage for the entire country," Lavallette said.
There was a polite ripple of laughter in the crowd. Lavellette was surprised; he had expected a belly laugh. He checked the faces of the media people and instead of the wide-eyed amazement he had anticipated, he saw perplexity, frowns, and more than a few fingers pinching nostrils closed.
"Let's get this straight, Mr. Lavallette," a network reporter asked. "This vehicle runs exclusively on garbage?"
"Refuse," Lavallette said. He didn't like the word "garbage." He could see the Enquirer headline now: "MAVERICK AUTO GENIUS UNVEILS GARBAGEMOBILE."
"Will it run on any kind of refuse?" another reporter demanded.
"Absolutely. Anything from fish heads to old comic books to- "
A reporter interrupted and Lavallette saw from his nametag that he was from Rolling Stone.
"Will it run on shit?"
"I beg your pardon," Lavallette said.
"Shit. Will it run on shit?"
"We haven't tried that," Lavallette said.
"But it might?"
"Perhaps. Actually, no reason why not."
He felt a little relieved when he realized that no respectable newspaper in America would coin the word "shitmobile." And who cared what Rolling Stone said anyway?
"We want to see the car run," the Rolling Stone reporter said. Apparently this had not occurred to any of the other media types there because they instantly started to shout: "Yeah, yeah. Let's see it run. Drive it, Lavallette."
Lavallette gestured for silence, then said, "This is the second prototype. The first was stolen last week . . . I suspect, by industry spies. But the laugh is on them. Both the refuse converter and the engine of the Dynacar are so revolutionary that they cannot be duplicated without infringing on my exclusive patents. And to make certain that the secret of its internal operating system remains exclusively the property of Dynacar, each model will come with a sealed hood, and only Dynacar licensed shops will be allowed to service them. Anyone who tampers with the seals on the hood will find that the engine has self-destructed into unrecognizable slag-as I'm sure the thieves who made off with the only other existing model have discovered by now.