"It does?" Chiun asked, surprised.
"It does?" Rerno echoed, just as amazed.
"Yes," Smith said, "it does." He turned to the Master of Sinanju. "Master Chiun, you must admit that it would take a powerful force to overcome Remo's training."
"Of course," Chiun sniffed. "He is Sinanju."
"Therefore, although you are understandably skeptical, you know that Remo must have encountered something unusual. Surprising, in fact."
"Possibly," Chiun conceded slowly.
"What could be more surprising than that which Remo has described to us? And are his injuries not consistent with a struggle with just such a man as Remo claims Roote to be?"
"Perhaps," Chiun said, unhappy to be swept along in Smith's speculative current.
For his part, Remo seemed bolstered by the leap of faith the CURE director had taken on his behalf. "I'm surprised you're the one in my corner, Smitty," he said.
"Your story is incredible," Smith admitted. "But there is much that is strange going on here. This entire base appears to be focusing its energy and resources on a single individual. That would make him special in the extreme. In a bizarre way, what you have said helps to explain a lot." He got to his feet. "I must meet with Chesterfield," he said determinedly.
Remo stood, as well. Chiun was quick to rise to his side.
"While you do that, I'm going to look for Roote," Remo announced.
"That is ill-advised," the Master of Sinanju insisted.
"You said Remo was well enough to complete his assignment," Smith challenged.
"Yeah, Little Father," Remo agreed. "I'm healthy as a horse. Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"Excellent," Smith said. "Now that you know Roote's abilities, you will not be taken by surprise. You two will have a better chance than anyone of stopping him. While you are gone, I will attempt to get to the bottom of this."
Without another word, Smith stepped from the room.
Once the CURE director was gone, Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. Chiun was staring intently at him, seeming to scrutinize his every facial feature.
"What's wrong?" Remo asked with a sigh.
The old man's voice was perfectly level. "I was attempting to determine who was the greater madman. You or Smith."
"Oh," Remo said dully. "Care to pick a winner?"
Chiun stroked his thread of a beard pensively. His intelligent hazel eyes were clouded in thought. "The jury has not yet rendered a verdict," he intoned.
THE ROUGH ATV PATH they had taken through the desert spilled out onto a worn access mad that ran parallel to the chain-link fence marking the southern perimeter of Fort Joy.
Signs warning intruders away had caused Arthur Ford concern for the past two miles. Although he had followed this route as a ufologist several times in the past without being bothered by the Army, he had never done so in the company of an extraterrestrial. He hoped the military hadn't put any special sensing equipment in place that would alert them to Roote's presence.
More and more, Ford was thinking that the creature he was with might not be a benign alien. He had hoped for the kind of life-affirming fun in his encounter with a creature from another planet as was the norm in movies and television. But even Star Trek had its share of villains. Maybe Roote was like a Romulan or Cardassian. Or even like the Klingons used to be, and sometimes still were.
These thoughts distracted him as they sped along the lonely desert road.
"The rear gate's comin' up soon," Roote drawled. "Bring me over to the fence."
They were driving at a slight angle on the uneven sand. The dusty earth spread up a short incline to a lone strip of sage-covered rock. The base fence had slipped behind this rise of land a moment before.
Dutifully Ford stopped the jeep. He hurried around to the other side, helping Roote out.
In spite of the desert heat, Roote's skin was clammy to the touch. All except his metal finger pads. These were warm as they clutched at the back of Ford's neck.
Embracing Roote around the waist, Ford helped him climb up the steep side of the scrub-covered bluff.
The first thing Ford saw when they crested the hill was not the fence, but the line of tanks and soldiers beyond.
"Look out!" Ford screamed, pushing Roote to the rocky ground.
He had thought to save his precious alien with his gallant act. But in truth, until Arthur Ford yelled, the soldiers hadn't even been looking their way. The men were farther along the fence, positioned closely to the desolate desert base entrance.
The nearest soldiers instantly turned toward the intruders. A shout carried down the line, bringing the attention of the rest.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
The ground around them was pelted with a flurry of bullets. Some pinged off the chain-link fence, the sparks of ricochets flying crazily through the desert twilight.
Arthur staggered and fell, accidentally dropping to safety behind a pile of black rock. A hail of bullets rattled against the hard rock, flinging flinty shards over the cowering UFO enthusiast's head. Bullets pelted sand, throwing puffs of powder into red-tinged sky.
The sound was deafening. Ford screamed. His voice was buried in the thunderous roar of automatic-weapons fire.
Covering his ears, flopping on his belly in the dust, he scrambled around on long legs, searching desperately for Roote.
His starman was gone. Fear gripped Ford's chest.
Roote had been beamed up. And not a bogus beaming, like with that G-man earlier in the day. This time, it had really happened. Elizu Roote had gone back to his mothership, abandoning Ford to the mercy of the U.S. military. Men who consistently-if the movies he saw were accurate-showed no mercy.
Screaming turned to sobbing. Arthur Ford was weeping fat tears of terror into the bone-dry dust beneath his fearful face when he spotted a flicker of movement near the fence.
He blinked back his burning tears.
Feet kicking. Someone belly-crawling through the dust.
Hope swelled instantly within Ford. It was the alien!
He was protected by the far edge of the outcropping of rock. The men didn't appear to notice him. Not one bullet flew his way. The soldiers all seemed to be directing their fire at Ford.
As it was dawning on Ford that his actions might actually have saved Elizu Roote after all, his alien was reaching a weak, shaking hand for the fence.
He must not have seen the high-voltage signs posted along the electrified hurricane fence.
Ford started to scream a warning ...too late! As he watched in helpless horror, Roote clamped down firmly on a cluster of chain links near the desert floor.
And then things got strange.
Over the waning gunfire, Arthur Ford distinctly heard the hum. Felt it. It filled the air all around him. It was the sound of a large factory whose many machines inexplicably powered down at the same time.
The hair on Ford's arms and neck tingled.
The soldiers stopped firing. They must have heard and felt it, too. Confused shouts issued from beyond the fence.
Even as the men were trying to figure out what was happening, Roote was rising swiftly from the scrub brush.
He held on firmly to the fence with one hand, jutting the fingers of his other through the chain link. The hum turned into a whining crescendo, and before another bullet sang from the other side of the fence, Roote fired.
The raw power surge was staggering.
It hit the nearest tank. The armor plating crackled as a million crisscrossing blue sparks raced along the vehicle's length. The blue glow was a brilliant contrast to the bloodred sky.
The electrical surge hopped from one tank to the next, to the next, enveloping the entire row in a matter of seconds. In between, it leapt to gun barrels, bouncing crazily down the line of men like some insane arcade game come to life.
Every metal surface grabbed hold of the charge, sizzling, blasting the electricity down into the ground.