The rain fell, boiling water that burned the Caretaker’s unclothed body. He wept for the pain and crawled back into the shelter of the cave. There he lay in misery as the jungle was scalded in every direction. The agony of the animals was so intense he could hear it, even this high up. The screaming stopped eventually, and the jungle became a limp and soggy landscape. Every plant was dead. Every creature was dead.
The People were dead.
The Caretaker hoped his end would come soon, and he found comfort in the rising sea of burning steam that filled the world to the horizon. The water column had finally stopped growing, it seemed, and the steam stopped rising, and as the world below and the air all around became heated, the steam stopped clinging to the earth. It drifted away into the sky, great clouds of it. The Caretaker gagged on the dank, earthy aroma of the steam when it poured in on him, and he hoped it would kill him quickly.
It didn’t kill him at all. The steam dissipated. The steady fall of burning rain no longer allowed it to collect on the jungle floor. The Caretaker wasn’t going to die that easily.
He was alive when everything he loved was dead. He was trapped. He would die slowly from hunger. What was he to do until then?
To his amazement, he heard himself speaking. It was the Plea of Enlightenment to Chuh Mboi Aku, coming unbidden from his lips. He let the words come, although he hated Chuh Mboi Aku more than he had ever hated anything in his life.
Chuh Mboi Aku was the one responsible for this. Chuh Mboi Aku deserved no prayer from him.
But the words kept coming.
Chapter 29
Remo and Chiun found out the same way everybody else was finding out. All the TV monitors in the airport were tuned to the news, and people were gathering around to watch the reports.
The video showed a column of steaming water soaring out of the Pacific Ocean, filling the sky with clouds of steam that went on forever. In the foreground was Waikiki beach, which looked as if it had been hit by a typhoon.
“The tsunami came too fast for the people of Honolulu to react. The evacuation order had just been sounded when the first wave broke here an hour ago.”
“The Pacific Ocean itself is keeping the steam vent in check. In Colorado, a larger vent burst open twenty-five minutes ago and engulfed the town of High Woods in a steam cloud that apparently wiped out the entire town in seconds. This was followed by a deluge of superheated rain water …”
At Folcroft Sanitarium, they joined Smith and Mark Howard in Smith’s office, where the coverage had taken on a less catastrophic tone.
“… appears the worst of the damage is done and first responders are finding an amazingly small death toll, at least as a result of the U.S. hot springs in Colorado and Hawaii,” a new anchor reported.
“They’re calling that a hot spring?” Remo demanded. “It’s a mile high.”
The announcer was almost bouncy. “Two water columns emerged in the Antarctic, where casualties were naturally light. The largest hot spring yet reported is a giant in the Amazon jungle, where again the human population was sparse.”
“The man sounds positively pleased with this,” Smith complained. Mark Howard glowered silently.
Next on the television was an environmentalist. “… possibly the best thing that could have happened. It won’t take long for mankind to learn to harness these new thermal power sources. We may be at the dawn of a new era. As of today, fossil fuels are obsolete!”
“Please turn that off, Emperor,” Chirm asked politely.
The news went away. The office was silent until Remo asked, “How bad is it?”
“We don’t know. But it’s bad,” Smith said.
“The Amazon basin is deluged,” Howard intoned. “The acreage destroyed by the rain is going to be nothing compared to the flood damage. In the Rockies, the water is channeled naturally into the Colorado River, which is already flooding, but they’re controlling it somewhat by opening all the dams.”
Remo shrugged. “I guess it really doesn’t sound all that bad.”
“It is the beginning of the end of the world,” Chiun declared flatly, his eyes masked with gloom. “Sa Mangsang is drinking the world dry.”
Remo said, “But it’s not. In fact, this could solve the water shortages in the Southwest.”
“The water is pure,” Smith agreed. “It’s been distilled by the planet itself. The salinity has been boiled out of it, and any bacterial or viral contamination is killed by the heat.”
“This means nothing.”
“Master Chiun, I beg to differ. I must point out that the seas are not being dried up. The water is being returned to the world in ways that might be beneficial in the long term.”
“No, Dr. Smith,” Mark Howard said. “The danger lies in Antarctica. Nobody’s had time to think it through yet, but they will.”
“Antarctica?” Smith said.
Chiun nodded in understanding. “That is the key to all this. The water that Sa Mangsang releases elsewhere is incidental.”
“Incidental?” Remo exclaimed.
“Sa Mangsang’s true purpose was to remove the water to Antarctica—the other fountains are side effects or mistakes.”
“What are you talking about?” Remo asked. “Junior, give me a clue.”
Smith was searching the news feeds from all the world’s media organizations, and he found footage from Antarctica. The first to arrive was an Australian documentary team that had been at the Mawson outpost. They were hundreds of miles away, but still the closest media team to the twin South Pole vents. They were feeding back their first video images, and CNN was picking them up for global distribution.
White mountains of ice were building up in the South Pole as the twin fountains sprayed boiling liquid. The steam and rain reached dizzying heights, and cooled as it fell. Eventually it precipitated and froze, and the pinnacles grew.
“Just three hours ago the first of the steam vents erupted here in Antarctica …” the Australian news report began, but Smith switched the sound off.
“That’s a lot of ice,” Remo noted.
“The great heat propels it above ground and the great cold locks it into ice,” Chiun said. “One wonders how much of the oceans is displaced there already?”
There was a knock on the door and Sarah Slate entered. She placed an affectionate arm on the shoulder of Master Chiun, and put the somber macaw on the cracked leather arm of his chair before leaving without a word.
“Bird,” said the Master by way of greeting, and by way of asking for a progress report.
It nodded at him and said nothing. Chiun appeared pained by this lack of response.
“Master Chiun,” Smith said, “I wish you to tell me more about the legends of Sa Mangsang.”
Chiun stroked the fine yellow threads of his beard. “It is not usual for a Master to reveal the knowledge of Sinanju. Especially to an Emperor.” Chiun had much more he might say, but he knew how to hold his tongue in the presence of his Emperor. Mad Harold was wise about many things, but in other ways he was a fool who would not suffer himself to be named one. Chiun had attempted to educate him about Sa Mangsang and had been thanked with insulting disregard.
Smith stood and looked out the window, his hands clasped behind his back, examining the shoreline and the thin, dirty watermark.
“I have come to believe in the truth of your prophecy, Chiun. Forgive me for doubting you.”
Chiun inclined his head.
“I am a man of science, but I failed to see the scientific truth in the Moovian legends,” Smith explained. “Now it is incontrovertible.”
Chiun pursed his lips.
“It is not the first time I have made such a mistake,” Smith added. “Regardless, I believe, and I will believe what you tell me you know, if you will tell me. I may translate it into terms I may understand better, but I will believe.”